Isn't She Lovely (Redemption 0.5)(47)

And call me superficial, but I even like the whole modern high-rise scene that’s waiting for me.

Price Holdings fits me. Just like Olivia fit me.

Just like Stephanie, with her cargos and scowls, doesn’t.

Case in point: this morning when we exchanged a few curt words over coffee, I saw that she has some little skeleton decals on her nails. Skeletons.

Is it any wonder I’ve been hiding out at my father’s office? Why the hell didn’t I do what I’ve done every other summer and intern there officially, instead of getting some wild hair up my ass to take a film class?

Then I exit the elevator into the Price Holdings lobby and see him.

And I remember exactly why I’ve been avoiding the office.

“Ethan! Hold on a second!”

I roll my shoulders and debate exiting the lobby like I haven’t heard him. But there are enough eyes on us to make that obvious, and I must have just enough of my mother in me to care what people think.

So instead I turn and face the man who’s boning my mother.

But I don’t smile at him the way I would have a couple of months ago. At one time he was like a second father. Now he’s only the man who’s trying to replace my father.

“Mike.”

He extends a hand, giving it the old man-to-man pump. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, son. Your dad tells me you’ve been busy with a summer school class?”

“Just sort of a fun elective course,” I hear myself mutter. I hate myself for not having the balls to tell him that I’ve been trying to avoid him. And his son.

But then, perhaps the fact that I’m doing just that is the proof that I don’t have balls.

“And a new girlfriend, I hear,” he says, keeping his voice low, as though we’re co-conspirators. I want to punch him.

“How’s Michael?” I ask instead.

Mike senior blinks, a little surprised that I’d be asking about his only son. Not so long ago, he’d probably have been asking me how Michael was. Back when Michael and I were inseparable.

Mike senior has to have noticed that I’m not over there every other day anymore, but he doesn’t say anything about it. I wonder if Michael’s fessed up about banging Olivia.

“He’s good, he’s good,” Mike says, shifting his briefcase to his other hand. “Been interning over at my accountant’s firm, actually. Thought it would be good for him to get some hands-on experience with managing books.”

Tell him you saw him with Mom, a voice inside me prods. Tell him you don’t care that he and Dad are business partners, that he should stay the hell away from your family. Instead I just give an awkward little nod, as though I give a flying f*ck what my former best friend is up to these days. “Well, I’ve gotta get going.”

“Sure, sure. You’ll want to beat the worst of rush hour. See you around, son.”

Don’t call me son. “Sure. See you around.”

For about five seconds after walking away from Mike, I debate stopping by my parents’ house to confront my mother. Rip off the Band-Aid and all that, because the shock of realizing Mom’s having an affair is wearing off and now it’s just getting … sad.

But I keep thinking about how stressed she’s been with this whole Hamptons party next weekend. It’s pretty much the biggest thing she takes on all year, and it has professional and personal ramifications. And the Hamptons weekend is also important to my dad. At the very least, I owe it to him to wait until it’s all over before I risk blowing up our family.

Plus, selfishly, I’d rather do it when I can escape back to school full time. Where I can lose myself in the jam-packed fall semester ahead and, I hope, a bevy of girls who have been look-but-don’t-touch the past three years because of Olivia. Now I’ll be able to touch if I want to.

I head home. Stephanie will be there, but then that’s my own fault, isn’t it? My brilliant idea to bring a big-boobed roommate into my home.

Of course, I didn’t know then that she’d be a fantastic kisser. Or that under all that ill humor there’s a funny, sweet side. Didn’t know that I’d feel like she knows me better after three weeks than Olivia did after a decade.

I owe her an apology. For my moods, for the kiss … for letting her think that day in the library that I wouldn’t—couldn’t—be attracted to her.

Because while I still don’t think a girl like her and a guy like me are headed to the altar or anything, the attraction is definitely there. And maybe it’s time we do something about it.

I let myself into the apartment, in the best mood I’ve been in for days, only to stop short at the sight in my living room: Stephanie’s douche bag of a boyfriend is on my f*cking couch, and his hand is on Stephanie’s leg. They both jerk when they see me, and I don’t have to be Einstein to know I’ve interrupted something.

I don’t say a word as I set my bag down, but my eyes never leave Stephanie’s. She looks guilty at first, but after studying my expression, the guilt is replaced by something that looks like stubbornness.

“What’s up, man?” I say casually, tearing my eyes away from Stephanie and glancing at David.

“Elliot,” he says, giving a little nod.

I don’t bother to hide my eye roll as I grab a beer from the fridge. The fake messing up of the opponent’s name is the oldest trick in the male handbook.