Chapter 12
Reed
Olivia’s parents live in a two-story house in Queens, along a quiet, tree-lined street.
The house itself is run-down and a little shabby; the pale yellow paint is faded, but still brings a bright cheer to the place.
There’s an overgrown garden out front that we have to pick our way through to get to the front door.
Olivia pauses on the stoop, hesitating as she stares at the door.
“I’m a little nervous,” she admits, wringing her hands together. “This is such a big thing to tell them.”
“Everything will be okay,” I say, trying to comfort her—though I have to admit that I’m more than a little nervous as well.
I want her parents to like me. Even though this is all a lie, they don’t know that, and I want them to approve of Olivia’s situation.
I shouldn’t worry, of course. By all metrics, I’m a total catch. I have a ten-figure net worth and a face tailor-made for magazine covers. Who wouldn’t love to see their daughter arm in arm with me?
Except that I know Olivia, and I know that her family doesn’t actually care about most of my credentials. They don’t really pay attention to wealth or connections. They won’t care about my corporate CV, or the size of the deals I’ve brokered, or even the Eastwood family name.
“Do you think they’ll like me?” I say suddenly, unable to stop myself.
Olivia shoots me a bemused look. “What? Of course.”
“Are you sure?” Now that I’ve already voiced my apprehensions, I might as well dig this hole deeper. “I don’t want your parents to think I’m some kind of prick.”
At that, Olivia laughs. Her laughter, as always, is infectious, and I smile despite myself.
“I’m serious,” I say. It’s hard to convince her, now that we’re both grinning like idiots again.
She shakes her head. “They already know you, Reed.”
“Yeah, but… they don’t know me personally.” Something else occurs to me, and I add, “Plus, I’m not sure they parted on the best of terms with my father. They might not be happy to see you with an Eastwood.”
“But you’re not Lionel Eastwood,” Olivia reasons. “They never parted on bad terms with you, did they?”
“I… guess not.”
Olivia takes me by both arms, looking me in the eye. “You’ll be fine. Just take a deep breath, okay?”
The act of reassuring me seems to have calmed Olivia down, too. The tension is gone from her face as she turns back to the door.
Olivia knocks, and after a few moments, the door opens.
Seeing Olivia’s parents for the first time in years, I’m shocked at how much smaller her mother is. The illness has clearly worn on her; she seems decades older, and frail, too. Robert Quinn escorts his wife to the door carefully, and I notice that she leans on him for balance.
At the sight of her parents, Olivia breaks into a nervous smile. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.” She steps forward to throw her arms around them, and I hang back awkwardly for a moment until Olivia gestures to me. “You both remember Reed, I’m assuming?”
Robert sizes me up. “Eastwood, right?” He reaches out his hand to shake mine. “You were a lot younger last time I saw you.”
“Olivia,” Maura says, her voice timid and quiet, “what’s going on here?”
“I have to tell you guys something,” Olivia says hesitantly. She reaches out and takes my hand, and both of her parents raise their eyebrows. “Can we come inside?”
Wordlessly, Maura and Robert make room for us to step through the door. Olivia’s father ushers us into the small, homey living room.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” he says. “I’ll be out with drinks in a minute.” He helps Maura to a huge armchair, which dwarfs her frail body and makes her seem even smaller, then goes to the kitchen.
While he’s in the other room, I glance around at the Quinns’ household. It’s a far cry from what I’m accustomed to, but it’s nice. Cozy.
The couches are old, but there are hand-knitted, woolen blankets draped over the backs. There’s a fireplace, and on the mantelpiece, I can see half a dozen framed photos of Olivia at various ages. I can’t help but smile at the pictures of her as a child.
“These blankets are nice,” I say, trying to make friendly conversation.
Maura smiles. “Olivia made them for us.”
I turn to stare at Olivia. “You did?”
“Yeah,” she says. She elbows me. “You know that I knit!”
I’d noticed it, of course. She spends a lot of time around the penthouse knitting, and I’ve seen a couple of her finished scarves. “These are huge, though,” I say.
“They took forever,” she agrees with a small, nervous chuckle.
As Mr. Quinn re-emerges from the kitchen and starts handing out mugs of hot tea, I feel a slight pressure against my leg. I glance down to see a cream-colored cat winding its way between my calves, purring.
“That’s Penelope,” Maura tells me. “She’s friendly.”
I reach down to pet the cat, and she headbutts my hand, closing her eyes in contentment.
Yeah, I could hang out here for a while. It’s like the whole room is designed to put people at ease.
