55:Mellow

[9:42 PM]CHIARA: Call me when you get a minute pls.

That message came about twenty minutes ago, and now that the boys had gone to bed, Jon had the time to consider granting that request. 

Having them here felt good and chased away a few of the ghosts, although he was still going to have a get used to the new reality at some point – the kids were visiting him at his house.  They didn’t technically live here anymore and he honestly found it to be a little depressing.

Being in that frame of mind and funk had him tempted to ignore the counselor’s text message and go to bed with a bottle of wine.  She probably just wanted to know why he cancelled tonight, anyway, and defending himself didn’t interest him.

John Shanks called today to check in and they’d impulsively come to the studio at High Point, spending the afternoon getting down a song about roller coasters and merry-go-rounds.  Jon’s life felt that way lately, so the connection hadn’t been hard to make and, if pressed, he might admit to the counselor’s ever-so-slight influence on the content – something else he didn’t want to discuss.

By the time he was settled onto the couch in the bachelor room – his new name for the family room – and had started his second glass of wine, though, he had talked himself into making the call.

“Hey.” 

“Hey,” he returned neutrally.

Was it the wine or wishful thinking that made her greeting soft and inviting as opposed to being all business?  From the sofa’s center cushion, leaning negligently forward with the wineglass dangling from his fingers, he silently willed her to give him more proof one way or the other. 

“How was your day?”

So far, still gentle and non-demanding.  

“Busy.  Yours?”

“Mm.  Very busy.  I picked up a new client today and I swear this case is going to scar me for life.”

She just wanted to talk?  About something as mundane as their days?  Being new and uncharted territory for them, Jon wasn’t quite sure how to proceed.  He leaned back into the sofa, put one foot on the edge of the coffee table and crossed the other leg over it murmuring an uncomplicated, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.  The couple is fighting for custody of a parrot, and the guy wants me to find legal precedent so that she can’t teach it derogatory phrases about him.  Can you believe that?  I went to law school for this shit.”

He chuckled softly, relaxing as she spoke.  They were explosive in bed together and had even gotten good at treating each other as something besides an opponent, but he wasn’t quite sure how they found themselves here, having a post-mortem of the day.  Regardless, he had no complaints.

“Your client is a guy?  I somehow thought you only represented women.”

“That’s the way it works out most times, but I inherited this one from a senior partner who used to play football with him and therein lies the problem.  Normally, I’d tell my client he’s an idiot, but I have to play nice this time.”

The silence in the house wasn’t nearly as oppressive with her chatting amiably in his ear.  In fact, it was a nice backdrop for her mellowness.

“And we know how you’re not a fan of playing nice.”

“Yeah,” she sighed.  “It’s not always my instinctive first choice, but I’d like to start making more of an effort.  With you, at least.”

The wine was beginning to work through his bloodstream.  That was the most logical explanation for the warmth that bloomed in his gut and trickled outward to the rest of him.  The pleasantness of the budding wine buzz was what enticed him to join the mellow flow, not her unexpected revelation. 

“Any particular reason why?”

“Several, but they’re deeper than I’m comfortable sharing yet.”

Okay, it wasn’t the wine.  It was her naked honesty fueling the inner warmth that now suffused his limbs.  “Okay.  Then I’ll just say I’m looking forward to seeing how the effort pans out.”

“Me too,” she agreed simply before redirecting from warmth and vulnerability.  “And ten seconds later, it’s probably going to seem like I’m contradicting that statement, but I need to ask you something.”

With that disclaimer, now might be a good time to seek out reinforcements to maintain his easygoing mood.  It couldn’t hurt and, dropping both feet to the floor, he pushed himself into a more upright position so that he could slide the wineglass onto the table.  A quick tip of the bottle had it filled again and he scooped it up.

“Go ahead,” he invited before bringing the glass to his lips and settling back into the cushions.

“What does your family know about us?  Me?”

“They don’t know anything past your vacation.  Why?”

“None of them?” she pressed.  “Because it was subtly brought to my attention tonight that Matt met Owen, too.  Whatever you tell anybody is ultimately your choice, but I’d appreciate knowing what I’m dealing with when I see your family.”

