The Science of Loving (25 page)

“Everyone needs to chill the fuck out.”
So much for ice water
—I think this was the first time I’d ever heard Tom drop the F-bomb. Usually, I’m the only profane stooge.

“Fine, I’m outta here. Because if I hear one more ‘I’ll talk to him,’ I’m gonna smash someone’s face.” I stormed out of the conference room, the door ricocheting loudly.
Fuck! Now I’d have to patch the fucking wall. Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!

Mel looked ready to duck and cover as I slammed my way out of the building, and that pissed me off even more. I knew I'd have to make it up to her tomorrow with some flowers, or chocolate, something. Changing course, I headed for the gym, feeling a powerful need to pound something.

It must’ve shown in my expression, because everyone gave me a wide berth—well, wider than normal—as I wove my way past various exercise machines to the treadmills facing a wall of flat-screen TVs in the back. They were state of the art, programmed with a variety of virtual routes. You want to run in the mountains, choose the Yosemite program. You could run through jungles or deserts, or on the moon; even mars.

Choosing the most aggressive program, I started off, setting a punishing pace. I pounded up and down the virtual hills with trance music pouring from my earbuds, my feet angrily slapping the rubber belt. After ten minutes I was sweating profusely, another five, my second wind kicked in, and my breathing evened out; my shoulders loosened and my fists unclenched. My mind emptied as the beat of my feet controlled my breaths: one, two, three inhale… one, two, three exhale… inhale… exhale…

Daddy smiled when I stumble out in a sleepy fog, obviously finding as much humor in my bed-head as Mat did, but I forgave him since coffee accompanied his morning kiss. I’d spent the night vacillating between my parents’ impending divorce, and trying to define my—
could it be called a relationship
—with Mat. Which in turn, led to thoughts of doors, power tools and some frankly perverted possibilities—my inner skank had serious issues.

“Mmmmm… I could get use to this.” Sighing, I savored the first sweet, creamy sip. Both of us took our coffee extra sweet, so he was to blame for my addiction to the white death. “Morning, Daddy.”

“Morning, baby girl,” he said, joining me on the sofa for the morning news, setting two plates of scrambled eggs on the coffee table. He looked better today. Lighter. Perhaps he’d been afraid I’d freak out over the divorce, and honestly, not so long ago that would’ve been distinct possibility.

“I have to go into the lab for a few hours this morning, but I can leave early if you want some help getting your stuff.” I said, guilt weighing heavily on me. I knew our talk had sparked his anger, a talk I now regretted. Maybe if I hadn’t said anything, they’d still be okay.

“I’d like that. I’m just not sure where we’re going to put it all.” He looked around. “My clothes won’t be a problem; it’s the garage I’m worried about. I need to pack it all up before your mother does something spiteful.”

“How about renting a storage unit? If you can arrange that, I’ll find a few undergrads to lend us a hand with the heavier stuff.” I finished my last bite of eggs with the day looking a bit brighter now that we had a plan.

Daddy shooed me away when I started gathering our plates, saying he needed to earn his keep while I brought home the bacon, so I figured if I left now, I could get the most pressing items on my to-do list finished before the intrusion of the regular day’s business. Without vendors and service technicians interrupting me, and my colleagues dropping in to gossip, I could get a lot accomplished. And the phone calls—don’t get me started—my voice-mail and I had a love-hate relationship. I loved that I could screen my calls; I hated that I had to wade through a bunch of useless messages because one of them might be important. At least my email came with spam filters.

When Les and Steve walked in, I was reviewing the latest draft of a white paper Bob was having kittens over—
as if I've ever missed a deadline. Sheesh—
and they must’ve stopped at the coffee cart downstairs because they brought goodies.
For me? Guys, you shouldn’t have. God, it was good having minions.
“Hey guys.”

“You’re in early,” Steve observed, handing me a coffee with just the right amount of froth.

“Yeah, I’m getting a jump on the day since I need to leave early.”

“Leaving early wouldn’t have anything to do with a sexy tatted up bald guy would it?”

“If only…”

“Oh no, please don’t tell me it was a camping fail. I haven’t had fantasies this good in years. Don’t ruin it by revealing underneath that bad boy exterior is an arachnophobic Nancy-boy.” Only Les could tell someone she was fantasizing about their honey and get away with it.

“No, camping was great.”

“Great huh, so he’s everything advertised?” Les fanned herself, making swoony eyes.

“And more.” I nodded, knowing my blush was like blood in the water. “We’re going out to dinner on Wednesday.”

“Hah… I knew it.”

“Okay, now for the bad news before it hits the grapevine: My folks are getting a divorce.” Going by their lack of surprise, the grapevine was working faster than I’d anticipated. God, it wasn’t that juicy.

“So it’s true?” Steve asked, looking shocked.
What were people saying?

“Well, that depends on what you’ve heard.” They exchanged glances. “Come on, it can’t be that bad, couples get divorced every day. Besides, better to hear it from my loyal peons than be caught off guard.”

Les nodded. “Okay boss, brace yourself… Word has it—well, has had it for quite some time actually—that Stephanie, aka Satan, has a thing for younger men. And indulges in said thing regularly at a very exclusive hotel… I mean spa. And apparently, on Friday the shit hit the proverbial fan when Mr. Martin’s, aka your dad’s, representative crashed her treatment—a massage I’m told, of a somewhat dubious nature—to serve her divorce papers.” Oh, God. A scandal like that would have tongues wagging for years to come.

Steve pulled me into an awkward embrace. “It gets worse.”
Worse? How could this possibly get any worse?

