Page 21 of I Love You, I Hate You
@Lukethebarnyardcat
I think everyone does, yeah. But I’m pretty good about reaching out to my friends when I think I need some support, you know?
@Noraephronwasagenius
I need to get better about that.
@Lukethebarnyardcat
For the record, I’ll always be here to listen
I’m sorry you’re lonely, but I promise, you’re not alone
Chapter Eight
Olivia was singing softly to herself in the backseat when Owen killed the engine. He gave himself a second to check his phone, but then Olivia was unbuckling herself and squirming out of her seat. He hefted the still-sleeping Lily against his shoulder and bumped the door closed with his hip.
Ashley, with her perfectly highlighted blonde hair, burst from the door to gather Olivia into her arms. “How was the park?” she asked. Owen walked across the cobblestone-paved drive and up the steps to the Cape Cod style mansion his father had purchased for his third-time’s-a-charm wife several years ago.
“We met Owen’s friend!” Olivia announced proudly.
“He does have some of those,” Ashley agreed. “What’s on your face? Paint?”
“Snow cone,” Owen admitted. “Tried to clean them off but was only moderately successful.”
Ashley shrugged. “We’ll just toss ’em in the lake before dinner. How long has Lily been out?”
“Pretty much since we left the park. Half hour, I’d say?”
“Then she’ll probably sleep a bit longer. Want to put her to bed and meet us on the patio?”
“Deal,” Owen agreed, already climbing the sweeping staircase that led up from the foyer. Aside from his own mother, Ashley was oddly enough his favorite of his father’s wives. Wife #2 had been fresh from her own divorce and desperate for a Brady Bunch existence, only with housekeepers and a vaguely garish home on the other side of Lake Minnetonka from this one. She brought her own three kids with her, which meant four teenagers living under one roof, three of them resentful of Charles Pohl for breaking up their parents’ marriage and one of them who was just plain resentful of Charles Pohl, period. Judith had spent four miserable years trying to play peacemaker between the kids and Charles, and everyone—especially Judith—had been relieved when Charles decided to throw in the towel.
But when Owen was in his first year of law school, he flew home for Thanksgiving to find Ashley Kaminski beaming at him from his father’s side, as if were totally normal for a twenty-four-year-old woman to be dating a fifty-one-year-old man. Owen had been pissed at first, mostly at his father for being a goddamn parody of a rich man having a midlife crisis. He and Ashley hadn’t been close in high school, but they knew each other well enough, and Owen was sickened that his dad would take advantage of someone so goddamnnice.
He still thought Ashley could do better than his dad, but this was now Charles’ second-longest relationship after his marriage to Owen’s mother, so something about them worked. For his own sanity, Owen told himself it was Ashley’s generous nature and not anything else, and he generally tried to think of her as a fun stepsister, rather than his actual, legal stepmother.
He settled Lily into her race-car bed without her making so much as a peep, and by the time he made it to the patio Olivia was already in her swimsuit, wading out into the water. Patio, of course, was insufficient to describe the sweeping expanse of stone that spread out from a set of French doors just off the kitchen. Lounge chairs dotted the space and a pergola with Pinterest-ready light bulbs woven through the lattice covered the far corner. Everything about the entire house said “we have enough money to hire interior decorators,” but Owen knew Ashley was responsible for most of it. She had a good eye for color and design and was almost always elbow deep in some sort of minor remodeling project even though the house was practically brand new.
Immaculately maintained grass covered the stretch of land between the patio and the beach, and Ashley was standing barefoot in the grass, watching Olivia.
“Is Lily still out?” Ashley asked. She had two beer bottles dangling from her fingertips and held one out to him.
“Like a rock.” He accepted the beer from her and twisted the top off. “Where’s the old man today?”
Ashley shot him a warning look because despite Owen’s opinion of his father—spoiled, lazy, rich jerk—Ashley seemed to genuinely like him. She had to, seeing as she was married to him, but still, Owen couldn’t resist a few digs here and there. “Golfing and no, I don’t want to hear you bitch about it. He sees the girls plenty, and he’s taking them both out on the boat all day tomorrow.”
Owen shrugged. Down at the lake Olivia was busy with a project that mostly seemed to entail filling up buckets of water, hauling them to the small, sandy beach, and pouring that water intodifferentbuckets. A beat of silence passed and Ashley spoke again. “Olivia was very impressed by your friend today. Apparently, she nowmusthave jeans with holes in the knees, or else she’ll simplydie, so thanks for that. I was hoping to steer her towards preppy chic, but I guess I have to get ready for the inevitable rebellion from her mother’s wishes.”
Owen gestured to Ashley’s own jeans with several of their own rips. “That’s not entirely her fault, you know.”
“Yeah, but up until now I had managed to convince her that these were jeans for momsonly, and your friend went and ruined that lie.”
“Shoulda come up with a better lie, then,” he teased, and she shook her head.
“Olivia also seems to think your friend’s name was Victoria, but that is impossible because the only Victoria you’ve ever mentioned is practically a super villain,” she said pointedly.
Owen sipped his beer to buy himself time. “No, it was . . . her.”