Confirming what she already knew, Jon said, “He was there, but I have his word it isn’t gonna go any further.  What happened tonight?”

“Desiree and Lilah are helping me with something, and I went to Des’s house tonight.  Matt mentioned meeting the boys and followed it up with an accusing look.  That’s when it occurred to me that he was there when you found out, and then I wasn’t sure how much… you vented about me before I got your call.”

His glass was drained during that explanation and Jon sat up again to deposit it on the table and leave it there.  Their families were going to be the death of him.  There were too many of them and keeping up with who knew what was turning into a headache of migraine proportions. 

“I kept most of it to myself,” he murmured and then resigned himself to doing what needed done.  “Just so we’re both on the same page, here’s my family rundown.  Both brothers know we slept together in the Hamptons only, and I threatened their jobs if Lilah got wind of it.  Matt is aware you’re married but isn’t going to tell anybody.  If anybody else knows anything about us, it’s news to me.  What about your family?”

“Luke knows the same thing as your brothers about us.  Izzie has more details than the guys probably do about the Hamptons, and she knows about that first night at my place.  Before Vancouver.  And they all obviously know about Owen.”

That was all manageable.  Based on the fact that only Izzie knew there was a post-Hamptons “thing”, it might be possible to leave them all out of this for a while longer – at least until they decided if it was anything more than sex. 

He dismissed the fact that it already felt like more.  This call alone screamed of him and her against her world, knee-deep in a relationship that neither of them was owning yet.  While that technically meant she didn’t owe him the backstory on her marriage, he wasn’t above doing a little fishing.

“They also don’t want you married to him, so I hear.”

“Fucking Luke,” she spat in a low voice.  “I knew there was more to your talk today than what he bitched at me about.”

“What did he bitch at you about?”

“Telling you his opinion of my sexual habits.”

The mere mention of it still irritated Jon.  He couldn’t imagine having a sister and thinking such derogatory shit about her, much less saying it.  If there ever came a time where this relationship was an actual relationship, Jon would drive that point of view home with Luke and whomever else needed their opinion altered. 

“He’s wrong,” was all Jon said now in a flat and definitive voice before schooling himself back in the direction of mellow.  This had been a good talk so far and he didn’t want to end it with either of them angry.  That meant he needed to be careful with his tone when asking, “But I’d like to know if he was also wrong about Owen taking advantage of you.  Are you the one who supports your family?”

“No comment on the first part.”  Her reply wasn’t angry, but it was firm.  She got a little softer when acknowledging, “Yes, I’m the one with the paycheck.”

Jon’s hackles rose in anger both at the husband for doing it and Chiara for allowing it, but he grappled with himself to keep an even tone.  “It’s why my laziness comment on the Vineyard hit home, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

He wanted to bite his tongue, but he needed it to make his own living, so Jon focused on pouring another glass of wine to distract himself from calling her a fucking idiot.  She’d been almost a different person tonight with her effort to be nice and they’d covered some touchy ground without any yelling from either side.  He wasn’t prepared to negate all that in one fit of pique that may or may not make him feel better about the situation.

“Wanna tell me why you put up with that bullshit?” 

The question wasn’t phrased in an overly kind way, but it was offered with all the casualness he could muster.  Jon rewarded himself with a long, slow swallow of Pinot Grigio while she considered her answer.

“In an unexpected twist of events, I kind of do,” she confided, seeming surprised by the realization.  “But it’s kind of like my reasons for trying to be nicer.  I’m not comfortable doing it yet.”

“Okay.  How about I tell you what I think?”  His head fell onto the back of the sofa, and Jon closed his eyes with a silent sigh, hoping like hell he was wrong about what his gut was telling him.  “I think there are very, very few reasons a woman would allow that for as long as Luke says it’s gone on.  Fear is the leading contender.”

When she didn’t respond right away, he let the silence linger with the hope that she would eventually say something.   A full minute later, Jon came to the conclusion she wasn’t going to, and a ball of sick anger formed in his all-knowing gut.  This was one occasion on which it would’ve made him happy to be proven wrong.

“Chiara,” he coaxed gently, wishing he’d punched the guy in the face back in Vancouver.  “Why are you afraid?  What’s he done to you?”