It's in the quiet moments that it gets to him. His daughter on the living room sofa, chatting aimlessly about the latest theory that his ex-wife has on his current life.
It's as quiet as it gets. He reclines at the opposite end of the couch, box of shitty pizza abandoned on the coffee table, cell phone lying dormant on the arm of the sofa. It hasn't buzzed in nearly two hours.
He thought he would appreciate that.
He thought he would appreciate his staff adhering to his no-Saturdays policy. But now, in the quiet, the static, he wishes for any distraction. He wishes his daughter would bring up something insensible that they could argue about. He wishes for anything.
Because he doesn't want his ex-wife to be right about something. He doesn't want to have to think about his ex-wife at all, nevermind that she might be right about something.
He doesn't want to be thinking of Natalie, at home, on his couch, with his daughter next to him. It feels wrong, as though those types of thoughts are restricted to the outside world, not his home. Not the one place his business isn't allowed to touch. And she is business, she has to be.
Not because she's gone or out of reach, but because he met her while investigating Wendy Scott Carr. Natalie is tainted by the politics of it all. And how, how Eli wishes that she wasn't.
The difference about this, and here's the thing, he hadn't gone looking for it this time. He'd been struck, surely, by Natalie's intelligence, but also her tenacity, her muted prettiness, her gumption. Truth be told, he hadn't actually thought much about her age other than the quick math he'd done when he'd met her.
He's twenty-six years older than she is.
How ludicrous.
Not so ludicrous in the grand scheme of things, but certainly ludicrous as far as he's concerned. Eli Gold is, by nature, a fairly private man. He has the forethought to at least look into the women he has interest in. Partly to assure himself that he understands just what he's getting himself into but also because he knows how quickly people who are less-than-reputable can lead to scandal.
How even the tiniest morsel of immortality or illegality can lead to scandal.
It's something he deals with for other people, not for himself.
So he's still fairly shocked by the fact that he'd even opened himself up to the thought of Natalie. Young, attractive, whip smart, she could become a liability in an instant.
And yet, in an instant he'd realized he hadn't cared. Not enough to put pause to his offer of dinner.
Alas, he shouldn't be thinking about it; the past is the past and he's not the type of man to chase something down, not something like this. When it comes to matters of the heart, personal emotional matters, Eli is something of a coward.
Actually, not "something of."
He is exactly that. He is a coward.
But he shouldn't be thinking of her, there's no after to this. There was barely a before, but there's certainly no 'after'. It confuses the hell out of him; why had she sent the email? Why contact him at all?
His daughter cuts into his thoughts, staring at him. "You know what I mean, dad?" Eli pales and blinks over at her, having not really heard one word she's said. He feels slightly awful about it until she throws a dirty napkin at his face.
"Mature," he quips, "Shut up and eat your pizza."
Marissa picks up a slice and makes a show of taking a large bite. "There, great weekend, dad. You really know how to show a daughter a good time."
"Has anyone told you you're insufferable?" he asks, purposefully ignoring her but more thankful than she'll ever know for the banal banter.
"Yeah, you, like every day. But, anyway... you're thinking. What are you thinking about?" It's getting late, and she's keyed up; he'd be keyed up too, but there's all of this on his mind.
That gets his attention, that causes him to turn on her. Eli crosses his legs and addresses Marissa head on,. "Why do you care what I'm thinking about?"
"Because you have that look on your face." Marissa picks up the remote and mutes the TNT movie of the weekend. "And you're getting defensive."
"That look?" Eli redirects, he's fantastic at the redirect.
Marissa sits up straight and dusts the pizza crumbs from her jeans. "That one you claim that you don't have in your look repertoire, that look." She focuses her eyes on him and Eli can almost feel it, almost feel his daughter picking him apart. He loves her to death, but sometimes, he does not like her.
"You're claiming I'm wearing a look that I don't have in my look repertoire? What does that even mean? How would I know what that look means if I don't know what the look is?"
She smirks at him; there's a brief moment of silence while Eli's incredulity fades to honest suspicion of her motives. "You don't want me to shut up."
"I really do." Eli quickly reaches to the left, grabbing for the remote, but she manages to hold it just out of reach.
"No, I know that look, too," she's so sure of herself. It would piss him off if she didn't remind him so much of himself. "You need to be distracted."
"Maybe," he concedes.
"Okay, let's go get Pinkberry." she slaps her hands on her thighs and stands, decision made. When Eli doesn't follow, when he continues to stare off into space.
"What was her name again, dad?" she asks gently, so gently that it's nearly a whisper.
Eli doesn't want to say it out loud, glances down at his lap. When he looks up at her, he leans his head between thumb and forefinger. "Her name was Natalie."
"And?"
"And... I don't know." That's the thing; he doesn't know. A week after she had told him she was moving to DC and him doing nothing, not capitalizing on what may have been a clutch moment, she had emailed him just to say she arrived.
He'd held his Blackberry, stared, stared and then ignored it. Hadn't replied. Just to say that she had arrived. Because she knew he would care, and knew that he would need to know. For two people who had had such limited interaction, Eli finds himself shockingly... attached. It's unsettling.
He's unsettled.
She unsettles him.
"Her name is Natalie, unless she's ceased to exist..."
That stops his thought process, cold. 'If only,' he thinks, 'if only.'
"Pinkberry?" he asks.
"Pinkberry," Marissa confirms.
Eli glances at his phone; he doesn't take it with him as he leaves the apartment.
He doesn't reply to her email.