Mr. Wrong Number

“This was so fun, Olivia.”

I smiled and wanted to be struck by lightning. Glenda had called and invited me to lunch to talk about the column, and it’d been really nice for a while. We had delicious pizza at Zio’s and the woman was hilarious, but then she started talking about her kids. Asking about mine. Each time I gave a vague answer and then pulled an ohmigosh, is that Tom Brady over there? type of distraction to lead the conversation away from our offspring.

But it was a screaming reminder that eventually, the whole thing really was going to go down in flames. It was only a matter of time, but instead of focusing on the downfall, I was concentrating on enjoying the ride.

“I know—we should do this again soon.” I finished my Diet Pepsi and pushed the glass up on the table. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Oh, my God—Glenda! I thought it was you!” A girl who looked around my age came over and hugged Glenda. She shot me a nice smile—man, the girl had perfect teeth—and said to Glenda, “How are you?”

The two of them caught up for a second, so I nibbled on the tiny piece of crust left on my plate until they were done. I kind of wished I’d ordered two slices instead of one. After they hugged and the girl walked away, Glenda turned her beaming face to me.

“I’m so sorry, Liv; she used to intern for me and I haven’t seen her in ages.”

“Oh, my gosh—no big deal at all.”

Glenda said, “So where were we?”

I honestly couldn’t remember. “I think I was thanking you for taking me to lunch.”

“Well,” she said, sitting back in her chair, “I just wanted to do something nice because we’re all so happy with the column. It’s exactly what we wanted but more. Bob thinks you’ve got a solid number of nonparents reading your articles.”

“Really?” I had no idea who Bob was but I wasn’t about to ask. If “Bob” thought people liked it, I was a happy girl. “That’s so awesome.”

She hugged me when we were leaving the restaurant, and said, “I knew I was right about you, Olivia. Congratulations on your success.”

I couldn’t stop smiling for two blocks as I walked home, blown away by my good fortune. But by the third block, I started to worry. It was just too good to be true—things didn’t work like that for me. Someone was going to find out it was me or that I didn’t have kids; I just knew it. And they would tell Glenda and everything would be ruined.

It was only a matter of time.

My phone buzzed.

Colin: Did you nap on my bed?

I smiled and responded with: It’s only 2:00.

Colin: So?

Me: So only drunks and frat boys nap early. I’m headed home right now, and I’ll probably snuggle into your bed soon after my arrival.

Colin: Where are you now?

Me: Just had lunch with my editor.

Colin: Wow, fancy.

Me: I am, in fact, the fanciest.

Colin: Restaurant?

Me: Zio’s.

Colin: Did you get the New York King?

Me: Why not ask me if I got the vomit-and-poo pizza? Gross.

Colin: You don’t like sausage?

Me: I do not.

Colin: I would’ve pegged you for a meat lover.

Me: Is that some sort of ribald suggestion about penises?

Colin: Now who’s gross, perv? I literally meant you seem like someone who enjoys foods that were once animals.

Me: I don’t like meat mixes that are squirted into casings.

Colin: You really have a way with words, Marshall.

Me: Don’t I know it.

It was weird how comfortable it was, texting with Colin. I didn’t really know how or why, but the back-and-forth was so good that I didn’t miss Mr. Wrong Number for once.

Colin fell easily into his place.

Colin: Well, don’t trash my bed, loser.

Me: Oh, I’m just going to eat spaghetti and meatballs in there, no worries.

Colin: It wouldn’t surprise me if you actually did.

I decided to go straight up to his apartment when I got back. My beautiful pad would be waiting, but I needed to get in a nap before he returned home and I lost my chance. I still had my key, so I let myself in like I still lived there.

The place looked exactly the same, only a little neater. It’d only been a day, but I expected it to feel different already. I stole a Dr Pepper from the fridge and headed for Colin’s bed, but got distracted by the sight of the office.

It was gorgeous.

No clothes lying around, no ugly mattress, and the desk was super organized. Colin had clearly moved his work stuff back into the space, because unlike when I’d occupied the room, there were file folders and Post-it notes all over the glass surface. I didn’t know what it was, but there was something about seeing his businesslike handwriting that made me a little . . . impressed.

Weird, right?

I walked into his room, and it looked exactly the same as it had during every previous nap session. His bed was made, the charcoal comforter perfectly straightened with the pillows just right, making it look like an advertisement. The dark wood of his nightstand and dresser gleamed as if just dusted, and it smelled like pine.

