Spiral Of Bliss: Adore Part 5

"Who are they?"

"What?"

"Your guy friends," she says impatiently. "Who are they?"

"Other professors," I say. "Archeologists, historians. A few grad students. Max Lyons and I shot some hoops the other day. Why?"

"And none of them wonder why you hang out with a chick?" Kelsey asks.

"Since when are you a chick?"

"You know what I mean."

"I doubt they notice or care," I say. "What's this about? You don't want to hang out anymore?"

"Of course I want to hang out," she replies, glancing past my shoulder to the garage. "But have you ever asked Archer to join your football games or whatever?"

"Uh, no. But he's been busy with the garage." I shake my head with faint disbelief. "Are you trying to find buddies for your boyfriend?"

"I'm trying to figure out what the h.e.l.l is going on between my boyfriend and his brother," Kelsey replies. "Archer has been living in Mirror Lake for over a year. And you and he never do anything together."

"We went to dinner and that concert last month."

"With me and Liv," Kelsey reminds me. "And, as usual, you both let us do all the talking."

"Actually it was more that we couldn't get a word in edgewise."

A faint smile tugs at her mouth before it's replaced with another frown.

"Look, as far as I can tell, you guys talk business, but that's it," she continues. "You know how crazy Archer is about Nicholas, Dean. And it kind of sucks that you and he still can't get over your s.h.i.+t. Maybe if you did, you could set him straight about this marriage thing."

"Whoa. Don't get me involved in your issues. I learned my lesson, remember?"

She gives me a pointed look and starts the car. "Not about how to fix your relations.h.i.+p with your brother, you haven't."

She rolls up the window and pulls away from the curb. I stand there for a minute, knowing-and hating-that she's right. My relations.h.i.+p with Archer, though better now, has always been the one thing in my life I haven't known how to fix. He's great with Nicholas, and he and Liv have become good friends, but he and I are still like two animals wary of each other.

Years ago, we used to be comrades-in-arms, fighting zombies, dragons, and monsters from our tree house, which we'd built in an old oak tree in the backyard of our California house. Known as the Castle, the tree house had served as a fortress, a UFO, a Wild West saloon, a robber's hideout, and a dozen other headquarters.

I start back toward the office. Maybe I'll ask Archer if he wants to grab a beer tonight. He's standing outside next to a rundown motorcycle, talking to a customer.

I stop. Even if he did want to hang out with me-which I doubt-I don't know what we'd even talk about. Neither one of us is into rehas.h.i.+ng the past or filling in details of all the years we were estranged.

Archer walks back into the garage, a clipboard in one hand. I watch him go, suddenly feeling a rush of sympathy. I can't imagine what I'd have done if Liv hadn't wanted to marry me. Don't want to imagine it. Won't.

I turn and walk back to my car. I've had to learn a lot over the past few years. How to stay out of Liv's business and not jump in to rescue her. How to give up control of certain aspects of my work. How to let my family fix their own problems. How to leave Archer and Kelsey's relations.h.i.+p alone.

I've had to learn how to back off, stand down, retreat, when everything in me wants to fight. I've had to stop trying to fix everything, even when I've wanted to do nothing more. Even when I still want to.

CHAPTER THREE.

OLIVIA.

I hit the publish b.u.t.ton on my latest blog entry, "What the Truck?," which is an unvarnished recounting of Nicholas's meltdown and my ruined attempt at a welcome home dinner for Dean.

I'd started my Liv in Wonderland blog as an extension of the cafe website, using it to describe our birthday parties, community outreach, and to post pictures of our dishes and desserts. But after Nicholas was born, my blog posts started becoming more personal and focused on the struggles of motherhood and work.

And while I keep certain things private-I'd never get into my lackl.u.s.ter s.e.x drive, for one thing-the blog has become popular among other working mothers, who leave comments sympathizing with me, thanking me, and offering advice.

While I have plenty of real-life friends who are also mothers, some of whom also read the blog, it's fun to have a little community of online "fans," and I've even started earning a bit of extra money from advertising revenue.

I shut down my laptop and take out the Italian notebook Dean brought back for me. I open to the first page and write: Get my groove back.

Though the book is so beautiful I feel like I should be using it to write a masterpiece rather than a To Do list, frankly that list is a mile long. And it has to start with my husband. Guilt nudges at me.

Even though Dean has been the model of patient understanding for two years, the discovery of his rather frequent self-pleasuring, not to mention the disaster of my badly faked o.r.g.a.s.m, has made me realize I need to do something about this.

