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Pamela slid into the chair across from me. “Can I say something without you getting mad at me?”
“Probably not.” Pamela had a knack for hitting things right on the head, and since I’d been in the office a lot more since breaking things off with Holland, we’d developed a relationship that felt to me the way it might have felt to have a sister. “Go ahead.”
“Well, I usually am right.” She nodded as if affirming this idea for herself. “About most things.”
“And you’re so humble.” I lifted an eyebrow at her.
“Right. That too.” She grinned. “But I was just going to say that maybe when it comes to relationships and things . . . well, I’m not like an oracle or anything. I mean, look at my own life.”
“You’re a single mom. You were counseling me from that point of view.”
“Yeah. A single mom who’s never really been inlove.”
That made me look up, and pulled me briefly from my wallowing. “Kenner’s dad?”
She shook her head, a sad smile on her face. “We were young. I didn’t really know what I was doing, what I felt.”
I thought about that. I’d had those relationships, too, where I wanted so badly for it to be love, but where I’d known down deep it wasn’t.
“Watching you these last couple months, though . . .” She paused, shrugging her shoulders and squinting at me. “You’re a disaster.”
“This talk has been fucking uplifting. Thanks so much—” I stood, ready to be done hearing about how screwed up I was.
“Let me finish?” She motioned for me to sit back down, so I complied, narrowing my eyes and ready to usher her out of my office if she didn’t get to a point that didn’t feel like another rendition of the “enumerate Oliver’s failings” tune. “You’ve been sad for a long time, Oliver. But this seems totally different from what happened to you after your parents . . .” she trailed off.
“Died. Lied and then died.”
“Wait, what?” Pamela cocked her head to the side.
Did I really want to tell her everything? The only person I’d talked to about it was Holland. “They lied to me. My whole life.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was adopted. And they never bothered to tell me.”
Pamela actually shrugged, and I felt my anger spike. “Yeah, I know. We talked about this once before,” shereminded me, and I thought back to the first time she’d stood up to me, when I’d asked her to remove Adam’s photos. “Why would they tell you?”
“Why the fuckwouldn’tthey tell me?” I couldn’t help raising my voice, but Pamela let it roll right off her.
Her voice was soft and her eyes held mine like she was looking for something inside me. “Why does it matter, Oliver?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. How could she not think it mattered? I couldn’t find any words to explain and didn’t want to lash out at Pamela. I remained silent.
“They loved you. They cared for you.” She watched my face and didn’t say anything else for a long minute. “They were your parents, Oliver. Even if you were adopted. People who adopt babies—they do it because they want them. Because they really, really want them. In some ways that’s so much better than just being born to parents who might end up hating you, or not caring. Or worse, parents who don’t even seem to notice you exist.” Pamela’s voice was quiet and I got the impression she might be talking about herself.
I felt suddenly guilty for believing I had a monopoly on pain. “I’m sorry,” was all I could manage.
We sat in silence for a long minute, both of us lost in our own thoughts. And then Pamela cleared her throat and sat up straighter. “I’m planning a shower for Holland,” she said. “I thought you might want to be involved.”
I raised an eyebrow at what felt like a suggestion more than an invitation. “Okay,” I said slowly. “Are you goingto have it here?”
“With your approval.”
“Use the main conference room in this tower,” I told Pamela.
“Already booked.” She grinned at me. “I thought we’d cater in Shivago’s, but no sushi, soft cheese, or lunch meat. Pasta should be safe.”
“Good,” I said, nodding. “Get a ridiculous amount of the fried avocado spears, please.” I’d wanted to introduce Holland to Shivago’s fried avocado myself, but this would have to do.
