The Other Side of Us - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,97
at the wall and wondered what would have happened if she had fought for her marriage the way Patrick said he wished she had. If she’d insisted on them having counseling, if she’d pushed him to talk to her more, to share with her more, and to be prepared to listen to her and really engage. Would they have survived? Would they still be together now?
Her gut said no. Mackenzie didn’t believe that people were doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over, that personalities were intractable and behaviors immovable. But she did believe that the fundamentals of most people remained the same throughout their lifetimes. People who were generous usually remained generous, unless life taught them not to be. And people who saw the world through the prism of their own needs first and foremost would always be that way.
Patrick was one of those people. It was simply the way he’d been conditioned. And maybe that would shift for him if he met someone who took him outside of himself...or maybe not. But certainly that person had not been her, and she had not been prepared to fight for both of them. Because that was what it had come down to. Patrick said he’d wanted her to fight for them, but he hadn’t been in the trenches, either.
She closed her eyes. This was all ancient history, and while she was mildly pissy with Patrick for dumping on her like that, she wasn’t going to lose sleep over it. It simply wasn’t worth it.
* * *
WHEN MACKENZIE WOKE again it was daylight and she could hear someone moving around the house. For a moment she let herself hope that it was Oliver, that he’d let himself in and was doing something sweet and lovely like making her breakfast.
She knew better, though. She pulled on her robe and walked out to find Patrick making himself breakfast in her kitchen. She eyed the crumb-covered counter and the many coffee cups and reminded herself he’d be gone soon.
“Good morning,” he said. He shot her an assessing look.
“If you’re wondering whether or not I’m going to rip your head off, relax. Game, set and match to you.”
“Ah. You don’t even want to play anymore.”
“No, I don’t.”
She wanted to play with Oliver. And she wanted to play for keeps.
She walked to the French doors, pushing the curtains wide so she could see Oliver’s place. There was no movement next door, however. She wondered if he was still in bed.
She glanced at the time and saw it was nearly eight. A perfectly civilized time to call.
She grabbed her phone and discovered the battery was dead. Typical. She padded into the study and plugged it in, waiting for it to come to life. After a minute or so it did and she saw she’d missed a call from Oliver last night.
He was such a sweetie. He’d probably been calling to say good-night. She smiled to herself as she hit the button to return his call. She hoped he was still in bed. She would make him toast and come join him, Patrick be damned.
The phone switched to voice mail almost straightaway. She pulled a face, disappointed, and waited for the beep so she could leave a message.
“Hi, it’s me. I was kind of hoping I could come over and make you breakfast. Call me, okay?” She ended the call to find Patrick watching her.
“Sorry if I’m in the way,” he said.
She shrugged her good shoulder. “It’s fine.”
“Sorry if I was out of line last night, too.”
“Yeah, well. Did you decide what you’re going to do about the movie?”
“I’m going to take it. If I can buy the time from my contract.”
“Tell them you’ll walk when it’s time to renew if they don’t come to the party. That’ll make them sweat.”
“Would it make you sweat?”
She gave him her shark’s smile. “That would be telling.”
He swallowed the last of his toast and brushed his hands together. “On that note...”
She watched as he made a halfhearted effort to tidy up before grabbing his jacket and paperwork. Mr. Smith followed them both as she walked him to the door.
“Drive safely,” she said as Patrick stepped onto the porch.
He looked at her for a beat, then leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Look after yourself, Mac.”
She watched him walk down the driveway, then glanced next door. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping for—Oliver standing on the porch with a big red bow around his neck?—but she frowned when she realized