Chapter 5 #2
“We won’t know if she’s working unless we call and ask,” Stella says.
I put both my hands on the small table and level my glare at her. “I’m not calling her.”
“I’ll call her,” Stella says and holds out her hand for my phone.
“I don’t think we should interrupt her while she’s working.”
Stella’s arm is still extended, waiting for me to place my phone in her hand. “If she can’t go, she’ll tell us.”
“There is no us. If you’re going to ask her, you tell her you wanted her to come. Don’t say anything about me.”
“Okay,” she says, calling my bluff. The girl has the confidence of a twenty-six-year-old who knows exactly who she is and how to get what she wants. It makes parenting her extremely difficult at times, but I never want her to lose that spark.
I pull up Petra’s contact on my phone and hand it to Stella.
She doesn’t even hesitate for a second before she hits the icon to place the call.
I watch her expressive face, noting the way she raises her eyebrows every time the phone rings, like she just knows this is the ring where Petra will answer.
Finally, on the fourth ring, her patience is rewarded.
“Hello?” Petra’s low, throaty voice carries across the table to me, even though Stella’s holding the phone up to her ear.
“Hi, Petra, it’s Stella. Stella Ivanova,” she adds, in case Petra couldn’t figure out which Stella might be calling her from my number.
“Hello, Stella. What’s up?” I can’t tell if her voice is amused that a six-year-old is calling her, or concerned.
“Dyadya is taking me to the New York Orchid Show this afternoon, and he said I could bring a friend. Will you come with me?”
Petra’s laugh is low and throaty, just like her voice. “Don’t you have school today?”
“Yes, but we got out early because the teachers have a meeting.”
Early release days at Stella’s private school mean the kids are out before lunch, which begs the question, why even go in at all?
“Okay, can I talk to your uncle about these plans?”
“So you’ll come?” In her excitement, Stella’s voice sounds like the high-pitched scream of a teakettle.
“I will if the timing works. That’s why I need to talk about the details with your uncle.”
With a victorious look, Stella hands me the phone.
“Hi.”
“You know,” she says, “if you’d wanted me to come, you could have asked me yourself. You don’t need to have the kid do your dirty work for you.”
I reward her flirtation with a chuckle. “She is very insistent that you are the friend she wants to bring. I tried to tell her you were probably working.”
“I just wrapped up a conference call with my team. And the only thing I planned to work on this afternoon is scouting a location for your post-season party. So it’s your choice, I can work on your event, or I can go look at flowers with you and Stella.”
I glance at Stella’s hopeful face, and there’s only one answer. “Flowers it is.”
“I have dinner plans with my friend Emily tonight. Will we be back in time?”
“Yeah, definitely. We actually have to be back by six anyway.”
“Plenty of time, then,” she agrees. I doubt her dinner plans are before eight or nine. Mine never were back when I was childless.
“We’re leaving in an hour. Where should we pick you up?”
“I’ll be back at the hotel, which is perfect, by the way. Who do I have to thank for that? You?”
“Indirectly, yes. Tom’s assistant Avery made the arrangements, though.”
“Ah,” Petra says, but doesn’t elaborate. “I’ll see you in an hour, then.”
As I hang up and see the triumphant look on Stella’s face, I can’t help but feel like we both just got played by a kid.
“Of course not,” Petra laughs. I’m not even sure what Stella asked her.
I’m too focused on the way they are walking in sync, each holding an ice cream with one hand while their free hands are linked together.
I’m trailing behind them, irrelevant to their conversation.
It’s been like this since the moment we got here.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Stella this relaxed and happy.
Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. As a teenager, Petra was open and honest. She didn’t hold her punches, either—she had a way of knowing what advice people needed to hear and when they needed to hear it, and she delivered it whether you were ready or not.
I loved that about her, but I think it could rub some people the wrong way.
Not Stella, though. She’s clearly enamored.
Petra looks back over her shoulder and winks at me. I step closer so I can figure out what they’re talking about.
“So if I can’t punch him, what can I do instead?” Stella asks.
“Okay, so here’s what I’d do,” Petra replies. “I’d say ‘Jason, if you’re so desperate to be around me, maybe try being nice for a change.’”
