The Pretty One: A Novel About Sisters (31 page)

“Pia,” he said. He kissed her hello on both cheeks. He smelled faintly of strawberry jam. He was wearing cargo pants and a blue T-shirt. On second glance, his face seemed more angular and drawn than Olympia remembered and, at the same time, exactly the same. And how had she never connected Lola’s freckles to his? Never mind his reddish brown hair. Had that ninth-grade unit on Gregor Mendel been all for naught? “Do you want to come in?” she said.

“Thanks,” he said, stepping past her and into her apartment. He looked from one end of the living room to the other. “It looks exactly like I remember it—except for the plastic toys.” He laughed cautiously.

“No getting around them, I’m afraid,” said Olympia with a quick smile. She took a seat on the sofa. And then, so did he. There was silence. “So!” said Olympia, trying to upend the awkwardness.

“So,” Patrick repeated. “I can’t believe—”

“I had no idea myself,” said Olympia, lest he think this was some elaborate ploy.

“You didn’t?”

“No, not until five minutes ago, when Gus told me. You told me you’d gotten a—vasectomy!”

Looking uncomfortable, Patrick stared into his lap. “I had it reversed.”

“Reversed?! When? Why?”

“Around the time we broke things off. I guess I just didn’t
like the idea of having others determine my future. Honestly, it wasn’t that thought-through. I mean, I’m not even entirely sure myself why I did it. Obviously, my marriage wasn’t in very good shape at that point.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?”

“We weren’t really in regular touch anymore.”

Olympia took a deep breath, feeling a sudden need to confess herself. “After we broke up, I felt so upset and alone—”

“I know, I’m sorry,” said Patrick, closing his eyes and sighing. “I’m sorry for that whole period.”

“It’s okay, it’s a long time ago now. I just want you to understand that when I got pregnant, the idea was to do it on my own. At least, that was the plan. To be honest, at that point, I’d had enough of men!” She laughed nervously, worried he’d judge her for what she was about to say. “Which is why I went to a—sperm bank. Maybe that sounds crazy.”

“A little crazy but maybe not that crazy.” Patrick smiled sheepishly back.

“So, until just now, I’d assumed that Lola’s father was the donor I used. Now I want my money back!” Olympia laughed again.

“So, it must have happened that one time after we broke up—”

“I guess.”

Patrick shook his head as if in disbelief. Then he moved closer, took Olympia’s hand and laced his fingers through it. “Pia,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I’ve thought about you so many times.”

“I think about you every day,” said Olympia, feeling herself melting in his gaze. But another impulse pulled her away. Until just then, she hadn’t realized how angry she still was. “I also think
about the incredible pain our relationship caused me,” she told him. “You shouldn’t have let me fall in love with you. It wasn’t fair.” Suddenly enraged—even if the whole thing had been fifty percent her fault—she yanked her hand out of his grip.

“You’re right,” he said. “It wasn’t fair to anyone. I led myself on too.”

“But I was the one who ended up alone.”

“Not quite.”

“What do you mean?”

Patrick let the silence gather between them before he spoke again: “I sent you an email this past winter. You never answered.”

“I didn’t answer because I was scared of getting sucked back in.”

“Well, I wanted to tell you that Camille left me.”

At this latest piece of shocking news, Olympia felt her heart quiver with guilt and glee entwined. “And why did she leave you?” she dared to ask.

“She told me she didn’t love me anymore. Also, I wasn’t exactly a model husband.” Again, Patrick hung his head.

“Neither of us were model anything. To be honest, I hate myself for what I did,” Olympia said forcefully.

“Well, you don’t need to anymore,” said Patrick. “She met a new guy—in physical therapy. Another paraplegic. His accident happened cliff diving in Hawaii. She said I didn’t understand her anymore. But apparently this guy does.”

“Did you tell her about”—Olympia could hardly get the word out—“us?”

“Not directly, but I think she knew.”

“So the demise of your marriage is my—our—fault?” Her lower lip quivering, Olympia probed Patrick’s face. It was her worst fear realized—that she’d ruined someone else’s life.

“It was my fault, not yours,” he said. “I tried to do the right thing. And I failed.” Choking up, Patrick looked away.

“But you did try,” said Olympia, taking momentary pity.

“Not as hard as I should have.”

