“I don’t know…. Where would I go?”
“Um…literally anywhere—” She gives me a big, warm smile that reminds me of Lainey.
“True,” I say. “But in a way, that makes the idea of moving even more overwhelming.”
“I get that,” she says. “And I know your roots are in Atlanta. But if the tree is dying—” She makes a quick slashing motion that gives me a sense of what she must be like on a tennis court. “Maybe it’s time to cut it down.”
I nod, my stomach fluttering again.
“So. Where can you see yourself living? New York City?”
I shake my head and say, “No. Not another big city.”
She nods. “What about the West Coast?”
“Too far.”
“Too far from what?”
I smile. “Good point.”
“Have you spent any time in California?”
“A little. I went to a wedding in Napa once.” I hesitate, then say, “And Tyson and I went to Lainey’s hometown, Encinitas. We stayed at her mother’s house at the beach.”
Olivia nods, then quickly looks down, rearranging the napkin on her lap.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have mentioned Lainey’s mother.”
“That’s okay,” she says, looking back up at me. “It is what it is.”
I nod and sigh. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“Is her mom still in California?”
I feel my shoulders tense, as I shake my head. “No. She died a few years ago.”
“Oh, shit. I didn’t know,” she says. “Poor Lainey.”
“Yeah,” I say. “They were very close. It was terrible…. But I probably shouldn’t be talking to you about that. I feel like it’s not my place to go there with Lainey’s life—”
“I understand,” she says.
“I mean, we can talk about your father—and your relationship with him—”
“Yes. I totally get the difference,” she says, nodding. “And you’re right.”
I smile, feeling relieved.
Olivia sighs, looking deep in thought, then points to my wine. “May I?”
“Of course. Help yourself.”
She picks up my glass, then takes a sip. “Hmm. That’s really good,” she says, putting the glass back down in front of me. “I may need to make an exception to my training rule.”
I smile, then push the glass to the middle of the table. “We can share this one.”
Olivia takes another sip before she says, “I’ve been thinking about my father a lot lately. I guess that’s no surprise, is it?”
“Not at all.” I shake my head, waiting for her to continue.
“It’s so messed up. What he did. All those lies. My God…it’s astonishing that someone could lie for that long about something so big—”
“I know. But maybe he just felt trapped,” I say, instantly regretting my words. I quickly backpedal. “Not trapped by your mother and you and Ashley. But by the whole situation. Trapped by the lies.”
“I knew what you meant,” she says. “But I find myself wondering who he truly loved. I know it’s possible to love two people—but what was in his heart? I’d love to ask him.”
I nod as she continues. “A big part of me hopes it’s my mother, of course, because I know she’s so in love with him. But that’s not the real reason—”
“What’s the real reason?” I ask, threading the needle, doing my best to avoid mention of Lainey’s mother.
“Because if he wasn’t in love with my mother—that meant he stayed in a relationship that he didn’t want to be in. And as bad as the lies are, there’s nothing worse than living an inauthentic life.”
I nod, riveted. She makes it all sound so simple—and maybe it is—but in this moment, her statement also feels profound.
“I don’t think my dad is happy,” she continues. “In his marriage or his job. I think he’s settled his whole life. He should have been a musician. He used to be in a band—he played the guitar and has a really cool singing voice, a raspy baritone.”
“Your voice is raspy, too,” I say.
