Sins of the Mother (12 page)

“Doctor Perkins . . .” As soon as he mentioned his sex therapist, her smile slipped away. But Brian kept on, “I had my last meeting with her yesterday. She said that I’m cured.” Another pause. More silence. Until Brian added, “It seems that I’ve made so much progress, there’s no reason for me to continue.”

With just a bit of a frown, Alexis finally placed her mug down. “I didn’t know there was such a thing as a cure.”

“Maybe
cure
is not the word. It’s just that I’ve learned all that I can. I mean, look how long it’s been . . . so now, it’s up to me.” He leaned forward. “And believe me, all of that is in the past.”

Her head bobbed up and down. “I’m really glad for you, Brian.”

“I figured that since this is what destroyed our marriage, I had to tell you. And I think . . .” He stopped.

“What?”

“I think you should go to lunch with me.”

She was already shaking her head.

He said, “Sort of a lunch date.”

More shaking. “I’ve passed my date quota for the week,” she said with a little chuckle that made him frown.

But he had no intention of being denied. Brian pushed, “I just want someone to celebrate with.”

Although her head kept shaking, this time she didn’t say no out loud.

“Come on,” he urged. He lowered his head. “Look, I don’t want anything from you. It’s just that . . . this is pretty big, and there’s no one else I want to share it with. It’s important to me, Alex.”

It was hard to believe, but it didn’t look like any of his words had moved her. She stayed quiet, just looking at him. He was ready with more, and he moved to the edge of his chair. “I’m sorry. I guess I was just excited and—”

“I can’t have lunch with you today,” she interrupted.

Okay,
he thought.
That’s not a total no.
And he had to remember what had happened with the flowers.

She said, “I’m swamped, so how about dinner?”

It took a moment, then, “Dinner? Oh, okay. Dinner.”

“It’s just a meal, shared between friends, Brian.” She paused and then added words in a tone that was meant to be a warning,
“Nothing else.”

“Of course not.” He kept his expression solemn. “I don’t know what you’re thinking.”

“Well, I know what
you’re
thinking,” she said.

He held up his hands. “It’ll just be a great evening, two friends, talking. Celebrating.”

She nodded. “That’s all.” And then she buzzed Kennedy for another cup of coffee.

He wanted to jump up and kiss her. But all he did was rise from the chair and strut toward the door. Over his shoulder, he told her that he’d call her in an hour. By the time he looked back, her head was down; she was back at work.

Inside the elevator, he would’ve given himself a high five if he could have. By the time he got to his car, he was laughing full out. Reality was so much better than the plan—he hadn’t had a single hope for dinner.

But really, how could she resist? He’d gone to her with all guns drawn. He had dressed the part. Spoken the part. There was nothing else she could do.

Looking in the rearview mirror, he bobbed his head as if he heard music, even though the radio wasn’t on. “Yeah, that’s what’s up!”

He guided his car from the garage and headed toward home. It had been a long time since he’d had this feeling—like he was the champion of the world.

B
RIAN WAS NOT PLAYING FAIR
.

He was forging forward, a full-court press. And to Alexis, he was committing every foul in the book.

It had started this afternoon, when he’d shown up at her office wearing all black on the top and blue jeans on the bottom.

Foul!

She remembered even now, the way her eyes had roamed over him. And then she’d committed her own foul—she had undressed him with her eyes. That’s when she’d called Kennedy for her first cup of coffee.

As if he had no idea what he was doing to her, Brian had leaned back in the chair and stroked her with his voice, caressed her with his smile, made her insides swoon with his eyes.

Foul!

Finally, blessedly, he’d left her alone, but then an hour later, he’d moved into flagrant foul territory when he’d called and said so casually, “Let’s go to Heroes for dinner.”

She’d just taken a sip of coffee and a long stream exploded
from her mouth, landing right on top of the computerized storyboards for Addicts Anonymous that sat on her desk.

“No,” she’d told him after she’d gotten herself together.

“Why not?”

“’Cause that’s where we’ve had all of our good times,” she said, as if her logic showed just how illogical he was.

