Chapter Four: You'd think I'd Despise You

Author's Note:
Okay, this chapter is longer and has a lot more Ryan and Marissa. I hope you all like it! I have to say, I was disappointed at the lack of feedback for the last chapter. I'm not the type who's going to beg for reviews or hold the next chapter hostage until I get a lot, but I really do appreciate them. Enjoy!
Elle picked at her Caesar salad. She was having dinner with her Dad, as she always did on Tuesday and Thursday nights. According to the custody agreement, she had to be with him after school twice a week and on every other weekend. She had never been particularly close with her father, and without her bubbling mother around to speak, their time together seemed more like empty voids when she could be studying rather than they felt like fun.

"So," her father said, "how's that World Civ project going? You're working with Jenna, right?"

Elle brightened up almost immediately. "Yup! We're building a castle out of styrofoam bricks--an almost exact replica of a feudal one in medieval England! Our presentation is next Monday."

"Really? That sounds--" He was cut off by the ringing of his cell phone. Sighing, he clipped it off his belt and looked at the caller id. "I'm sorry, I have to take this. Hold on." He held up a finger to signal one minute, and quickly stepped out of the restaurant, barking orders into the phone.

She took out her own cell phone, deciding to use the extra time as an opportunity to check her voicemail. Elle pushed away the several lip glosses and masses of cash and receipts and tugged out her small pink phone. Flipping it open, she saw that she had two new messages. Seeing as she had nothing better to do, she eagerly hit enter and listened:

Hey baby, it's Jake. Are we still on for tomorrow night? I want to see that new Rick Walsh movie, you know, the one where the world ends and he has to save the porn star? Oh, and do you know how to say mountain in Latin? This homework is killing me. Hit me back when you have time.

Ugh
, she thought. Rick Walsh was so plastic. She thought the movie looked scary, but who was she kidding? It's not like she'd be watching the screen. Jake was too hot. She eagerly pressed the next button, hoping Cam had left a message. He promised to help her with Geometry, and they had a test tomorrow!

Hi sweetie! It's Mom. How's the dinner with your dad? I'm going to be home a little late tonight--Mark Sims asked me to dinner! The movie director? You know who I'm talking about, he's chairing the anorexia awareness benefit with me. Anyway, I'll be home around ten. But don't tell Ryan! He hates David. Bye! Love you.

Ryan walked briskly back to the table, as Elle was putting her phone back into her Marc Jacobs clutch. It had been her pity present last week. Her Dad didn't seem to know what to do with her except take her shopping. She didn't love how he'd just hand her the credit card and slip away to take business calls, but it was better than their awkward conversations. He'd never been much of a talker.

"So," Ryan glanced at his watch. "We have an hour and a half." He glanced around the room nervously. "South Coast Plaza?"

Elle wiped her mouth, neatly folding the napkin and placing it back on the table. "Kay."
Elle quickly scanned the racks of Saks Fifth Avenue, wondering whether she should wear a skirt or a dress to the Spring Fling.

Ryan felt claustorphobic as he stood between the seemingly endless racks of Betsey Johnson dresses. "I'm just gonna...uh..." He motioned toward the stools of the makeup counter.

Elle nodded in response. "Kay," she said. He wasn't much of a help anyway. Her Mom loved to help her pick out clothes, and had done all of Ryan's shopping for him. Elle suddenly wondered who would shop for him now and if they would know that Ralph Lauren polo shirts fit him better than Lacoste.

Ryan uncomfortably sat down on a black leather stool and almost instantly a smiling brunette in a lab coat approached him. His back to her, he watched Elle scoop up a pink silk dress.

"Can I interest you in a--"

Ryan jerked his head around at the sudden dialogue. The voice seemed eerily familiar, but he doubted it could possibly be who he thought it was.
Marissa smiled across the dimly lit table. She hadn't had this much fun in a long, long time. Mark was a genuinely nice guy, and his passion for movies was evident.

"Some of the actresses these days--they're crazy." He leaned across the table to whisper and she was instantly struck by how good he smelled. "Do you know Carly Berensco?"

"Oh, definately. I loved that movie you did with her! Polk? Ryan-" She cut herself off, surprised at the association she had made.

Mark grimaced, "The ex-husband?"

"Yeah. Sorry." Ryan had loved that movie. It was hard to get him to laugh like he had when they watched it. She had been pregnant with Elle then, she remembered. She ate three large buckets of popcorn that night.

"It's okay." He smiled at her, and rested his hand on top of hers. She was struck by the minimal contact. It was no big deal, but she hadn't had male contact in months, and this just felt right. "Anyway," he continued, "she made the hugest fuss! We had to have a crystal bowl of peanut M&Ms with her at all time, but only red ones. Some kabbalah shit. But!" His enthusiasm was catching, and Marissa found herself chuckling, although it really wasn't that amusing. She knew exactly what he was talking about. Red warded off the evil eye!

"There's more?" Marissa edged him on.

"Of course." He paused, knowing well enough it would add dramatic effect. "She never ate any of them!" Furrowing his brow, he added, "I actually don't think I ever saw her eat."

Marissa grinned. "Speaking of not eating..." She speared her fork into the salmon, "Why are you so interested in Anorexia Awareness?"

Marissa chewed the food, waiting for his reply. Mark's face had suddenly grown grim, "My sister, Rachel, died from complications that arose from her anorexia. She died at sixteen. She only weighed 68 lbs." He shook his head at the memory, and anger bubbled inside him. "I was only twelve, and I still wish I could have done something to help her. I now know how deep into the throes of the disease she was, but..."

Marissa clucked sympathetically. "I'm sorry. There was nothing you could do."

"I know," he said softly, "I know."
"Ryan." Her voice was soft, and he knew it was her. She had the same long dark hair, and although there were now wrinkles around her mouth and dark circles under her eyes, her identity was unmistakable. She looked older than her thirty-eight years.

"Theresa. How are you?" He gave her a hollow smile, the kind he gave jerky clients and his ex-wife. The kind he had never given in Chino.

"Oh, I'm good. Eddie's good. The kids are good." He inwardly flinched at the mention of him, and slid his own left hand into the pocket of his khakis. He hoped she wouldn't notice the absence of a ring on his finger.

She didn't. "How's Marissa doing?"

"Fine. I'm just doing a little shopping with Elle."

"That's nice. She's fourteen now?"

"Yup. Fifteen soon. They grow up fast."

Ryan was reminded of what he did with her at fifteen. The flimsy sex with muffled moans in her bedroom, the making out in the park and all the times her brother had beat him up. He thanked God his children hadn't had to deal with any of that.

Her boss walked by, and Theresa spoke, a little too loudly and a little too perkily. "So, Mr. Atwood, can I interest you in anything today? I can give you a very nice giftbag with any purchase over $75."

"Sure," he said. Taking out a hundred dollar bill, he plopped it on the counter. "Pick out some stuff for Elle, okay?"

Theresa's eyes widened at the large commission and she snatched it. She started to walk off, but stopped mid-step. "You know, I never really apologized about the whole thing with the baby..."

Ryan made a fist. He was still angry, after all these years, that she had so blatantly lied to him about the father of her baby. She and Eddie had slept together so many more times than their single night of passion, and the dates never really matched up. Every so often, Ryan wondered what his life would be like if he was still making sacrifices for a child that wasn't his. He couldn't imagine what his life would be like if he had stayed in Chino. He didn't want to.

"It's okay," he said. They both knew it wasn't.