Les took a fortifying breath. “Sweetie, Bob Tate was the one who served the papers.” Oh, no… no… no… Why would Daddy involve him? Well, if he thought Mom’s spa dates weren’t quite so innocent, I guess Bob made the perfect witness. He was a neutral acquaintance with a prestigious reputation, connected to all parties involved. How would I ever face him after this?

“Oh, God… I’m going to be sick.” I bolted around my desk, barely making it to the trashcan.

“It’s going to be okay.” Steve kept repeating, patting me on the back while I lost my breakfast.
Oh God what time was it? I had to get out of here before Bob arrived
.

“I can’t stay here.”

I grabbed my purse and fled. Praying I didn't run into anyone as I bypassed the elevator and raced down the stairs. It was a miracle I didn’t break my neck; although, that was looking awfully attractive right now. My GT growled reassuringly, and when I glanced in the rear-view mirror, Bob was standing next to his car, watching me drive away.

The last thing I needed was to wreck my car, because I really couldn’t handle anymore shit right now. So I pulled when I couldn't stop crying and the air seemed suddenly unsubstantial. There was a vice in my chest that kept tightening, and my heart was trying to pound its way out. I began to gasp as cold rushed over my skin. My fingers numbed and the world started to spin.

“Hey, Angie.”

“Mat?” I didn't know how my cell ended up at my ear.

“Baby what’s wrong? Where are you?” I must sound pretty bad a detached part of me noted.

“I’m in the UTC parking lot. Oh, God, I can’t breathe.”

“Are you injured?”

Am I injured?
Things were getting foggy and black spots danced in front of me. “No.”

“Okay, baby. I’m on my way, stay with me. Where at UTC are you?”

“Ummm… Behind Nordstrom's I think. There’s no air.”

“No, honey, there’s too much air. You’re hyperventilating. You need to take slow breaths. Do you have a bag you can breathe into?”

“You sound really far away.” I started floating; the roaring in my ears drowning out a voice yelling my name.

A buzzing against my arm had me punching the cool down button. I was surprised to see I'd been running for over two hours. Since I still wasn’t ready to deal with Max in any kind of sane fashion, I debated letting the call go to voice-mail until I discovered Angie was on the other end.

“Hey, Angie.”

“Mat?” She sounded odd, and a knot started twisting in my gut.

“Baby what’s wrong? Where are you?”
Oh, God, let her be okay, not bleeding on the side of the road somewhere.

“I’m in the UTC parking lot… Oh God, I can’t breathe.” Already moving, I grabbed my gear not bothering to change, asking questions as I raced to my car.

“Are you injured?”

“No.”
Thank God…

“Okay, baby. I’m on my way, stay with me. Where at UTC are you?”

“Behind Nordstrom's I think. There’s no air.” She was having a panic attack.

“No honey, there’s too much air. You’re hyperventilating. You need to take slow breaths. Do you have a bag you can breathe into?”

“You sound really far away.” Shit, she was passing out.

“Angie? Angie! Shit!”

I raced up I-5, praying the traffic gods would keep the dumbasses and the highway patrol far from me. Ten minutes later, I was circling the mall’s parking lot, spotting Angie’s hotrod near the back right where she said.

“Angie?” She was slumped against the door with her eyes closed and mouth half open. I yanked on the door handle. Fuck! It was locked. I really didn't want to smash in one of her windows. I rapped a knuckle on the glass next to her head. “Angie, baby wake up.” She stirred a bit. “Angie, honey, you need to unlock the door.” Gazing out with unfocused eyes, her mouth moved and I saw my name on her lips. “Yeah baby, it’s Mat. Honey, please unlock the door.”

Her eyes closed and her head lolled to the side—
Shit—
then her hand fumbled at the door—
come on baby, that’s it. Just pull up the little knob—
at last. Pulling the door open, I dragged her into my arms, my ass hitting the asphalt between our two vehicles.

“Hey, sweetness.” I took in her red, tear-streaked face, snot dripping from her nose. A sob broke loose. “Sshhh… I got you.”

Feeling powerless, I sat on the pavement rocking her in my lap while she cried, until all she had left were shuddering hiccups; the whole time wondering whose ass I was kicking tonight. When she finally stirred, I one armed my shirt over my head and used it to wipe her face. She started squirming. I think she’d just realized she was getting us both snotty.

“Be still. Blow.” I held my shirt to her nose and waited, letting her see that I’d wait all day if necessary. When she gave a half-hearted attempt that did a whole lot of nothing, I snorted, giving her a disapproving look. “You can do better than that.” Then she did with obvious embarrassment.

“You know, I was at the gym when you called.” I said, casually. “And I just wiped sweat all over your face.” Priceless. Her shocked expression was priceless. Being an only child, I doubt she'd ever been subjected to this sort of gross bodily humor.

“Are you telling me this so I won’t feel bad about covering you in mucus?”

“Mucus? Oh, you mean snot. No, I plan on using that later to guilt perverse sex acts out of you for my pleasure and entertainment. Okay babe, up we go.” Uncoiling, I pulled her up with me, and settled us comfortably in the back seat of my Lexus, ready for some answers. “Spill.”

“My folks are getting a divorce, and it seems I was the only one unaware that my mom’s a cougar. Can you believe my dad asked my boss to serve the divorce papers? Which he did, catching my mom in
flagrante delicto
at the spa.” It all came out in a rush. Something I noticed she did when she had to discuss things she found unpleasant.

She gaped, abruptly silent. Maybe it was my lack of surprise that gave me away. “No way, you just met her. How could you possibly know?” She crossed her arms and flung herself back with a huff. “This is so not fair.” If this weren’t so fucked up, her outrage would’ve been adorable.