Love's Awakening Read Online Free

lip, selected all the text and deleted it. He continued typing.
    Lori was right. I am in love with you. Goddamned pathetic, I know. Happened the first time we met. You smiled, a slightly lopsided grin, one end up more than the other, and held your hand out. “Oliver,” you said, your voice soft and delicate and eager, “I’m so happy to meet you at last.”
    I scrambled to my feet and shook your hand. Here I was, trying to come to grips with this sudden young woman who was engaged to my father. I had pictured someone my dad’s age. Not this. Not you. You smiled some more, and I felt instantly sorry for you. I could warn you about what Dad was like in a relationship, but you probably wouldn’t believe me. And Dad would be furious. He lived in denial.
    You smiled your smile many times that night. Lucky Dad.
    Whatever happens, you can do so much better than him. (And better than me, too.)
    Oliver re-read his words, deleted them and got another beer.

Chapter Three
    In the morning, Celia packed for freedom. She could not wait for her and Caleb to escape the claustrophobia of the hospital. People hovered as if they expected her to slit her stomach in half and smear the floor with her entrails. Plus her breasts throbbed. The pain was persistent, ever-present. Her son, this child who burst from her, was greedy. He needed to go home.
    Oliver showed up, and Celia stifled a grimace. Great. As if Janet, Richard, Shirley and Mom crowding the room aren’t enough.
    Oliver chatted with his grandparents before making his way over to Celia.
    “On your way out?” Oliver asked her. He smelled faintly of beer, and his hair didn’t look much better than it had yesterday. His face was pinched, and lines of exhaustion were etched under his eyes—which were green today. Made sense; his shirt was green.
    “Going home,” Celia said.
    Oliver nodded. “Well.” He proffered a gift certificate to Chili’s. “Fifty dollars. I figured you wouldn’t feel like cooking for a while.”
    Celia blinked. What a miracle. Yesterday, her stepson touched her, and today he was giving her an actual gift. Too bad it had taken David’s accident for this to happen.
    To convey the extent of her gratitude, Celia lightly touched her fingers to Oliver’s elbow. “Thank you.”
    “Like I said,” he mumbled. “You probably wouldn’t feel like cooking.”
    “That’s…this is great. Thank you. How are you coping with the cast?”
    “It’s a cast. It’s fine. Anyway, call me whenever if you need me to bring food over from Chili’s.” Azizi, where Oliver bartended, was next door to Chili’s.
    Celia wanted this newfound rapport to continue. “Hey, do you want to come tonight for dinner?”
    Oliver squinted. Ran his hand over his cheek. “I have class.”
    He was lying, but Celia said nothing. She could remind Oliver about the lunch and coffee dates they had made when they first met. Dates to get to know each other before Celia became Oliver’s stepmother. Dates that Oliver canceled on. Each and every one, until Celia stopped asking.
    Now was not the time to bring up old history.
    “When can you come over for dinner?” Celia asked. “Or lunch or something?”
    “I’ll let you know.”
    Great. Same old. Celia wondered what her stepson was like in his natural element, with friends. Probably funny and witty.
    Oliver flicked hair out of his eyes. “Look, I’ll call. We’ll have dinner sometime.”
    Celia nodded, stifling her frustration. She and her stepson would never be close. Would never have that dinner. “Sure. Looking forward to it.”
    *****
    The throbbing in Celia’s breasts was unceasing. She had never hated milk more. Moo. Moo.
    Traffic was good for the drive from Inova Fairfax to the townhouse on Rundale Court. Celia looked at grass beginning to turn green with the promise of spring. At boring old suburbia. Strip malls. Seven-Elevens. Starbucks. Couples with dogs. With children. She could be anywhere. She could be in, say, Boston.