And Colin.

I kicked off my shoes, knowing it was going to take me approximately thirty seconds to fall asleep once I climbed on top of that king-sized cloud and laid down my head. I dragged the edge of the comforter up and over me before setting my phone alarm for forty minutes, but fifteen minutes later my phone was ringing.

“Mfhello?” I sat up and blinked, trying to work through the shock of being woken up.

“Hey, Olivia—it’s Jordyn in the office. I just wanted to let you know that the guys from the furniture store just brought your key back so they’re all finished.”

I scratched my head and said, “What?”

“Nebraska Furniture Mart. They just delivered something to your apartment.”

I got off Colin’s bed and fixed the blanket. “My apartment?”

“Um, yes; was that not okay?”

I picked up my purse and shoes from the floor and started for the door. “I mean, it’s okay, but I didn’t order anything. Are you sure it was my apartment?”

“Listen, Olivia, someone is here to see an apartment so I have to go.” Jordyn sounded irritated now. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you, okay?”

“Oh.” Maybe my desk had shipped early and she was confused about the store. “Okay.”

As I rode the elevator, I realized it couldn’t be the desk; I’d ordered that the night before and it was shipping from a warehouse in Minneapolis. Maybe Dana had exchanged the stools or something. I stepped out at my floor and just hoped I didn’t owe money for furniture that wasn’t mine.

Colin

“I can’t believe you actually made it for once.” Jillian leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, grinning as our parents exited the dining room. “Mom’s going to be insufferable for months now, reminiscing about the time her little Colin actually joined us for lunch at the club.”

To be honest, I couldn’t believe it myself. I usually avoided doing anything with my parents at the club, but when my mother, who had just recovered from a heart attack, called the night before, I’d caved and agreed to grab a quick bite with the family.

“Dad won’t be joining her in those fond memories, though, will he?” I signed the ticket and handed it to the server, wondering why my family liked the place so much. It was dark wood and old money, formal and pretentious, and my mother and father made it a habit to share a meal there at least twice a week.

“That’s because you never just shut up and let him talk.”

Jill was good at that. She’d always let my father go on and on without her saying a word because she knew it was futile; I, on the other hand, wasn’t so good with acquiescing. “Well, it pisses me off that everyone does that. He’s like the fucking king and it’s ridiculous. Who gets to say things like ‘only members of a fraternity and out-of-work actors have roommates at your age’ and get away with it?”

“Now, now, Colin, you have to understand.” She drained the last of her wine and set down the crystal glass. “He’s lashing out because he misses his little prince.”

“I think our patriarch made it abundantly clear that I am not that.”

“True.” Jillian snorted. “But you argue with him about everything.”

“I only argue with him about the things that matter to me, and when he intentionally comes at me, I refuse to just sit there and take it.”

My dad was a decent guy. He went to mass every week at St. Thomas, worked hard, took his wife on nice vacations, and told funny jokes on the golf course.

But he and I had been in a perpetual standoff since I was in the eighth grade.

Public school versus private; I’d picked the wrong one at the ripe age of fourteen. After I graduated junior high, he’d wanted me to go to Creighton Prep, but I’d used my mother-son bond to get her on my side and we’d demanded my public education. He caved because he was far too busy to waste time arguing with my mom, but until the day I graduated, the man never failed to point out the terrible education I was receiving every time I wasn’t able to instantly answer a pop quiz question.

Then it was state university versus Notre Dame; to this day he felt betrayed by my refusal to attend his alma mater (and my grandfather’s alma mater and my grandfather’s father’s alma mater). He’d tried holding back the funds to keep me under his thumb, but when you scored a perfect 36 on your ACT, the scholarships flowed like water. I’d been able to flip him the bird and go away to college at the University of Nebraska with Jack.

But my ultimate sin was not going into law. He and the Becks before him had spent their entire lives working to build a prominent and thriving practice. In his mind, I was going to let their dream die off because I chose to “fiddle” with numbers like a middle-class accounting clerk instead of stepping up and choosing a proper career.

But I just couldn’t. I’d watched my dad and my uncles and my grandpa spend every day of their lives working for power. They didn’t love their work, but they adored what their work gave them. Respectability and influence, wealth and connections.

