Chapter 4 – Your Red Flag is Showing
Liam
Maggie looks around in awe as the hostess leads us to our table in this cavern they call a restaurant.
Despite being a difficult place to get into, it’s not overly crowded.
It’s dark and cool inside and decorated all in black except for the vibrant green potted palms. I think they want people to forget about life outside and keep ordering more wine in their secluded jungle.
I pull out Maggie’s chair and go to sit in mine across from her, taking the menu from the hostess and cracking it open.
The menu font is so small that I pull out my phone and use the camera zoom to confirm what I already suspected.
They have a tasting menu I know Maggie is going to want to try, and they don’t post prices.
Maggie gives me a smug look over the top of her own menu. “Stop looking so grumpy and just enjoy the experience.”
“Oh, I plan to. But I told Rosalie I’d be home before ten.”
She stares at me, then down at her menu before closing it with a snap, making her shoulder-length jet-black hair lift before falling back into place. “Fine. We won’t do the tasting menu. I’ll get their ahi tuna and two sides, but you owe me.”
“Thanks.” I reach out my hand and cover hers, and she leans over to give me a quick kiss. Maggie doesn’t hold grudges for long, but she does enjoy a good dramatic pause. It’s a specialty of hers.
When she sees me touching my mouth to check for lipstick transfer, she holds up her clean water glass. “It’s lip stain. It won’t transfer to anything.”
“A technological marvel.”
“I think so. Right up there with the miracle of flight.” Lacing our fingers together, she leans in again. “Speaking of, when are we going to get away for a weekend, Liam?”
This isn’t the first time she’s asked, and it’s not a question about destination as much as a question about when we’re going to become more involved.
I like her a lot. But I don’t love her, and we’re not tied to each other in any meaningful way.
I’m old-fashioned when it comes to intimacy and hesitant to explain it.
Not that I think she’d scoff. If anything, it might embolden her to try harder.
I’m pretty sure she thinks I’ve got some hidden passionate side she’ll find if she just digs deep enough. She’s not the first woman to look for it, but Esther took anything that was uninhibited about me and burned it up long ago.
There are no hidden layers here. I’m just changed.
I’m saved from answering by the waiter coming over to get our drink orders.
It’s a relief. There are only so many ways of tiptoeing around telling someone else you’re just not that committed.
I use the word “new” a lot, but now that we’ve been dating for four months, it’s not the buzzword it used to be.
We know what we want, so Maggie orders the ahi tuna steak, I get the spring rolls, and we both order salads.
I’ll leave hungry, but chances are, a half a pan of brownies will be waiting for me when I get home, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not looking forward to it.
If nothing else, it gives me a reason to get up early tomorrow and go for a run.
“How’s work?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Grueling. The company we’re working with now had a terrible accountant. The government thinks they hid money, but it’s more like ongoing incompetence and too many accounts. This one might go to court. I’ve never seen anyone launder money by accident before.”
“Would I recognize this company if you told me the name?”
She smiles. “Not a chance, Liam. We don’t reveal names of clients. You, of all people, should know better.”
“I do know better. The company I’m consulting for right now has a gossip problem. A bad one. It’s practically shut down their operations.”
“Which company?” she asks, trying to catch me off guard. When it doesn’t work, we both grin.
This is pretty much how Maggie and I met. We hit the same lunch spot in downtown Phoenix every day and began swapping work stories. She’s smart and funny and lives up to every lawyer stereotype I’ve ever heard. Like me, she’s divorced, but with no kids.
She looks at Callie and Wyatt like they’re especially fascinating museum exhibits. Lots of interest, but hands-off.
Our salads come and she carefully takes a bite. “So, the other day when we met for lunch, your colleague referred to you as ‘Detective Campbell.’ What was that all about?”
“Just a consulting job that turned into a whodunit mystery.”
“How so?”
“They wanted my opinion on a problem employee. Seeing as how they hadn’t fired him yet, I figured he was someone pretty important.
Turns out, he’d just gotten a target on his back from overachieving.
I suggested they fire the clique that set him up to fail and teach him how to blend in better.
He’s one of those guys who says exactly what he’s thinking the second he thinks it. ”
“Seems like small-beans work.” She points her fork at my plate. “Eat your salad. You’re making me feel self-conscious about stuffing my face.”
She is not stuffing her face, but I begin eating my salad. “It’s not a corporate takeover, but small jobs build trust. It gets our foot in the door. People are cautious about bringing in outside help. You and I both know a bad consultant is worse than no consultant at all.”
“Isn’t that right. Lawyers are the same way.”
My phone buzzes in my jacket pocket, and I pull it out to look at the message.
Rosalie: I have a not-urgent request for when you’re on your way home. Enjoy!
I give it a thumbs-up so she knows I saw it and tuck my phone away, smiling to myself.
“Who was that?” Maggie asked. “Rosalie checking in?”
They don’t pay Maggie the big bucks for nothing.
I think my face softens when I think or talk about my kids, and that extends to Rosalie.
I’m assuming this not-urgent request has something to do with bringing home ice cream, or maybe grabbing something for Wyatt’s basketball game in the morning.
If he signed me up for snacks again without telling me, I’ll give him a giant noogie when I get home tonight.
“Yeah, it was Rosalie. I think I’m supposed to stop at the store on the way home. I’ll find out later.” I’m ready to move onto a new topic, or maybe return to our old one, but Maggie has a tenacity like no one I’ve ever met before, and I can see in her face she’s not satisfied yet.
