"
Suzanne handed him a steaming mug. "I just don't get it," she said.
"How can anything that feels that right be wrong?"
"I don't know," Oliver said. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-seven."
"I'm thirty-six."
"Perfect," Suzanne said. Oliver sipped his tea. The room was
comfortable--clean and furnished simply.
"Leaving isn't going to get any easier," he said, a few minutes later.
Suzanne got to her feet quickly. "I know." Oliver took another swallow
of tea and put his mug down slowly. He stood. Suzanne came into his
arms, tucking her head against his shoulder. He buried his face in her
hair, breathed deeply, and squeezed her. Her hair smelled of mint.
"Don't worry," she said. "I'll do whatever you want." He squeezed her
again in response and left, not trusting himself to look back.
He couldn't go home. He drove into the city and had a Guinness at
Deweys. He called Jennifer and said that he needed strong drink after
the non-alcoholic Christmas party and that he'd be back soon with a
pizza.
Richard came in, and Oliver ordered another pint. "What's your
definition of home?" Oliver asked him.
"Home is where you're most yourself," Richard said without hesitating.
Pages:
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252