Dirty Grovel: Chapter 19

When it comes to distractions—boy, does the Savin family deliver.

It’s been almost four days of impromptu pool parties and ocean dips, of ice cream in the mornings and late-night conversations with Faye while she nurses little Aria.

There’s something wonderfully comforting about having Faye around.

Maybe it’s the maternal glow she wears like a coat of armor.

Maybe it’s her calming presence, her honey butter voice, the way she mothers me just as much as she mothers her own children.

Maybe it’s the fact that I miss my sister and have no idea when I’ll be able to see her.

For whatever reason, I lean on Faye, probably more than I should.

In my defense, she seems to enjoy spending time with me, too. Most days, we’re chained at the hip, running after kids, making schedules, assembling PB&J sandwiches and packing picnic lunches to take into the garden or down to the beach.

I’m starting to suspect that there’s a “divide and conquer” scheme happening behind our backs—because for every minute that Faye spends with me, Artem spends an equal if not larger portion of time with Oleg.

We barely see either of them during the day. And there’s the odd night or two when the men go out on the boat.

Sometimes, I catch a tiny little silhouette in the distant waters and I imagine what the two of them are murmuring in the dark.

I’m on my way to the kitchen for a snack when I hear Faye’s voice, raised in anger.

Freezing on the spot, my ears perk up, trying to figure out what she’s upset about. As far as I’ve been able to decipher, she and Artem have a flawless relationship. They parent together so seamlessly that they make it look easy.

The fact that she seems pissed off at her husband feels a little out of character.

“… I know, honey…”

“Don’t you ‘honey’ me,” Faye snaps. “This has gone on long enough… something needs to be done…”

“I’m trying⁠—”

“Try harder!”

Artem’s voice drops low, which means I can barely hear him. I sidle a little closer, but I only pick up the odd word here and there.

“… Be patient… things take time… Stubborn…”

“I’ll give you two more days. Then the gloves are off.”

“This isn’t a fight, babe.”

“Wanna bet?”

I duck out of the way as the couple starts heading in my direction. They walk past and I hide against the wall, wondering what that was all about.

Faye and Artem are #couplegoals as far as I’m concerned. I need to believe that they can withstand anything.

Even a trip to Nassau to visit the most dysfunctional non-couple on earth.

That evening, after the kids are all down for the night, I hand Faye a ginger-coconut concoction that Jesse specializes in and broach the subject as delicately as I can manage.

“So… everything okay between you and Artem?”

Faye’s eyebrows hit the roof. She pulls her feet down off the stool and turns to me. “What do you mean?”

“I really didn’t mean to,” I say with an apologetic cringe. “But I overheard you guys fighting this morning in the kitchen.”

“Oh.” Faye’s face remains impassive for a second. Then she smiles. “It was nothing.”

“It didn’t sound like nothing. You’re always so calm. It was a little unsettling to hear you all riled up.”

“Well, he sure knows how to push my buttons.”

“I imagine all husbands know how to push their wives’ buttons.”

She sighs and fiddles with the ring on her finger. “I’m not talking about Artem, love. I’m talking about Oleg.”

“Oh! You’re mad at Oleg. But… why?”

“Haven’t you noticed that he’s barely around? It feels like he’s avoiding us. Me and the kids. But especially you.”

“That’s the new normal,” I mumble. “Please don’t feel like you have to fight for me here. I’m okay.”

“Like hell you are,” Faye fires back. “I can see how lonely you are, Sutton. Everyone can.”

Biting my lip, I pretend to sip on my drink as I turn my gaze out towards the ocean. I love hanging out on this terrace. It gives us an unadulterated view of the ocean. And just off to the right, I can see Oleg’s favorite little yacht: The Water Star.

“I just have to find ways to occupy my time when you guys leave.”

“You shouldn’t have to. Oleg is the one who brought you here and knocked you up. He should be stepping up and taking responsibility. He should be pampering and worshiping you. Instead, he’s⁠—”

“Hiding out on his boats more often than not?”

“Exactly!” Faye storms, getting riled up all over again. “It’s a coward’s move, and say what you want about Oleg, he’s no coward. You’re carrying his baby; you deserve better.”

“I don’t know…”

Faye looks aghast. “How can you say that?”

I shrug. “Let’s face it, Faye. I knew what I was getting into from day one. He never lied to me about what he expected. He wanted a baby. It was never about me. There was never going to be an ‘us.’ We were doomed right from the beginning.”

She grabs my hand and gives it a comforting squeeze. “Nothing is ever doomed,” she insists. “This is just Oleg’s M.O. He gets insecure about things and his way of dealing with it is to not deal with it at all.”

“What do you think he’s insecure about?”

She spreads her hands wide to encompass everything. “Fatherhood. Marriage. Love. Anything too emotional or intimate or personal. He recoils like a wounded animal.”

“It’s because of the accident, isn’t it?”

Faye sighs. “It’s the only reason I give him a pass sometimes. Because that accident robbed him of so much. He blamed himself to the point that he decided to punish himself. That’s why he can’t open up to you, Sutton. It’s because he feels he doesn’t deserve to be happy.”

I chew on my lip. I want to believe Faye, but believing her means risking more heartbreak, more disappointment.

“Has he spoken to you at all?” she asks. “About fatherhood, about the baby?”

“The only thing he’s really discussed with me is the paternity test. He wants to meet with his attorneys soon to discuss a custody arrangement for the baby. That’s all I know so far.”

Faye is perched on the edge of her seat. “Are you serious?”

“Uh, I mean, yes. We really haven’t discussed very much else. In fact, we’ve barely spoken in days.”

“That… that is… outrageous!” she storms, slamming her glass on the table so hard that half its contents come spilling out.

“It’s okay, Faye⁠—”

“It is not okay!” she explodes, leaping to her feet. “You should storm into his office and demand a proper conversation. He can’t be allowed to dictate your whole life. Or the baby’s, for that matter.”

“What can I do, though?”

“You can shout until he listens,” she says firmly. “You have a voice, Sutton. It’s time you used it. This is your life, too. All those decisions he’s making need your input. Don’t let yourself be sidelined. If you do, you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

I sit with that for a long time, my heart expanding and contracting painfully. As moonlight dwindles and The Water Star gets closer, I realize that Faye is right—as usual.

I have opinions.

It’s time for me to start whacking a few balls into Oleg’s court.