“Couldn’t she run to the store once they’re in bed? Wyatt’s old enough. I walked home to an empty house every day when I was his age.”
“Me too. Sort of.”
“You had a whole staff waiting for you at home, didn’t you?”
“They were waiting for me outside the school, but who’s counting?”
“Me!” She laughs. “I know I shouldn’t make fun of you for coming from the country-club set. It’s just so foreign to me. I lived in a trailer park until I left for college. First to go.”
“Now who’s bragging?”
She frames her face with her hands. “Guilty.”
We go back to eating our salads, and she twirls her fork, looking thoughtful. “I guess I’m just curious about whether it’s you who’s the overprotective parent or her.”
“She’s not a parent.”
“Come on, Liam. That one time I came over and she was there, Callie was sitting in Rosalie’s lap and reaching up to stroke her hair. She’s more Callie’s mom than Esther is.”
As soon as the words are out I can see she regrets saying it, and I want to be the first to gloss over it and move on, but I can’t.
I feel like a moth on a board with a pin right through my heart.
Isn’t my life oh-so-interesting? Let’s examine it.
My relationship with Esther is something I constantly work on, trying to make sure my kids feel safe to love her as their mom, while trusting that I’ll always be there, no matter what.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“I know.” I know she’s sorry, but she’s also deeply curious and opinionated. She’s sorry she said it, not sorry she thought it.
“I didn’t mean—”
A waitress claps her hands right next to us, startling us both. “Is everything okay over here? Everything to your liking?”
Maggie turns and gives her a look so scathing, the waitress immediately backs up and jabs a thumb behind her. “You know, I’m gonna go check on those main entrées.”
“Thank you,” I call after her retreating figure.
Maggie tilts her head back and groans. “Well, that’s one way to get our food out sooner. My intensity strikes again.”
We avoid eye contact for a minute, and I know I’m going to have to at least attempt to help her understand where I’m coming from. “Esther does the best she can. I’m doing the best I can. That doesn’t mean I know what I’m doing.”
Maggie purses her lips. “I’m sorry if you felt judged by my question.” She studies me before returning to her salad with a focus it doesn’t merit. She’s thinking about something that’s making her mad.
“What is it?” I finally ask.
She shakes her head. “Nothing. Everything. I feel like I’ve come at this from every angle, and it doesn’t help. Your ability to dodge a question is legendary. I end up feeling bad for asking or just plain forgetting I asked until later.”
“What do you want to know?” I sound tired, even to my own ears.
She does come at me from every angle. It’s how she processes things.
But my therapist agreed with my plan to go slow, to not let my guard down with any one woman until I was sure it would be worth it.
That last session was two years ago, and I felt prepared to move on with my life.
But planning is different than executing.
Is it time to open up when someone begs for it, like Maggie is doing now?
Because this is definitely not on my timetable.
“I want to know if you’re in this.”
When I don’t answer right away, she moves on.
“You introduced me to your kids as your ‘friend.’”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what that feels like? The nanny is held in the highest esteem, while I’m temporary. I’m Daddy’s friend, who will not be in the picture soon.”
I don’t know exactly what she’s feeling, but it can’t be worse than the way I’m feeling now.
I’ve always prided myself on my good decision-making, but in one sentence, she’s demonstrated why every relationship I’ve had since Esther has been doomed to fail.
Maybe I wanted them to fail. I do look at them as temporary, maybe even as a threat to my stability.
I’m three steps ahead of this conversation to the ultimate conclusion: me plus love equals failure. Case closed.
She aims her fork at me again, but this time, it’s not to point out that I’ve abandoned my salad. “And don’t think I don’t know you celebrated Wyatt’s birthday without me.”
“You told me you hated kids’ birthday parties!”
“I do! But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to go.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know you are!” She slaps the table. “You’re so nice, Liam. It’s infuriating. Nice and completely closed off. I’d blame your parents, but I haven’t met them.”
“Would you like a free appetizer?” Our waitress is back, and she has an entourage.
Or maybe a protective detail. They all look nervous but hopeful.
I’m nervous for them. If they break out in song right now, I’m not sure what will happen to us.
Maggie looks like she might cry, and the woman never cries. She’s the toughest person I know.
The dish is sizzling, and they warn us to stay back while they set it down.
It’s a sampler platter with glazed shrimp, scallops, and little tartlets carefully layered.
It’s nice of them to give us this as a stalling tactic since our entrées obviously aren’t ready.
Maybe someone ordered this and then suddenly had to leave.
Maggie takes it all in and then turns to our waitress. “This is lovely. Would you please send it to that family over there with the three teenage boys? Liam here loves surprising people with big appetites. Don’t you, Liam?”
I nod. “I sure do.”
“He also loves uninterrupted conversation.”
They take the hint and quickly move the appetizer platter over to the surprised table across the room.
And just when we’re getting back to the conversation at hand, mainly that I’m not what Maggie was hoping for and all my instincts are wrong, we’re inundated with the grateful appetizer-recipient mom, dad, and grandmother, who come over to say hello and thank us.
The boys do not come over. They’re busy stuffing their faces.
“It’s a sign,” Maggie whispers in my ear while I’m taking a group photo for them and trying to get the flash to work on the cell phone I’ve been handed.
“I’m asking for my food to go and calling an Uber.
Don’t forget to see what’s right in front of you when you get home.
I bet she’d break up with her boyfriend for you.
” She kisses my cheek and heads over to tell the waitress to box up her dinner.
When I go to call her, she’s already left me a text message.
Maggie: Don’t feel bad. It was fun. Ish.