It's definitely time. Maybe I need to stop making excuses about being tired and overworked. I've lost all-okay, most-of my pregnancy weight, I feel pretty good about myself, I think about s.e.x practically every time I look at my hot husband, and I miss the intimacy we once had. Plus I finally found a birth control pill that doesn't give me any side-effects, which means we can be entirely spontaneous.

s.e.x has always been an intensely powerful part of our relations.h.i.+p, but it also encompa.s.ses so much more than just physical pleasure. It's intrinsic to what we are to each other, a strong, glittering thread throughout our history, the singular, brilliant place where nothing exists except us.

Now with both of us so busy, and especially before we start resenting each other's work, we need to find that place again. And I'm the one with the map. Not to mention, I'm still curious about Professor West's hot masturbatory fantasies.

I add to the page: Learn Dean's fantasies.

Act them out.

Surely that will get us back on track, though I'd better have some other plans too. I do some Internet searching for how to revive one's s.e.x life. Maybe I should even start a Pinterest board of s.e.xy images and ideas. My boards are all about home decorating, elaborate cakes and baked goods, craft projects, and a million "good mothering" tips and ideas. I've clearly forgotten one of my main priorities.

I log in to my Pinterest site, create a new board, and pin a few erotic pictures up. Before I can peruse a 31 Days of Hot s.e.x website, I hear Nicholas calling from the living room that his cartoon is over.

I switch my brain to Mommy Mode and bring Nicholas upstairs to get ready. I don't have a full work s.h.i.+ft today, but I stop at the cafe to get some paperwork done.

I love the cafe-it's a bright, airy fun place with murals covering the walls, diamond-patterned upholstery, and a potted topiary pathway leading up the "yellow brick road" staircase to the Wizard of Oz rooms.

Over the years, our clientele has mostly been mothers with children and families on weekends. Teenagers drop in often, their coolness belied by their half-smiles of pleasure as they're served edible teacups and peppermint twist cupcakes, and elderly ladies come in regularly for our Mad Hatter high tea.

I'm so proud of what Allie and I have created together, despite some b.u.mps in the road. Not only is the cafe successful as a family-favorite place of fun, whimsical warmth and good food, we've also become actively involved in the community through our charity work, partic.i.p.ation in the local theater festival, collaborations with the Historical Society, and most recently our work for the Mirror Lake Bicentennial Festival.

After settling Nicholas in the playpen I keep in our office, I sit at the desk to pay bills and figure out the work schedule.

"Hey, Liv, guess what?" Allie stops in the doorway of the office, her curly red hair caught up in a high ponytail. "A guy from Edison Power stopped by earlier, wanting to talk to us about catering their company picnic in August. It would be incredible for publicity, and it might bring in enough money that we could afford a deposit for the birthday party truck."

"Edison Power? I just sent them the sponsors.h.i.+p package for the festival." I pull open my festival file. "What was his name?"

"Mike Harrison, head of marketing. He also said his wife wants to have their daughter's fifth birthday party here, but I don't think we can pull it off. Mrs. Harrison wants her daughter's entire cla.s.s invited, plus her other friends. We can't handle that many kids and our regular customers at the same time, and we already have reservations for that day so we can't close for a private party."

"Maybe we can double our staff for a few hours." I open the birthday party calendar and staff schedule. "If we can host a great birthday party for Mike Harrison's daughter, Edison might be even more inclined to sponsor the festival."

"And let us cater their picnic," Allie adds. "But we don't have the capacity for thirty-one kids in the party room. Plus a lot of the parents might stay."

"We'll use the Kansas Farm room too," I say. "And the outdoor terrace. This is great, Allie. We'll show them how good we are and establish a relations.h.i.+p. Do we have his wife's contact info?"

Allie digs in her ap.r.o.n pocket for the party request form and hands it to me. "I already emailed her this morning and told her we couldn't host that many kids."

"Allie, we can do it." I unfold the paper. "When did she schedule the party?"

"Two weeks from Sat.u.r.day. She wants the full Wizard of Oz package."

"I'll call her." I reach for the phone. "If we plan for enough staff, we'll be fine."

A hint of irritation radiates from Allie. I try to ignore it as I leave a message on Monica Harrison's voicemail.

"It's not just about the cafe, Allie," I say apologetically, putting the phone back onto the receiver. "I didn't realize I'd be responsible for finding sponsors for the festival. But I asked Edison Power to be our highest level sponsor, and if they agree, we'll be able to have a children's stage at the festival and hire Slice of Pie to play."

"But the festival has nothing to do with the cafe," Allie says with a frown.

"Look, I'll handle it all," I promise her. "And I won't schedule anything without your okay."