In that moment, it also seemed clear to Olympia that they’d all suffered enough. “Well, you can be good to us instead,” she said, her voice splintering. “We need you, too. How’s that?”

“That’s fine,” he said, turning back to her and nodding up and down. “In fact, that’s great.”

“So, you want to be my daughter’s father?”

“Yes.”

“And you want me to introduce you as her father?”

“Yes.”

“I have to think about it,” she told him, feeling suddenly proprietary of Lola.

“Why?” he said. “Did you already tell her that her father was someone else?”

“I told her she had no father. And to be honest, she was fine with that answer. She’s a really happy kid—”

Just then Olympia heard the key turning in the lock, and Gus and Lola reappeared. By Olympia’s calculations, it had
not
been twenty minutes. But whatever. Lola’s face was smeared with chocolate. “I guess I’ll be going now,” said Gus, ducking out again.

“Thanks—bye,” Olympia said distractedly. Then she turned to her daughter. “Lola, come meet Mommy’s friend.”

Lola approached the sofa, where she curled up next to Olympia, her thumb in her mouth, and stared at Patrick in the open-ended way that adults are permitted only in theaters.

Patrick took a deep breath. Then he said, “Hi, Lola.”

“Who are you?” she asked, her thumb still in her mouth.

“I’m—Patrick,” he answered. “Does that thumb taste good?”

Lola didn’t answer, kept staring.

Figuring she’d find out eventually—so why not now?—Olympia announced, “This is your daddy, Lola.”

“I thought I don’t have a daddy,” she said, scowling.

“Yes, you do,” said Patrick. “I’m him.”

Lola squinted at him. “Where do you live?” she asked.

“In Manhattan, in the city,” he said. “But hopefully one day I’ll get to live even closer to you.”

Olympia’s stomach convulsed. She still loved Patrick, she realized—always would. But even with this shocking development, they’d never be a normal family. Too much poison had already been released into the ecosystem. “Not all kids live with their daddies,” Olympia told Lola gently.

“I was actually thinking of moving to Brooklyn,” offered Patrick.

“And why is that?” asked Olympia.

“I might be leaving my job,” he went on. “Or, rather, my job might be leaving me. Budget cuts. Unfortunately, in the new economy, youth centers are considered dispensable.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “So, what neighborhood were you thinking of?” As if she were just asking, just curious.

Patrick paused, shrugged. “Well, I guess I was thinking of somewhere around here.”

“Here?!” cried Olympia.

“Well, not right here—I mean, not to this actual apartment”—Patrick laughed quickly—“unless of course you wanted me here.” He looked into her eyes, then straight through her, it seemed to Olympia. (She thought she’d pass out.)

“Where will he sleep?” said Lola, turning to Olympia.

“I’m not sure yet,” said Olympia, wondering if, after all the terrible things she’d done, she even deserved this outcome.

“I don’t mind crashing on the sofa for a night or two,” offered Patrick. “That is, if I’m invited.”

“I guess he could sleep on our sofa this weekend and see how it goes,” said Olympia.

“That sounds like a great plan,” said Patrick. “And maybe Lola”—he gave a quick stroke to her blankie, Dinky-Do—“would let me take her out for an ice cream or to the playground or something.”

“Mommy, can I get an ice cream?” asked Lola.

“Of course,” said Olympia.

“Let me get my coat again,” said Lola, standing up.

“Sweetie! Wait!” Olympia laughed as she lightly pushed her daughter back down. “He means this coming weekend. It’s bedtime now.”

“I hate sleeping! It’s boring.”

“I know what you mean,” said Patrick. “I hate sleeping, too. But the fun part about going to bed is that you get to dream about anything you want to dream about. Let’s say you always wanted to be a lion tamer. Well, in your dream, you can be one.”

“I want to be the tooth fairy.”

“Well, you can be,” said Patrick. “Do you want me to show you how?”

“Okay.”

“You have to get in bed first.”

How Patrick managed to coax her daughter to sleep at eight fifteen that night, Olympia never found out. But twenty minutes later, she and he were back on the sofa, talking about the past and the future—and Lola.

“I can’t believe she’s my daughter,” said Patrick, beaming. “I only wish I’d known sooner. I feel like I’ve missed so much already.”

“Well, you would have missed even more if it hadn’t been for my sister Gus,” said Olympia, beaming back.