He’d laughed. “Well, I want to have a good time tonight, don’t you?”

No!
“I guess.”

“And anyway,” he’d added, “where else can we go?”

As if there weren’t a million restaurants in Los Angeles. As if there wasn’t one in a million that wasn’t filled with their memories.

But then he said, “What about if we do it early. Then it won’t feel so much like . . . a date.”

She agreed. That did feel better. Four o’clock was much more innocent than eight.

So now they were at Heroes, where Brian was committing his final foul. Where Brian was just being Brian.

Without her saying a word, he’d ordered all of her favorite Heroes dishes: Barbecue Salmon, Shrimp Mousse, and Pecan-Crusted Chicken sat in the middle of their table, as if they were in a Chinese restaurant, rather than this upscale Continental eatery.

Then, of course, there was her favorite wine—Sauvignon Blanc—that seemed to be filling her glass much faster than his.

Their conversation flowed with ease; their banter was effortless. He was as attentive tonight as he’d been on their first date all those years ago when they’d sat at the edge of the Pacific Ocean from noon until the moment the sun settled in the west. Tonight, just like then, Brian was making their time together all about her.

“Jefferson told me you worked on the Obama campaign. What did you do?” he asked.

It was a déjà vu question; but unlike last night, when she’d been given little time to answer, tonight she talked leisurely, and proudly, without interruption.

“Wow, that’s impressive,” Brian said. “You make me feel a little guilty. I didn’t do half as much.”

Then their chatter turned easily to the books they were reading, to the movies they’d seen, to the songs they loved.

“By the way, I saw this great article about the rise of all things Christian—literature, music,” he said. “I’ll get the magazine and bring it to you tomorrow.”

She didn’t miss the way he said
tomorrow,
as if it was just an extension of tonight.

“So, any surgeries this week?” she asked, then froze. Both were taken back to the days when they were married and she’d asked him that same question. Every Sunday.

Brian broke the quiet and told her of an upcoming surgery on a six-month-old girl whose parents were bringing her to Los Angeles from Texas. Alexis sipped and listened with the same fascination she always held when he discussed his responsibilities as an ophthalmologist.

The moments moved along, and they kept right on talking. About everything. Then, anything. Sometimes, nothing.

When Brian said, “I think we should share a dessert,” she frowned. Was it time for dessert? She glanced at her watch and wondered who’d stolen their time. It couldn’t be almost eight.

“So do you want some?”

She looked up and into his eyes. His lips were so close. Lover’s lips. In the old days, she would have just leaned forward two inches and pressed her lips against his. But today, she stared and wondered if he still tasted like chocolate.

Foul!

She backed up and took a final sip of wine. “No dessert for me,” she said.

With a chuckle, he raised his hand for the waiter and settled their check.

“Thanks so much for dinner, Brian,” Alexis said, and then she stood. “Whoa.” She wobbled just a bit, then steadied herself against the table. In an instant and without a word, Brian was at her side. He scooped the palm of his hand underneath her elbow and led her through the maze of tables.

At the entrance, Alexis dug in her purse for the valet ticket, and when she found it, Brian took it from her. She frowned a little when he pulled the attendant aside and whispered to him. The man glanced at Alexis and nodded before Brian returned to her side.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

He said, “I’m going to drive you home,” just as his Lamborghini came to a stop in front of them.

She was already shaking her head. “I can drive.” She closed her eyes, licked her lips, tried to get the fuzziness behind her eyelids to go away.

But he acted like she hadn’t spoken when he took her arm and led her around to the passenger’s side. It was hard to put up a fight when it took so much effort to walk.

Inside, she sank into soft leather and thought,
This is embarrassing
, as Brian trotted to the other side.

Getting drunk at Heroes was becoming too much of a habit. This had happened before—a couple of years ago when she’d had dinner with Jasmine’s husband. She’d had too much wine then, too; that night she had been building courage to sleep with Jasmine’s husband. But what did she need courage for tonight?

Brian shifted into drive. “We’ll pick up your car tomorrow.”

There was that
tomorrow
word again. But she wasn’t going to argue. She’d let him take her home, then she’d catch a cab in the morning. And after that, she was never going to have another glass of wine. Ever.