She shrugs, not looking entirely convinced or happy. Regret twists my insides as I watch her turn and leave the office. Since becoming partners, Allie and I have disagreed on things over the past couple of years, but we've always managed to reach a compromise and never stayed irritated with each other for very long.

I start to go after her with the intention of making amends when the phone rings.

"Wonderland Cafe," I say into the receiver. "This is Liv."

"Liv, it's Monica Harrison. You left a message about my daughter Becky's birthday party?"

"Yes, thanks for calling me back. I wanted to tell you we'd be happy to host it for you, and after talking to my partner, we found a way to accommodate your entire guest list."

"Oh, that's wonderful. Thank you so much. Becky will be thrilled."

I write down the details of her request and email them to Allie before gathering my things to leave. I get Nicholas into his car seat and text Dean, asking if he can join us for lunch. When he doesn't respond right away, I drive to King's University.

The campus is milling with people walking to and from cla.s.s, boots slos.h.i.+ng in the melting spring slush. The gra.s.s of the quad is starting to turn green, the bare trees budding with leaves.

The door to Dean's office in the history department is half-open. His baritone voice drifts into the corridor, along with another man's accented tone. They're talking about the Altopascio monastery and the damage from the earthquake.

I stop outside the office, taking Nicholas out of the stroller before he starts fussing. A young woman with brown, curly hair caught back in a bun comes down the hall toward me, her stride purposeful and a stack of folders in her arm.

After a second, I realize it's Jessica Burke, Dean's whip-smart, former grad student who earned her PhD a few years ago and has since been doing postdoc work in England.

"Jessica?" I stop and wave at her. "I didn't know you were back in town."

"Oh, hey, Liv." She approaches to give me a quick hug. "I just got in a few days ago. My father pa.s.sed away last week."

"Oh, no. I'm sorry."

"Thanks." Sadness flashes behind her attempt at a smile. "He was sick for awhile, so it wasn't unexpected but still..."

She shakes her head and turns her attention to Nicholas. "Wow, look at how big Nicholas is getting. I've been keeping up with him by reading your Liv in Wonderland blog. He's adorable."

"Thanks. If there's anything you need or anything I can do to help, please let me know."

"Actually, I might be on the lookout for a part-time job," Jessica says, letting Nicholas wrap his fist around her thumb. "My postdoc at the University of Leeds is over, so I'm looking for a professors.h.i.+p somewhere. I'm also hoping to be able to stay with my mom for awhile since she's pretty broken up about my dad. I'd like to help her out as much as I can."

"Of course. Are you looking for a professors.h.i.+p around here?"

"If I can find one, but my chances are slim just because all the positions are already taken," she replies. "Dean is keeping an eye out for me, and he's going to spread the word to other state universities."

Before I can respond, the door of Dean's office opens wider.

"You'd be an excellent fit for the WHC, Dean." The other man's lightly accented voice carries into the corridor. "I don't have to tell you that opportunities like this don't come around very often."

"I appreciate that, Hans," Dean says. "And I'm honored that you'd think of me."

Something in his voice indicates he really is honored. I wonder what opportunity they're talking about.

The two men step into the corridor. Hans is a slender, blond man wearing a well-cut gray suit and small, round gla.s.ses. He looks vaguely familiar, though I can't immediately place him.

"Hey, Liv." Dean catches sight of me and lifts his hand in greeting. "What are you doing here?"

"We thought we'd see if you were free for lunch." I walk toward him as Nicholas starts to squirm, reaching out for his father.

"Hans, Jessica, and I are heading to a meeting over at SciTech," Dean explains, hefting Nicholas into his arms. "They're helping us with a.n.a.lyzing the seismic reports from the quake. Hans, this is my wife Olivia. Liv, Hans Klasen. You met at the Medieval Studies conference a few years ago. Hans is the director of UNESCO's World Heritage Center."

"Of course." The pieces click, and I hold out my hand in greeting. "Pleasure to see you again, Dr. Klasen."

"Hans, please. You as well." He indicates Nicholas with a smile. "You hadn't had your son last time we met. He is two years now?"

"He turned two in January, yes."

"Beautiful child." Hans touches Nicholas's brown hair. "Strong resemblance to his mother."

"Lucky kid, huh?" Dean asks, winking at me.

"Indeed," Hans agrees.

"Charmers," I remark, flattered nonetheless. "Hans, how long are you staying? Maybe both you and Jessica can come for dinner one night."

"I'm afraid I leave tomorrow for Was.h.i.+ngton, DC," Hans explains. "I stopped for a lecture in Chicago and the SciTech meeting. Also to convince your husband to come for the interviews."