“I’ll say this—you have one scary lawyer sister.” Patrick laughed. “And I guess I owe my refrigerator, as well, for breaking down. I might not have gone to the supermarket that afternoon.” He paused, pressed his lips together, looked deep into Olympia’s eyes. “I owe you, as well.”

“You don’t have to say that,” said Olympia.

“She’s so beautiful,” he said. “Just like her mother.”

“Well, she looks just like
you!
—not me,” said Olympia, pretending she didn’t still love the occasional compliment with regard to her looks. “I don’t know how I never saw that until now.”

“You
really
never considered the possibility that she was mine? Not even for a second?” Patrick asked, squinting.

“No,” said Olympia. And she thought she was telling the truth. Though it was hard now to say for sure. Maybe there had been moments when she’d allowed herself to imagine that Lola was the product of passion, not science. But if and when those thoughts had popped into her head, she’d quickly banished them. Apparently, that action was no longer necessary.

It was only a few moments later that Olympia’s and Patrick’s lips found each other. Lips, of course, led elsewhere. Soon they were pulling each other’s clothes off and pressing their bodies together. Nearly five years of frustration lifted in fifteen minutes. At least, that was how it felt to Olympia—like elation and exhaustion all rolled into one.

Olympia woke the next morning to find Patrick in the kitchen making pancakes and eggs. Lola was already at the table, making primitive conversation with this stranger who claimed to be her father. Except, to an about-to-be four-year-old, maybe that was no odder than the appearance of a full moon. Lola was still in her elephant pajamas, Patrick in his cargo pants with bare feet. It was the most beautiful picture that Olympia had ever seen—more beautiful than anything she’d ever seen at the Met, the Prado, or the Hermitage. Not to mention Kunsthaus New York. “Good morning, Daddy-o,” she murmured to herself.

“What was that, Mommy?” he asked.

Olympia’s heart jumped. “Oh, nothing… Hello, precious.” She leaned over and kissed Lola on the cheek. (It was warm and rosy.) “How did you sleep?”

“I dreamed about being a lion tamer!” she exclaimed.

“Wow, really?!” she said.

“Would you like some pancakes?” asked Patrick.

“Thank you. I’d love some.”

“Daddy Patrick is taking me to the playground.”

“How nice. And will Daddy Patrick be spending the whole day in Brooklyn?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

There were no happy endings in life, Olympia thought. But even if everything went to hell from here, she’d remember that morning with the buttery smells and a hazy sun peeking through the old wooden windows of her Brooklyn floor-through as the happiest in her entire life.

postscript

C
AN WE EVER
truly forgive? Maybe not, but we can try—and keep trying until, over time, things get blurry enough that we’re no longer even sure what it was that we were so worked up about.

After ten weeks of counseling, and countless hashing-outs that never seemed to lead anywhere, Perri had grown, if not bored, then at least weary of trying to figure out what exactly had happened in the kids’ bathroom between her husband and her middle sister after she fled to Florida. Besides, her middle sister and her “baby daddy” were suddenly in love and engaged.

Perri suspected that Olympia had known all along that Patrick was Lola’s father and had simply been trying to create additional drama. Apparently, he was no longer married to the paraplegic? In classic Olympia fashion, she was incredibly secretive about how their reunion had even come about. And if Gus knew anything, she was keeping quiet, determined as she now was to dispel her reputation as the family gossip. In any case, it began to seem petty to be dwelling on what, in the bigger picture, turned out to be a nonevent.

As for Mike, from what Perri could tell, he too had grown weary of trying to figure out what exactly had happened—in her South Beach hotel room with Rasta Roy. Also, the new job kept him crazy-busy—so busy that, just as Perri had foreseen, she actually began to miss the months during which he’d been lying around, failing to buy milk, and turning his kids into screen-time zombies.

Bob and Carol were a different story. Carol vowed never to forgive her husband for his postengagement (if premarital) sin of fathering a child with Shirley Yu. But she also had a singular talent for blocking out any kind of negative news. After her cast came off, she never mentioned the streetlamp accident again. As for the matter of her newly discovered stepdaughter, the tacit agreement was as follows: Bob wasn’t allowed to publicly acknowledge that Jennifer Yu was his daughter. In return, Carol was happy to host Jennifer and her daughter at all family functions—so long as she could pretend the woman was an old family friend. It was ridiculous, of course. But somehow, it worked.