Page 67 of I Would Beg For You
A watery smile touches my lips, and I sit up in the middle of my bed.
“Can I come in?” he asks.
“Yes. Please.” My voice is hoarse, my throat raw.
He comes in, places the mug in my hands, then sits down next to me.
I peer at the mug and choke a laugh. He made my favorite, fishing out the hearts and stars marshmallows from a box of Lucky Charms cereal and adding them on top of the milky froth. I take a sip, letting the comfort wash away the bitterness in my mouth which refuses to leave. Should’ve used more sugar, but I can’t say this. Not when he went to all this effort.
“I’m sorry Thad hurt you,” he says.
“I’m sorry I said what I did about Mom.”
He sighs. “What brought this on, Naomi? You never talk about her.”
You’re wrong, I want to tell him. He’s the one who doesn’t like bringing her up in any talk. But I have to answer with something—good thing I went through all the possible openings and lines I could think of overnight.
“She was twenty-three when she had me,” I start. “I’m the same age, and…I dunno. She died so young.”
“That’s true.” He sighs. “I always thought you’d find her absence most intolerable during your teenage years. I never pondered what it’d be like for you when you’d be a woman and the same age as her for her milestones.”
“You thought I’d also get married at eighteen?” Might as well throw all I had into the pot.
“God, no! But if you’d been in love…”
I sneak in a deep breath. This is my opportunity to ask him about my mom.
“Eighteen is a bit young to get married, don’t you think?”
He laughs. “Not when you’re in love.”
“Like you and Mom?”
He sighs. “It was love at first sight. I know she was young, but our hearts recognized each other, you know what I mean?”
I nod softly. “Soulmates?”
“Yes.”
Silence settles between us. It still rankles that he slept with her when she was still underage. And I can’t come out and ask my father if he waited for his wedding night to have sex with my mother.
So here I am, at a dead end once again.
I drink some more hot chocolate. The bitterness won’t go away. Too much cocoa powder and not enough sugar. He’s lost his touch.
“I know all this has been taxing on you. Do you need to take a break? Go away for a while? Paris is beautiful this time of year.”
I smile, but it feels weird on my face. Guess I’m not in the mood to smile. I shrug instead. I don’t want to be away from here. Valentino is next door. We can meet in Tribeca if we plan things carefully.
“I’m okay,” I mumble.
I am, but I’m also suddenly so tired. It’s like everything comes crashing down on me.
“I want to sleep,” I hear myself mutter.
“Of course, darling.”
I can feel his hand—why is it so cold?—taking the mug from my grasp. My head is feeling woozy, and before I know it, I’m falling on my side onto the bed, darkness claiming me.
