2. Wyatt
2
Wyatt
A ll I can think about, as I pack up at the end of another scorching summer day, is rhubarb.
I drain my water bottle, double checking how much soil we have on the way out of the job site. We’ll need more delivered tomorrow if we’re going to have the job finished on time, and I make a mental note to put in an order tonight.
“Later, boss,” Shawn says as he passes. His deep brown skin glistens with sweat, and he wipes the back of his arm across his forehead as he turns down the street, a few of the other guys joining him.
At this time of day, most of the crew heads to Richie’s, a dive bar they frequent in Gowanus, Brooklyn, where the beer is cheap and the air conditioning is strong after a day in the oppressive New York heat. I could join them, but I rarely fraternize with the crew outside of work hours. As the owner of Mathers Landscaping, it’s important to keep a little professional distance.
Besides, I need to get home and check on my rhubarb.
“Later, guys.” I turn for my pickup truck, eager to get back to my place in Brooklyn Heights.
It’s been a long day working on a yard in Park Slope, and I have three other projects on the go. Summer is my busy season, and I always have to hire a few extra hands to keep up with the work. It’s essential to make the most of it because the majority of my work grinds to a halt come winter. I don’t mind the seasonal nature of the work, though. It’s nice to have downtime between the hustle.
I blast the air conditioning on the drive home, my body heavy and spent after a day of manual labor in the sweltering sun. It’s the kind of ache that feels good, that you know means you’ll sleep well. Usually, I’d swing by and check on progress at the other sites, but I decide it can wait until tomorrow. I want to pop into my local community garden and see if the rhubarb is ready to harvest.
As I turn down Atlantic Avenue, my eyes catch on the tattoos across my knuckles gripping the wheel. The black ink on the back of my left hand is an intricate rose, both my mom’s name and her favorite flower, with the word LOVE in script across my knuckles. On my right is a compass, my knuckles inscribed with the word LIVE . I got both when I was twenty, to complete sleeves on both arms, which I’d started at nineteen. An attempt to define myself at a time when I had no idea who I was or what kind of mark I would make on the world.
Little did I know, I had a daughter taking her first breath on the other side of the city. I would have had her name tattooed on my hand if I’d been given the chance. I had to settle for getting it engraved on my chest, instead, over a decade later.
The thoughts fade as I turn down Fruit Street and my house comes into view. My place shares a continuous redbrick facade with the neighboring buildings to the left, has iron railings up the front steps, and while the building itself is four floors, I live in the bottom two floors of the duplex. The lower apartment has exclusive access to the yard, which was the feature that convinced me to move in seven years ago. Even if I never use it anymore.
Surveying the street for a parking spot, my brows tug together in a frown. Goddammit, there are no spaces again. My neighbor Kyle’s truck is in its usual spot—what used to be my usual spot. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice enough guy, but parking has become harder since he and his wife Violet moved in two doors down.
Finally, I spy a space across the street, and after an awkward maneuver in the narrow road, I pull my truck into the spot. My phone buzzes as I shut off the engine, and I tug it from my pocket, seeing my daughter’s name flash up on the screen.
“Hey, kiddo.” I smile as I accept the call. “What’s up?”
She laughs at my childish nickname for her. “Hey, Dad. I have some news.”
I lean my head against the headrest. “Oh yeah, what’s that?” We talk several times a week, so whatever she has to tell me must be recent.
“I’ve been offered a job as a digital marketing strategist in San Francisco.”
Pride blooms in my chest. “That’s amazing, honey.” She graduated top of her class, and it’s no surprise she’s been snapped up already. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks. I, um, leave in three days.”
I let my breath out slowly. “Right. Okay. I can take some time from work and help you move…” Unless, of course, her mother has already taken care of everything. She loves to make me look incompetent.
“That’s okay, the company is paying for movers.” She’s quiet for a moment, then adds, “Thanks for your support, though. Mom’s guilt-tripping me to stay.”
I bite my tongue. That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.
“Anyway.” Bailey clears her throat. “I was hoping we could spend some time together before I go?”
“I’d love that.” I open the door to my truck and step out into the stuffy heat, processing this news. Bailey has been in my life for such a short time and now she’s moving across the country.
Still, she’s not a kid anymore. Hell, she hasn’t been a kid the entire time I’ve known her, given we only met when she was twelve. I always knew this day would come and I have to accept it. It’s the natural order of things.
