Chapter 10 Martin
MARTIN
I glance to the door again, wondering if she’s going to show up at all.
It’s nearly half-seven; I arrived early, making sure that the table was ready for us and everything was in order.
Ridiculous, I know, since Morton’s has never let me down, but tonight of all nights, I need everything to be perfect.
It’s been just over a week since she came to the hospital and I surprised her at the appointment. I’ve been running it through my head ever since, trying to work out if I played it wrong, if I messed up by springing my presence on her the way I did.
But, a couple of days ago, she texted me to tell me that she wanted to go through with the dinner, and we arranged to meet for a meal here on Saturday night.
I insisted on paying for her taxi, but she told me she had childcare covered—her cousin, she mentioned to me.
I’m glad she has some kind of family around here to help her.
Martha and I struggled enough raising a kid between us, and I can’t imagine what it would be like to deal with double the trouble at half the support—
Finally, I hear a voice at the door. I whip my head around to see Lila standing there, speaking to the hostess, looking a little nervous. As well as looking hot as hell.
Not that that’s what this dinner is meant to be about.
She’s wearing a black dress that comes down to mid-thigh, and shows off a generous amount of her curvy body. Even so soon postpartum, she looks perfect to me, her hair loose around her shoulders, exuding femininity. I lift a hand to catch her attention, and as soon as she sees me, she smiles.
“Hey,” she murmurs as she comes over to join me. “This place…it’s a little fancier than I was expecting.”
“Oh, is it?” I remark, glancing around. To me, Morton’s is a pretty laid-back venue, at least compared to most of the restaurants I frequent in the city.
Martha got me used to the nicer side of life here in New York, and sometimes I forget that not everyone operates at the same level of luxury she does.
“Yeah, but the food looks amazing,” Lila adds, sinking down into the seat opposite me.
A candle flickers on the table between us, casting a warm glow over the white cloth.
I’ve already ordered a bottle of sparkling water for the table, not wanting to put alcohol into the equation.
Part of it, of course, is that she’s still breastfeeding, but I’m all too aware of what happened the last time the two of us were drinking together, and I don’t want tonight to go the same way.
At least, that’s what I have to tell myself.
“They’ve never let me down,” I remark, as the waiter appears with a pair of leather-bound menus. Italian music pipes through the speakers around us, the low hum of conversation floating over from the other tables, and Lila sneaks a look at me over the top of her menu. Her eyes are sparkling.
If I didn’t know better, I would say that she thought this was a date…
Once we’ve ordered—she took my recommendations, glad for someone to point her in the right direction—she sinks back in her seat, wrapping her delicate fingers around the glass and lifting it to her lips.
“So,” she begins. “I…I guess we’ve got a lot to talk about, right?”
“We do,” I agree, mentally running through the checklist that I put together in my head before I came out here tonight. “First off, Lila, I don’t want to assume anything about your financial situation, but anything you need from me, consider it done.”
“Oh, right,” she replies, her brows momentarily drawing together. “I—yeah, I might need some help with that down the line. I have a job but I’m not working at the moment, and it’s only part-time, so…”
“Were you in college?” I ask. “When it…?”
I don’t know how to say it. Which is ridiculous, given that this is what I do for a living.
If anyone should be comfortable talking about this stuff, it should be me, but I know I’m already straying too close to the bounds of discussing what happened between us that night in my cabin in the woods.
If I bring it up, I’m worried that she’ll think this is the only reason I’ve brought her here, when we need to get into the practical side of things.
“No,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “I was studying for a while, but I— It didn’t work out. I had to drop out.”
“Oh, what were you studying?” I ask, with genuine interest. I barely know this woman, after all, and she is the mother of my children. I want to know just who they’re going to be raised by. What values she holds, what passions she’s pursued, everything.
“Uh, law,” she replies, lifting the glass to her lips and taking a sip, almost as though she’s hiding behind it. “Got a couple of years in, but it…”
“It wasn’t for you?”
She nods, seemingly relieved that I’ve filled in the blanks. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Took me a while to figure out what I wanted to do,” I reply. “Nothing wrong with it…”
“Yeah, but I bet you didn’t have twins to deal with,” she shoots back playfully.
I chuckle. “Point taken,” I admit. “Don’t know how well I would have balanced my studies with kids, if I’d had them…”
“Is that why you came to America?” she asks, tipping her head to the side. “To study, I mean?”
I nod. “Sure is. Some of the best schools in the world for what I wanted to do with my life, and I got a scholarship.”
She lets out a whistle through her teeth. “Damn, that’s impressive,” she murmurs. “I worked my butt off all the way through high school, thought I might get some kind of support, but I guess it never really happened for me.”
“Your parents couldn’t help you out?”
She shakes her head. “Didn’t have any. I was in foster care.”
“Oh,” I murmur, surprised. Maybe that explains why I haven’t heard any mention of her family pulling their weight with the twins.
“Yeah, but I made it,” she replies. “And I’ve got a family of my own now, right? That’s all that matters.”
It’s clear she doesn’t want to stick around in conversing about that topic for too long, and I’m happy to move it along. The food arrives, the table laden with a few different dishes.
“Help yourself,” I tell her, as I push mine toward her. “No way I’m going to be able to finish all of this.”
“You just told a breastfeeding woman to eat as much as she wants,” she remarks, cocking an eyebrow. “I don’t think you’re ready for this.”
I laugh as she tucks in. She’s got a good sense of humor, the kind that my family would have appreciated.
My mum told me once, when I mentioned dating an American woman, that she didn’t know how I could put up with them, how I coped with how seriously they took everything, but I’m pretty sure Lila would have passed her test.
