Bend Down

“I don’t know Natalie Brooks,” I said.

“You met her at the foundation dinner.”

“I met about eighty people at the foundation dinner. It was a long evening.”

“Her father is a friend of mine.”

“Then you should have dinner with her.”

My father went silent.

Once, that silence had made me frantic. I had filled it with apologies before I knew what I had done wrong.

I was older now.

Only by a few years, admittedly, but I had made an effort.

“Victor will pick you up at five,” he said.

“I can get there myself.”

“Julian.”

“I said I can get there myself.”

He hung up.

I sat with the phone against my ear until the screen went dark.

Across the room, Owen closed his notebook.

“Everything okay?”

“My father wants me home.”

“You don’t sound happy about it.”

“I’m not.”

He waited, leaving room for an explanation.

I hated how much that made me want to give him one.

“My mother died when I was little,” I said. “My father and I aren’t particularly close.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

That was my usual answer. People found it reassuring. They could stop looking worried and move on.

Owen didn’t move on.

He came over and leaned against my desk.

“Do you want company?”

“Home?”

“No. Right now.”

I looked up.

He stood there in his faded practice shirt, one hand resting beside my notebook, offering the only thing I actually wanted.

I caught the edge of his sleeve.

“Yes.”

He stayed until I let go.

I had not told him about Natalie. Technically, I had agreed to dinner. I had not agreed to court her, marry her, or produce grandchildren for Richard Hayes.

Still, I should have mentioned it.

I knew that the next morning, when Owen left for an early shift after reminding me there was breakfast in the kitchenette.

I knew it while I changed clothes.

I was less interested in knowing it by the time my father called to complain that I had refused his driver.

He had once adored me. Or something close enough that a child could not tell the difference.

Then, when I was fifteen, he had found a film on my laptop. Two men kissing. Nothing that should have changed the way a father looked at his son.

It changed everything.

He stopped coming home as often. He acquired another life, then another son, and became generous with gifts he could have an assistant order.

Later, a car accident injured both him and that child. His younger son needed permanent support afterward. My father was told he was unlikely to have more children.

Suddenly, I became important again.

Not easier to love. Just more useful.

My mother had left me enough money to keep usefulness from becoming a job requirement. My father could pay my tuition or refuse to. I could still stay at Westbridge.

What he wanted was obedience.

What I wanted, increasingly, was a tall man who brought me breakfast and stayed when I asked.

Natalie was waiting in a restaurant downtown when I arrived.

She was pretty, composed, and clearly prepared to be pleasant.

“My father said you were studying at Westbridge,” she said after we ordered.

“I am.”

“Do you like it?”

“Most days.”

She smiled. I smiled back.

We discussed classes, a recent campus event, and the extraordinary skill our fathers possessed for arranging other people’s evenings.

At that, her smile became more genuine.

“I wondered whether this was your idea,” she said.

“It wasn’t.”

“Mine either.”

That made things easier.

Then I looked toward the far side of the room and saw Owen.

He wore a white shirt, black trousers, and a server’s apron. He stood beside a service station with a pitcher in one hand.

His eyes were fixed on our table.

Natalie offered me a taste of the appetizer between us. I moved my plate toward her.

Owen’s expression changed.

I should have stood up then.

Instead, embarrassment made me stay seated. I hated looking as though I had been caught doing something I had never wanted to do.

Natalie followed my glance.

“Oh,” she said softly.

I looked back at her.

“Is that the reason you keep looking over there?”

I exhaled.

“Yes.”

She set her fork down.

“You could have told me.”

“I should have.”

For the first time that evening, I answered without trying to sound unbothered.

“I’m sorry.”

She studied me, then picked up her bag.

“I think our fathers will survive a disappointing dinner.”

“I’m beginning to hope so.”

We walked outside together. I waited while she called a car and made sure she got into it.

When the taillights disappeared, I turned toward the restaurant wall.

A tall figure stood in the darker space beside the window.

“You can come out,” I said.

Owen stepped forward.

His face made my chest hurt.

“I thought you said I could take you out,” he said.

“You can.”

“Then why were you having dinner with her?”

He was trying to keep his voice level. His fists were closed at his sides.

I walked up to him.

“Bend down.”

He blinked.

“You’re too tall.”

Even then, he listened.

I caught the front of his shirt and kissed him.

When I stepped back, his expression had changed from misery to complete confusion.

“My father arranged dinner,” I said. “I didn’t want it. She didn’t want it either.”

“You could have told me.”

“I know.”

The admission felt unfamiliar. I made myself continue.

“I should have told you before I came.”

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then his hand opened beside mine, hesitated, and stopped.

I hooked my little finger around his.

“Are you still working?”

“I’m supposed to finish at nine.”

“Go finish, then. I’ll wait.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Not much.”

He looked toward the restaurant.

“Owen, don’t get yourself fired.”

“I can ask if somebody will cover the rest. I took extra hours this week.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

He returned seven minutes later in his old gray shirt, his work clothes folded into his bag.

This time, he took my hand without asking.

“Does that mean you like me?” he asked as we walked.

“What an ambitious conclusion.”

He tightened his fingers around mine.

“Julian.”

“Yes,” I said. “It means I like you.”

He looked so happy that I had to look away.

My phone began vibrating in my pocket.

Victor Shaw.

Across the street, a dark sedan sat at the curb. I recognized the plate before I could stop myself from looking.

Victor was behind the wheel.

I silenced the call and slipped my hand back into Owen’s.

“Everything okay?” Owen asked.

“Yes. Let's eat.”

I kept walking. When I glanced back at the corner, the sedan was pulling away.