I cross the street with a heavy heart, pausing at my motorcycle. It sits under a cover in the courtyard in front of my building, where it’s sat for years. My hands itch with the urge to rip the cover off, throw on my helmet, and peel out onto the highway, but it’s been so long that part of me wonders if I even remember how to ride.
I shake the thought off and jam my key into the lock of the basement-level entry to my apartment, turning my attention back to the phone. “What did you have in mind? We could do dinner and a movie night here?”
“Sounds good,” Bailey replies, with a smile in her voice. “I’m helping a friend with something tonight, but I’ll come over tomorrow?”
“Sure thing.” I kick my boots off, putting the call on speaker so I can set the phone down as I grab a cold bottle of Brooklyn Lager from the fridge. The exhaustion from the day has finally caught up with me, and I need a moment to cool off before I head down the block to the Fruit Street Community Garden.
As I twist the top off the bottle, I ponder what movies Bailey and I could watch together tomorrow. We haven’t had a classic Ghostbusters night in a while, or she loves the Back to the Future films. I grew up watching these movies, and introducing her to my favorites when she was a teenager is one of my fondest memories.
My chest twinges at the thought of spending less time with my daughter, and I slug back a mouthful of beer before saying, “I’m going to miss you, kiddo.”
“Me too, Dad. But you’ll come visit, right? We can hang out in San Francisco together?”
My mood lightens at the thought. “Definitely. Is Dean going too?”
Admittedly, I wasn’t that impressed with my daughter’s boyfriend when I first met him, mainly because he’s eight years older than Bailey, who was twenty and in college at the time. But in the years they’ve been together I’ve gotten to know him, and he’s one of the good ones. Kind, generous, and nothing but respectful toward my daughter.
“He is,” Bailey says. “Transferring to the West Coast branch.”
I smile, relieved at least that Bailey isn’t going alone. If I can’t be around, I know Dean will take care of her.
“Well, your room will always be here if you need it.”
“Yeah, I know— Wait.” She cuts herself off mid-sentence, a note of urgency in her voice. “Of course! There’s a room at your place!”
I give a bewildered chuckle. “You’ve always known that.”
“Yes, but… Okay, Dad, I need you to remember how much you love me because I have a huge favor to ask you.”
My laugh comes again, more knowing this time. This kid has always known how to get her way.
“And what would that be?”
“You remember my friend, Poppy?”
Without warning, an image of the curvaceous redhead appears in my mind. I’ve met Poppy a handful of times, most recently at their graduation last month, but there’s no way I could forget her. Peaches-and-cream complexion, eyes the color of dark espresso, and shoulder-length hair that blazes copper in the sun. Then there’s her lips; soft, full, and always painted a deep scarlet. Believe me, I feel like a creep for noticing how beautiful my daughter’s friend is, but any hot-blooded male would notice Poppy. I have to admit, I was relieved her graduation gown covered most of her body the last time I saw her. I didn’t need a reminder of what was under there.
“Uh, Poppy?” I echo vaguely, pretending I haven’t the faintest clue who she’s referring to. The last thing my daughter needs to know is that I can recall her friend’s face without even trying.
“Poppy Spencer? She’s my best friend , Dad. You’ve met her at least a few times now.”
“Oh, yeah. I… yep.” I’m trying to be aloof, but I don’t want her to think I’m an asshole. “I know the one.” I pad across the room to the full wall of sliding glass doors that open out onto the yard. I’ve left trays of tomato seedlings along the floor inside to soak up the sun through the glass, and I distract myself by inspecting them before giving the trays a spritz of water.
“Well, I’ve kind of left her in the lurch,” Bailey continues, her tinny voice carrying from the phone on the counter. “She’s been living with me and Dean, but now we’re going to San Fran.”
“Right,” I murmur absently, noticing that one of the seedlings has died. Maybe this spot gets too much sun this time of year? But all the others seem to be flourishing. I crouch down and feel the soil, curious.
“And that means she has to move out, on very short notice. She’s practically going to be homeless and it’s all my fault.”
“Uh-huh.” The soil is moist enough, so what’s going on? Too acidic, maybe?
“Anyway, I was thinking… maybe she could stay with you?”
My head snaps up as my attention returns to the conversation. “What?”
“That wouldn’t be a problem, would it, Dad?”
I rise to my feet and cross back to the phone, the plants momentarily forgotten. “What wouldn’t be a problem?”
“Poppy staying with you.”
She wants her friend to stay here ?
My eyebrows rise and heat creeps into my face. I pick up my beer and take another swallow, glad my daughter can’t see me through the phone.