And I realize, as I’m sitting there, that I’m starting to see this as something more than just a get-together to discuss the matter of the twins.
I’m letting myself get drawn into seeing this as some kind of date, and I know that’s dangerous, the kind of dangerous I can’t let myself get close to.
I might be willing to provide for these kids in all the ways I can, but that doesn’t mean that I’m going to be part of their lives—or hers, for that matter.
I’ve seen what happens when I try to be part of a family, the destruction it seems to leave in its path, and the last thing I want is for her to be dragged into it too.
“So, you said you were married before, right?” she asks me, as she finishes up another bite of the pumpkin ravioli that she ordered.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Any…I mean, anything else come out of that? Anything else I should know?”
I understand what she’s getting at. She might not have outright come out and demanded to know if I have any other kids, but she doesn’t need to.
I stare at her for a moment, considering. It has to come out sometime, right? Thomas, my son, the mess I made of things with him…
But then…Thom isn’t part of my life anymore.
I support Martha as best I can, sure, but that doesn’t mean that I’m going to involve him in any of this.
I could just…brush it off, at least for now.
The less she knows about him, the better.
My son, as much as I hate to admit it, has only ever brought trouble for the people who know him, and I don’t like the thought of her being stained by his presence, not if I can avoid it.
I shake my head. “Nope. We’re amicable, we stay in touch, but that’s about it.”
She nods, taking another sip of her water. Just like when she was at the cabin, I find myself gazing at her mouth, the way it moves across the rim of the glass. Her full lips…I can recall all too easily what it felt like to kiss them.
I clear my throat, shifting slightly in my seat. “But back to the twins,” I continue.
Her face falls slightly, but she doesn’t try to stop me.
“Judging by the appointment last week, they’re doing well,” I explain. “But if they need anything in the way of medical treatment, I have access to some of the best in the country. I can get them taken care of quickly. Whatever they need, whenever they need it, I’ll be on call for them, okay?”
“Okay,” she murmurs. “That’s…I mean, I’m glad to hear that.”
Her voice sounds a little deflated, like someone has stuck a pin into her and let the air out.
Is this not what she expected? Did she think this was going to be something more personal, more like a date?
Hell, a part of me wishes it could be, but I know things are too complicated to allow my mind to even stray in that direction. I’m attracted to her, sure, and the memory of our night together still lingers whenever I’m near her like this, but we have to put the twins first.
Above everything. Above us.
“You can send over your banking details, if you’re comfortable,” I go on. “And we can figure out childcare when you go back to work—I’m happy to cover for you, or you can use some of the services provided by the hospital…”
I slip into business mode, putting up that wall between us as quickly as I can. I can tell from the way she’s looking at me that she’s stung by the sudden shift of topic, but we have to think about what matters most here. We have to focus on the babies.
She nods along, occasionally interjecting here or there with some cogent detail, but the wind seems to have been knocked from her sails, as if she were expecting something entirely different.
“Do you want to stay for some dessert?” I offer, hoping I can get this evening back on track and make sure she leaves without feeling this has been entirely formal.
She pauses for a moment, then shakes her head. “You know, I should get back,” she replies, reaching for her bag and hooking it over her shoulder. “I told Sofia that I wouldn’t be home late, and it’s not fair to keep her waiting.”
“Of course,” I agree, hoping she can’t tell how disappointed I am. “I’ll call the cab…”
“No, that’s fine,” she replies, raising a hand.
“I can find my own way back. I think it’ll do me good, getting the bus, I can…
clear my head. Lots to think about after tonight, right?
” She perks her voice up slightly, but it sounds artificial, as though she’s trying to convince herself as much as she is me.
I shake my head. “It’s late and it’s a Saturday night,” I point out. “You shouldn’t be going through the city by yourself. I’ll call you that cab, it’s not a problem—”
“Martin, I told you, I’m fine,” she shoots back, a little more sharply than I anticipated.
I glance up, cocking an eyebrow. “Everything okay…?”
“Everything’s fine!” she replies, hooking her bag over her shoulder and looking around for the waiter. “Do they have my coat somewhere? I want to…”
She trails off, chewing her lip. She wants to get out of here. She doesn’t have to say it; it’s written all over her face.
And I can’t help but feel guilty, knowing that I’m the one who made her feel this way.
I’ve blown hot and cold with her, walked out on her when she was in that hospital room, and then turned up for the appointment with no warning.
I took her out for a candlelit dinner, and then spent the whole time talking business.
I can’t exactly go and act shocked that she doesn’t know where she stands with all of this, why she feels like she needs to clear her head all of a sudden.
She pauses for a moment, gathering herself, closing her eyes and then looking at me. I notice a couple of people are glancing around from the tables near us—no doubt wondering what I’m doing pissing off a girl half my age who probably shouldn’t even be giving someone like me a chance.
“Thank you for dinner,” she tells me, voice taking on an edge of the robotic. “And thank you for talking things out about the twins. I feel much better knowing where we stand with everything. Where I stand.”
With that, before I can get out a word, she turns and heads for the door.
I watch her go. And I know I should let her. I know that, on paper, I’ve done everything I came here to do tonight, to figure things out about the twins, to make sure that we’re on the same page with everything going forward.
And how she feels about me shouldn’t matter at all, not really.
But I find myself waving over the water and asking for the bill, my eyes still fixed on the door she just stormed out of. And I know that I can’t let her walk away from me like that, not quite so easily.
Maybe I’m crazy, maybe I’m stupid, maybe I’m letting my emotions get the better of me—but I won’t be happy until I can put a smile back on her face.
One way or another.