As Brian twisted the car through the streets, Alexis wondered what had happened to their words? They’d had so many before, but now there was total silence between them. Only the low, soft bedroom voice of the radio DJ streamed through the car.

“Back to the Quiet Storm,” he crooned. “We’re going to continue with our celebration of the best love songs. Here’s Mr. Luther Vandross.”

Foul!

Anything by Luther wasn’t good right now. Especially not this song. When Alexis heard the first three chords of “Here and Now,” she wondered if Brian was going to change the station. When he didn’t, she wondered if she should, because surely they didn’t need to be listening to this.

But Brian just stared ahead, focused on the road and totally unfazed by the music. So she did the only thing she could—she settled back, closed her eyes, snuggled into the soft seat, and pretended that she wasn’t in a car with her ex-husband listening to the song that had played at their wedding—their first dance.

Then Luther passed the baton to Kem. And Kem to Robin Thicke.

Four more songs played before Alexis felt the car slow to a stop, and then there was just the gentle purr of the car’s engine before it shut off completely.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. “Thank—” she began to say. But Brian was already out, on his way to opening her door.

The cool air and the lover’s concert that had played in the car had sobered her.

“Thank you for dinner,” she said, when he took her hand and helped her from the low seat. Then she wondered, what was the proper good-night etiquette with an ex? Did you shake hands? Give a peck on the cheek? Or do one of those Sunday church hugs where you made sure your pelvis was two feet away from his?

Since she wasn’t sure, she just turned toward her home. But she could hear Brian’s footsteps on the asphalt behind her, following.

As she inserted her key, he stood so close that his heat negated the cool of the November night. She pushed her door open, then turned around. “Well . . .” she said, hoping that was enough of a good-bye.

“Well,” he repeated. “Can I come in?”

She sighed, shook her head.

“Come on, I’ve never seen your place.” He held up his hands. “Just a little tour. Quick in and out.”

She had so many reasons to tell him no, but instead she said yes, then led him through the two-thousand-square-foot, two-level, two-bedroom town home as if she was just his tour guide.

“This is nice,” Brian said after he trotted down the steps behind her. He sat on the couch and unbuttoned his jacket. “It’s strange that I’ve never been here before.”

“What’s strange about that?” she asked, still standing. She looked down at him sitting on her couch. Didn’t he remember his promise—a quick in and out?

“’Cause we were . . .” He pointed back and forth between them. “We are friends, right?”

Now she sat on the other end of her eight-foot-long sofa. As far away from him as she could get. “Yeah, but not the kind who get together like this.”

He spread his arms wide along the back of the couch,
seemingly so comfortable in her space. He did that thing with his eyes again . . . looked right through her. Made her twist and turn and try to get away from his gaze.

“Well, after tonight,” he said, leaning toward her, “I hope you’ll invite me over again.”

She leaned deeper into the cushions, giving herself more space since he’d moved closer.

He asked, “Aren’t you going to offer a friend a drink?”

What she wanted to do was pull him up and push him out the door. Tell him good night and good luck. But she stood and strolled, as if having him here—with his heat and his lips and his eyes—was no big deal.

His brows rose when she handed him a bottle. “Just water?” She shrugged, and he said, “I was hoping for something a little more . . . adult.”

“Well, water is all I got. So if you want anything else, you need to do what Jesus did when they gave Him water.”

Brian laughed as he took a swig.

Still standing, she spread her arms wide and yawned. “Oh, my goodness.” She put her hand over her mouth. “Excuse me. I guess I’m just tired.”

Her hint hit its target.

Brian said, “I guess I need to get going.” Then, suddenly somber, he added, “Thank you, Alex, really, for celebrating with me tonight.”

His tone made her stop pretending. Made her sidle onto the couch next to him.

He continued, “It meant a lot that you were there.” He paused, as if he’d gone deep into his own thoughts, memories. “You were with me from the beginning,” he said softly. “And now you’re here . . . at the end.” A pause before, “I know I hurt you, and I’ll never be able to tell you how—”