“I was thinking she could use my room, just until she finds a place,” Bailey adds. I don’t miss the way she intentionally sweetens her voice in an attempt to win me over.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, kiddo.”
“Why not?” Now I can hear her pouting. She’s good.
But there’s no way her friend can stay here.
I scratch at my short beard, considering what reason to give. I can’t exactly say her friend can’t stay because I find her attractive, can I?
“You know this is my busiest time of year,” I say at last. “I’ll be at work most of the time.”
“Exactly!” she exclaims, triumphant, and I know I’ve taken the wrong approach. “You won’t even notice she’s there.”
Oh, I’d notice .
“She’s a great roommate. Tidy, considerate, and she can cook!”
“I’m sure she is,” I begin warily, “but—”
“Dad,” Bailey cuts in, her tone serious. “If I was in trouble and needed somewhere to go, would you take me in?”
My brows come down. “In a heartbeat, you know that. You’re my family, honey.”
“Well, Poppy is like family to me, and I already feel so guilty leaving her when we’d planned to start our business together. I can’t leave knowing she’ll be homeless. I just can’t.”
I suppress an eye-roll. That’s a little dramatic.
“What about her folks?” I ask.
“They’re in Europe and I have no idea when they’ll be back. Besides, they’re from this tiny hick town in Indiana. I couldn’t make her go back there.”
“You think she’d be happier here?” I chuckle, hoping to lighten the mood so we can move on. “What kid wants to live with an old man?”
“Forty-two isn’t old, Dad.”
I snort. She’s trying to butter me up, and I’m not falling for it.
“And she’s not a kid. She’s twenty-five.”
This does not make me feel better.
“I know it’s a lot to ask,” Bailey continues, her voice solemn. “And normally I wouldn’t, but you said yourself, you’ll hardly be around. It won’t be for long—just until she finds somewhere safe to live.”
My brain snags on the word safe . “What do you mean?”
“She has this ex who kind of… hangs around. I don’t love to use this word because I think it gets overused a lot, but he is toxic with a capital T.”
Despite myself, concern sweeps through me at the idea of Bailey’s friend being in some kind of trouble. “Is he dangerous?”
Bailey is quiet for a beat. “Honestly… I don’t know. He hasn’t been so far, but I don’t trust him. He really did a number on her, and ever since she ended things last year, his behavior has been a little… stalkerish.”
A warning bell sounds in my head. “What do you mean?”
“Like, he shows up at the apartment late at night, and Dean has seen him hanging around outside when Poppy’s not home. Sometimes he shows up at the coffee shop where she works, too, and I think he’s hacked her Instagram account more than once.”
Jesus. And I was worried I was a creep.
“Okay.” The word leaves my lips before I’ve given myself time to think it through. “She can stay here.”
“Really?!” Bailey practically squeals into the phone. “Oh my God, Dad, you’re the best!”
I grunt in reply, my thoughts racing at what I’ve just done. I’ve invited Bailey’s friend—someone I find physically attractive, yet who is, for obvious reasons, off-limits—to live with me. Why the hell did I agree?
But I know why. My daughter asked me to, and I want to make her happy. She sounded genuinely concerned about her friend, and anything I can do to make her feel better, I’ll do it. I’ll do that for my daughter.
As for Poppy dealing with this stalker ex… the thought makes my stomach turn. I don’t know Poppy well, but I do know there are a lot of scumbags out there who hurt women every day. It’s not a huge sacrifice for me to give Poppy a safe place to stay while she gets back on her feet. There won’t be any trouble with her ex as long as she’s under my roof.
Besides, Bailey’s right—she’s the one who’s left poor Poppy in the lurch by kicking her out with hardly any notice. This is the least I can do on her behalf. All I have to do is keep my eyes down and my hands to myself. That won’t be a problem—it’s basically been my M.O. for the last decade.
“Thanks, Dad,” Bailey says. “You have no idea how relieved I feel knowing she’ll be okay.”
I soften. “You’re welcome, honey. I’m happy to help.” And I mean it. Ever since Bailey came into my life ten years ago, I’ve done everything within my power to make up for the time we missed out on. Those precious early years when I should have been around. I need her to know I’m dependable, that I have her back. That she can count on me for anything, at any time.
And maybe she’s right. With work consuming most of my waking hours over summer, I probably won’t even notice Poppy. She’ll be doing her thing, I’ll be doing mine, and there won’t be any issues.
I’ll make sure of it.