“So,” says Olivia’s father, sitting down opposite his wife and turning to us, “I believe you had something to tell us.”
“Yes.” Olivia lays a hand on mine, scooting a little closer to me on the couch. “Reed and I reconnected a while ago. We had some mutual friends who got together—you know Riley, right?”
Both of her parents nod, and Olivia exhales in relief.
“Riley is engaged to one of Reed’s childhood best friends,” she says. “So Reed and I crossed paths again, and… well…”
She glances at me, uncertainty in her eyes, so I jump in. “We started to get close.”
Gratefully, Olivia nods. “Yes. Very close. We, um… we’re engaged. To be married.”
There it is—the bombshell that we were both afraid of. Neither of Olivia’s parents reacts horribly, but I can tell that both of them are shocked. They exchange a wide-eyed glance, their surprise evident on their faces.
Quickly, Olivia leaps into action to sell it. “It took both of us by surprise, too,” she says, leaning into me. I wrap an arm around her shoulders. “But we know it’s right. We’re in love with each other, and we don’t want to wait for years to get married.”
I nod, smiling, and rub Olivia’s arm affectionately. The action feels natural.
“And you know Reed,” Olivia continues. “He’s a good man. One of the best. Did you know that he’s on the board for three charities? And he’s constantly donating money to good causes.”
I’m taken aback by how sincere Olivia sounds as she continues to explain our engagement. If I didn’t know it was all a lie, I could almost believe every word.
For around a minute, it’s quiet in the living room. The only sound is the ticking of the old clock on the mantelpiece, surrounded by the pictures of Olivia.
Then Maura seems to recover from her shock, and smiles at us warmly. “Well, that’s the most wonderful news I’ve heard in months.”
“Congratulations,” Olivia’s father says to both of us, reaching out to shake my hand again—this time, more vigorously.
“We’re so happy for you, sweetie,” says Mrs. Quinn, beaming at Olivia. “When’s the wedding?”
“Well,” Olivia says evasively, “we still have to plan everything, so we’re not entirely sure yet. There’s a lot to do.”
“You’ll have to explain everything,” says Mrs. Quinn, smiling as widely as her tired face will allow.
Olivia’s father stands, waving his hands to usher us into the next room. “Let’s head into the dining room. The food’s just about ready. Olivia, could you please set the table?”
Olivia trots off to the kitchen, and I decide I should probably help her out—it’s the “kind, loving partner” thing to do.
As I leave the room, I pause and glance over my shoulder, watching out of the corner of my eye as Mr. Quinn helps his wife to her feet, gently steadying her as they move into the dining room.
As I follow behind Olivia, I look around the house at all of the pictures on the wall. There’s a lot of embroidery, some of it framed, and photos of Olivia and others who I assume must be cousins.
In the kitchen, a delicious smell permeates the air. Olivia hands me a stack of plates, gesturing into the dining room to direct me to the table.
While I set the table, the Quinns get settled. Robert helps Maura sit down, and she winces a little in pain as she does so. He takes the chair beside hers, and their fingers lace together, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand.
I can’t help but contemplate Olivia’s parents and their situation. Their house is small; it’s cozy and warm, but it also clearly needs some work—work that neither of them have the time or ability to do. The paint outside was peeling, and the garden overgrown.
I know that Olivia was working overtime for her horrible former boss mostly to help her parents with their expenses. Olivia’s mother’s illness took me aback when we first arrived at the door. She seemed so small and frail. It seems like taking care of her is a full-time job for her husband.
As I set down the last plate, I realize that my hands are shaking slightly. I stow them in my pockets, wondering if I should chalk that up to nerves, or if it’s something else.
No. It’s not nerves.
I’m upset.
Upset at how little my family has done to care for Mrs. Quinn, the woman who kept their house in order for years.
When Olivia’s mother worked as a housekeeper for my father, she was meticulous, and she kept that place immaculate. If she lost her job due to her illness, and he did nothing to make sure she would be comfortable…
The thought makes me feel sick to my stomach.
Olivia re-enters the dining room, smiling at me, and for a moment, there’s something so genuine about the look on her face that only compounds my distress. I push it down, though, and take the seat beside hers.
“So, Olivia,” says Maura, her eyes sparkling, “have you begun planning yet?”
“Well… sort of,” Olivia admits. “Not entirely. We only just got engaged, so I haven’t had much time yet.” She hesitates, then adds, “A few friends took me window shopping, though. Looking at rings.”