Free The Hook-Up by Abigail Barnette Page B

still been desperate to oversee the company. But
now I’d had a taste of life at home, where the television was
always on, but my trousers rarely were. Free time, which I’d never
had much regard for in the past, now seemed incredibly
precious.
    Perhaps it was because I ’ d been faced with the very real
possibility of death that I was now recognizing the value of my
life. Sitting in a conference room on a Saturday, when I
could ’ ve spent a rare
day off with Sophie, seemed a tragic waste of my time.
    Coming home to an empty house at the end of
the night only reinforced the point. I put my bag down by the door
and glanced up the stairs, a practiced reflex; Sophie and I had
spent nearly a year in our London residence, and it seemed strange
to be here alone.
    I wouldn ’ t be, for long. I only had an hour and a half
before Emir would arrive. Only a few members of the household staff
were still on duty, and they were in the kitchen. Without a soul in
the living areas of the house, the feeling of emptiness was
exacerbated.
    The realization struck me hard when I clicked
on our bedroom light. Sophie wasn ’ t there, sprawled out on the bed, watching mindless
television. And she wasn ’ t downstairs in the library, hard at work on her
book or her videos. She was across an ocean, despising our
separation as much as I was. But of the two of us, only one seemed
to be under the impression that the other should be patiently
waiting until she was needed.
    Neil Elwood, you are the biggest idiot who
ever lived.
    It hadn ’ t been so long ago that I ’ d been desperate to be near her, separated
by maddening hospital regulations. More than once I ’ d been gripped with panic,
thinking I might die without ever touching her again. I still
occasionally woke and reached for her in mindless terror, fearing I
was still in that isolation room. That had only been a few months
ago, and we were back to the relationship we ’ d had before the cancer. Me, too busy with
work to make time for Sophie except on the occasional evening or
weekend. Her, pursuing her own career with a single-minded
determination I admired.
    And I had been taking her presence in my life
entirely for granted.
    I went to the master bath. The fluffy pink
robe Sophie loved so much still hung on the back of the door. I
would have to remember to take it back to New York for her.
    In the shower, I thought about Sophie, and
not the usual way I thought about her when I was in the shower. I
couldn ’ t begrudge her
drive and ambition, no matter how… experimental her career path
seemed at the moment. In my twenties, I ’ d based all my job prospects on what superficial
title would grant me access to unlimited cocaine, so she was
fairing far better than I had.
    Sophie would never be a woman content to stay
at home waiting for me, and that arrangement wouldn ’ t make me happy, either. I wanted
to see Sophie achieve success the way her relatives wanted to see
the Packers win a Super Bowl.
    Surely she would be better equipped to focus
on job concerns if she had more support at home?
    There was a solution to my dilemma, but it
wasn ’ t one I cared to
admit to myself just yet.
    I dressed for my dinner with Emir the way I
would for any casual dinner with an acquaintance. I wore a white
oxford shirt, dark slate trousers, and a pair of my favorite black
alligator loafers. Sophie frequently mocked my shoe collection; she
didn ’ t understand the
fundamental truth that more shoes were preferable to fewer shoes. I
found that rather surprising, taking into account her fashion
journalism career.
    Jumpy with nerves, I took a deep breath and
checked myself over in the full-length mirror. “All right, old man.
This is the best you can do.”
    The bell rang over the intercom. He was here.
I hadn ’ t felt quite this
nervous in a while. The last time had been the night Sophie had
first come to my apartment to stay the weekend. I ’ d been nervous for another reason, then.
I ’ d been