Ryle motions for Allysa. “Can you put Emerson on her pallet? I need to talk to Lily.”
The curtness in his voice alarms both me and Allysa. We give each other another look as she pries Emerson off Ryle’s chest. The ache to hold her only grows wider as Allysa lays her on the pallet.
Ryle stands up, and for the first time since I walked in, he makes eye contact with me. He gives me a once-over, noticing the outfit and the heels I’m wearing. I can see the slow roll of his throat. He nudges his head upward, indicating he wants to speak to me on the rooftop balcony.
Whatever conversation this is, he wants complete privacy.
He exits the apartment to head to the roof, and I look toward Allysa for guidance. Once Ryle is out of earshot, she says, “I told him you had an event tonight.”
“Thanks.” Allysa swore she wouldn’t tell Ryle about my date, but I can’t figure out why he’s so angry if he doesn’t know where I’ve been. “Why is he upset?”
Allysa shrugs. “No idea. He seemed fine when he showed up an hour ago.”
I know better than anyone how Ryle can seem fine one second and absolutely the opposite of fine the next. But I usually know what’s setting him off.
Did he find out I went on a date? Did he find out it was with Atlas?
Once I’m on the roof, I locate Ryle leaning over the ledge, looking down. My stomach is already in knots. My heels click against the floor as I make my way over to him.
Ryle glances at me briefly. “You look… nice.” He says it in a way that makes it seem like an insult rather than a compliment. Or maybe that’s just my guilt.
“Thank you.” I lean against the ledge, waiting for him to speak up about whatever is bothering him.
“Did you just get back from a date?”
“I had an event.” I go along with Allysa’s lie. There’s no point in being honest with him, because it’s too soon to know if this thing with Atlas is going anywhere yet, and the truth would only upset Ryle more. I press my back against the ledge and fold my arms over my chest. “What is it, Ryle?”
He waits a beat before he finally speaks. “I’ve never seen that cartoon before tonight.”
Is he just trying to make small talk or is he angry about something? I’m confused by this whole conversation.
Until I’m not.
I swear, I can be such an idiot sometimes. Of course he’s upset. He once read all my journal entries. He knows how much that movie means to me after having read everything I wrote about it, but I guess now that he’s finally seen it, he’s connected the dots. And by the looks of it, he’s added some dots of his own.
He turns now, facing me with an expression full of betrayal. “You named our daughter Dory?” He takes a step closer. “You chose my daughter’s middle name because of your connection with that man?”
I feel an immediate pulsing in my temples. That man. I break eye contact with him while I think of how to properly communicate this. When I chose the name Dory as Emerson’s middle name, I didn’t do it for Atlas. That movie meant something to me long before Atlas came into the picture, but I probably should have thought twice about it before going through with naming her that.
I clear my throat, making room for the truth. “I chose that name because the character inspired me when I was younger. It had nothing to do with anyone else.”
Ryle releases an exasperated, disappointed laugh. “You’re a real piece of work, Lily.”
I want to argue with him, to further prove my point, but I’m getting nervous. His demeanor is bringing back every fear of him I’ve ever held. I try to defuse the situation by escaping it.
“I’m going home now.” I start to head toward the stairs, but he’s faster than me. He moves past me, and then he’s in between me and the door to the stairwell. I take a nervous step back. I slip my hand in my pocket in search of my phone in case I need to use it.
“We’re changing her middle name,” he says.
I keep my voice firm and steady when I respond. “We named her Emerson after your brother. That’s your connection to her name. Her middle name is my connection. It’s only fair. You’re reading too much into it.”
I try to sidestep around him, but he moves with me.
I glance over my shoulder to measure the distance between myself and the ledge. Not that I feel like he’d throw me over it, but I also didn’t think he’d be capable of shoving me down a flight of stairs.
“Does he know?” Ryle asks.