All I wanted was to be a regular guy who actually enjoyed his job. I loved the challenge of numbers, so why not do that for a living? That crazy way of thinking made me, the guy with a master’s in mathematics, the black sheep of the family.

Honestly, that was why I’d never taken a penny from them after college. I’d worked my ass off to support myself, to buy nice things like the condo and my car, just to prove to the world that my father’s opinion about my career was dead wrong.

I made my own success without the help of the esteemed Thomas Beck.

“Well, it’s fun to watch.” Jillian grabbed her handbag from the floor and said, “I wish you’d come more often.”

My phone rang and I was a little disappointed; it felt good hanging out with my sister, and I didn’t want to be interrupted. She was a lawyer and liked the Beck life, but she’d somehow managed to keep her feet on the ground enough to understand what I was trying to do, too.

I pulled the phone out of my pocket, but when I saw it was Olivia, my mood brightened and I lifted the phone to my ear. “Marshall.”

“Beck.” She cleared her throat. “Um, there’s a bed here.”

I leaned back in my chair and imagined what her reaction must’ve been when it showed up at her door. It’d been a crazy idea, giving her a bed, but she didn’t have one and I did owe her for that letter. “Where?”

“You know where. In my apartment.”

“And you’re not talking about your raft?”

“You know I’m not.” I heard her trail off and mutter, “Although, come to think of it, I have no idea where that thing went.”

“Focus, Liv.”

“Why is there a bed here that looks exactly like yours?”

“Well, I’m sure it isn’t exactly like mine. Mine was a special order.”

“Do you know anything about the bed in my room? Focus, Beck.”

“Yeah.” Was this supposed to be fun? Because this was fun. I glanced at Jill and she was watching me with a tiny smirk. “Turns out I’m not a huge fan of people napping in my room, so I thought this was the best solution.”

“You bought me a million-dollar bed exactly like yours so I won’t nap in your apartment?”

“You’re not listening, Marshall; it’s not exactly like mine. I’d never drop that kind of coin on someone who could accidentally spill a vat of nacho cheese on it at any given moment.”

I heard her snort out a little laugh. “Okay, so, what does this mean? Do I have to let you nap on it?”

“I’m not into slumming.”

“Then why did you do something that nice?”

“It wasn’t me being nice. You helped me land a huge client when you didn’t have to.” I rolled my eyes at Jill like the caller was ridiculous. “This was just me paying you back.”

“I see.” She sounded happy and confused. “Uh, this isn’t like a sex thing, either, right? Like you bought me a bed, so now I have to sleep with you on it?”

Well, shit—like I needed more visuals of Liv in bed. I’d gone from finding her the most annoying girl on the planet to being inexplicably obsessed with her. She still irritated the hell out of me, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the way she rolled her eyes and the way her face got that intensity to it when she was typing one hundred words per minute on her laptop.

I lowered my voice and turned away from the table. “It is not a sex thing, though gratitudial favors will not be turned down should you feel inclined.”

“Gratitudial?”

“That’s right.”

I heard her laugh again. “Well, I am incredibly gratitudial, Colin. This was the nicest surprise and I think I’m going to take a second nap on my very own bed the minute I get off the phone.”

“Did you already take—”

“Oh, yeah. Your bed was amazing, by the way.”

I started laughing; of course she had.

Then she said, “You should come down and see it after you get home; my bed is stunning.”

No way was I going down to look at her bed. I needed to put a lot of distance between my libido and Jack’s little sister.

Jack’s little sister, Jack’s little sister, Jack’s little sister.

I said, “Mine’s better.”

“Well, after I nap I’m going to eat leftover pizza on my deck and shop for sheets and blankets, so it’s pretty much going to be like a party all night down here on six if you change your mind.”

“I will keep that in mind,” I said, knowing I wouldn’t.

“Well, goodbye, then, Colin.”

“Goodbye, Liv.”

The second I ended the call, Jillian said, “Holy hells, Col—who was that? You’re positively beaming.”

I rolled my eyes and stood. “As if I’m telling you. Are you ready?”

She stood and pushed in her chair. “If you don’t give me the story by the time we reach our cars, I’m keying your Audi and calling our mother.”

“Fine.” I gave a chin-nod to one of my father’s golfing buddies as we walked out of the dining room. “I’ll give you the short version, but you have to promise not to laugh.”

“I’m afraid I can do no such thing.”