Ah, Jason. Stella’s nemesis. I’ve unsuccessfully been coaching her on how to deal with the daily conflict he brings into her life. And Petra’s advice sounds pretty good to me too.
“But he’ll just say ‘I don’t want to be around you!’” Stella counters.
“So then you just say ‘The feeling is mutual. So go away already!’”
“What’s mutual mean?” Stella asks, looking up at her as she licks her ice cream cone.
Her dark brown curls frame her face and hang past her shoulders, and in that moment it looks like a six-year-old version of Petra standing with the adult version.
I’d never noticed how much she resembles Petra at that age.
Hell, I only ever focused on teenage Petra.
I almost forgot she was a little girl who grew up on a country estate with three older boys, and that Viktor, Niko, and I wanted nothing to do with her back then.
“Um,” Petra stalls as she tries to think of a way to explain mutual. “It means you both feel the same way. So instead you could say ‘I don’t want to be around you either, so go away!’”
“Okay,” Stella says, “I’ll try that. Dyadya keeps telling me that Jason is just being mean because he likes me.”
“He might be right,” she tells Stella, “but you need to stand up for yourself and teach him that you won’t be treated like that. Boys need to learn more appropriate ways to get girls’ attention than tormenting them.”
“I think so too.” Stella beams up at Petra, then stops to look up at the arch of orchids we’re walking through on our way toward the exit. “I want orchids like this in my bedroom,” Stella says.
“While that would be beautiful,” I speak up from behind them, “it is also impractical. Orchids don’t grow in arches like this naturally. This is a thousand plants together, carefully tended by master gardeners.”
“What if I just got a few plants?” she asks.
“I don’t think there’s time to stop at the Botanical Store on the way out, but maybe another time,” I tell her.
By the way Stella frowns, I’m afraid we’re heading for an argument.
Stopping at any museum gift store as you leave is a must with kids, but we really don’t have time if we’re going to make it back into the city for her piano lesson.
Instead, Petra distracts her with some questions about school and we make it out of the Botanical Gardens without an issue.
In the car, we all sit in the back seat as my driver, Daniel, navigates us through stop-and-go traffic. I glance at my watch, wondering if the rush hour traffic will result in her missing her lesson. Again. For the third week in a row.
“We aren’t having dinner with Aunt CeCe and Uncle Tony tonight, right?
” Stella asks, looking up at me from her booster seat between Petra and me.
I see the worry etched there and my heart constricts.
The thought of her ever ending up with people she so clearly doesn’t feel comfortable around is the main driver of my determination to adopt her.
“No, that’s tomorrow night,” I tell her.
“Hey,” Petra says softly as she rests her hand on Stella’s knee and gives it a little squeeze. “Why aren’t you excited to see your aunt and uncle?”
I’ve never asked Stella that question. I’ve never wanted to be the one to pit her against the other side of her family.
“They just make me feel . . . icky,” Stella says.
“Icky?” Petra asks.
“Yeah. I just don’t like being around them. I don’t like when they come over for dinner.”
Petra looks at me, her eyes opening wide and her eyebrows raising. I give her a small shrug in return, because I don’t know what Stella means any more than she does.
“They can’t be that bad,” Petra says. She’s not dismissing Stella’s comment, she’s clearly trying to get her to better explain the issue.
“Can you come to dinner tomorrow night too?” Stella asks. “Then you can see what I mean.”
Petra stills. Across the back seat of the car I watch her placid face, wondering what’s going on beneath the surface.
“It’s probably a good idea for you to meet them and see what we’re up against,” I suggest.
She glances over at me, and in her eyes I can see the push and pull—not wanting to get involved, but already involved nonetheless.
“Okay,” she says.
“Thank you!” Stella says, launching herself at Petra as much as her seatbelt will allow. Stella wraps her arms around Petra’s waist, and though she looks a little uncomfortable with the affection, Petra lifts her arm and wraps it around Stella’s back, holding my niece to her side.
“Six thirty tomorrow night, my place,” I tell her.
She closes her eyes and gives me a quick nod.
I wish I could read her thoughts. How does she feel about getting involved in my niece’s life like this?
And most importantly, is she willing to help me get citizenship so I can adopt Stella?
She’ll give me those answers when she’s good and ready, but for the first time, it occurs to me that the wait might damn near kill me.