7. Chapter 7
Lark
Did I schedule my flight to Los Angeles at around the same time as Devin’s flight to Munich so I could go with her to the airport and hug her goodbye?
Yes. I did. I have no shame.
In retrospect, this may not have been the best of ideas.
I should have gotten her ready to go and sent off to Germany for the first leg of her trip, then come back and gotten myself ready.
In my defense, I didn’t want to spend much time alone in our townhouse after she left.
I felt like I might lose my nerve if I had any time to sit with my own thoughts.
And that may have been true, but the result is one of the most hectic weekends I can ever remember.
Devin was supposed to have packed everything she needed for the first month of school so we could send it out to Richard and have it waiting for her when she got there.
I was going to meet her out there after I got back from LA to help get her settled in her dorm and bring anything she inevitably forgot.
She did not, in fact, pack anything. So, a bunch of things happen in very quick succession: Richard and his new wife, Rachel, come in in time for graduation—and a little bit of a vacation away from their five-year-old son, RJ.
We watch Devin walk across the stage, we all go to a very nice dinner together, and then Richard insists on taking her shopping for dorm essentials.
Never mind that this is my last weekend with her for two months.
Never mind that he was supposed to do this with her when she came back from her trip.
Never mind that she has nothing packed to send back with him.
But when she pins me with her puppy-dog eyes and promises she’ll do the packing when she gets home, I cave. Which leaves me alone and packing for myself. It would be nice if I weren’t in the middle of about three existential crises.
One, my daughter is leaving for college, and I’m going to miss her like hell.
Two, I still don’t have a bathing suit.
And three, suddenly none of my summer clothes are cute. Which I don’t understand, because they were cute last year.
Three-B would be that I don’t have time to shop, which means I’m going to have to either find two months’ worth of excuses for not swimming or go with Lennon. I’m not sure which is more embarrassing.
Lennon calls, interrupting at least twenty minutes of me standing uselessly in front of my closet with an open—and empty—suitcase. I answer it gratefully.
“What do people wear in LA?” I ask by way of greeting.
“Um…clothes?” is his response.
I glare at his image on the screen. “Can you be a little more specific?”
“Probably not,” he says. When I shoot him another look, he holds his hands up in front of the camera.
“Okay, okay. I’ll try. It’s usually warm and dry.
Sunny. It gets cool by the water at night or in the morning.
I’d say bring some jeans and sweatshirts, shorts, T-shirts, tank tops.
Normal summer stuff. The recording studio is super casual, too, so any of those things would be good.
And then, I don’t know…pajamas? Leggings? Do women still wear leggings?”
“You can pry my leggings out of my cold, dead hands,” I say flatly.
“Well, there you go. Leggings. Whatever you need to feel comfortable is fine. And I have a washer and dryer in my unit, so you’ll be able to do laundry without much hassle.”
“I just want to look cute,” I admit, scrunching up my nose.
Lennon laughs heartily. “You’re always cute.”
“You know what I mean,” I whine. “I want to fit in.”
He gets serious when I say that. His smile is replaced with an intense look, his hazel eyes piercing through all two thousand miles and a phone screen to send chills up and down my spine.
“You, Lark Caspian, never have to worry about fitting in. You’re the one who makes people feel like they fit in, not the other way around.
” He leans back, adopting an air of nonchalance, though I can still see his muscular shoulders are tense.
“And besides, you’re with me. No one is going to question what you’re wearing. ”
“Okay,” I say quietly, then louder and more confident. “Okay. That helps. Thank you.” I start taking some things that seem appropriate for the weather he described out of my closet and place them in the suitcase.
“So, do you mind if we talk business for a second?” Lennon asks as I work.
“Sure.” I pull out a blue cotton sundress and examine it for a minute.
“Yes. Bring that,” he pipes up.
I frown at it on the hanger. “Am I going to need a dress?” What am I thinking? Dresses are good for a million situations. “Never mind. Okay, I’ll bring it.”
“Anyway, the team loved your audition. Jessica thinks you may even be more perfect than the last narrator we had, which is saying something because she’s picky as fuck. Basically, you nailed it.”
I pause what I’m doing to look at him, and I can’t help the grin from spreading across my face. Lennon matches it with one of his own, though his looks a bit more self-assured than mine feels, as if he knew all along I’d nail it. I hadn’t been as sure.
“So, I got the gig?” I ask.
“Not only did you get the gig, but my buddy, Noah—you remember me talking about him?”
“The producer?”
“Yeah, that’s him. Anyway, he wants to meet you.” Lennon winces. “He probably has a whole pitch or whatever, but I warned him to tone it down until this project is over.”
I stop what I’m doing and put my hands on my hips as I face the camera. “What kind of pitch?”
Lennon runs a hand through his sandy hair. A lock of it falls over his forehead, but he doesn’t bother pushing it out of the way. It makes him look boyish, and a little soft spot opens up in my heart.
“He wants to see how this project goes, but my guess is he’s going to want to get you on his roster of people to call to narrate other books.”
“All from that one audition?” I ask, incredulous.
Lennon shrugs. “He’s been at this for a while. He knows talent when he sees it.”
He says it as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. As if my talent is a given, not something I’ve let languish in the eighteen years since my last real performance. That unwavering confidence he seems to have in me settles some of my nervous energy.
I realize after what must be an awkward minute on his part that I’ve been staring at him, smiling a goofy smile. But he’s just returning it, waiting patiently, his eyes glimmering with what I think is pride.
It strikes me just then that I cannot wait to see his eyes in person again.
Gorgeous hazel with speckles of gold and brown.
I used to spend as much time as I could looking at them without letting on that’s what I was doing.
Or maybe he knew and let me do it anyway.
Either way, I can’t wait to look at them again.
“Sorry,” I say. “I got lost there for a minute. So, everything is falling into place?”
Lennon clears his throat as if he had been lost, too.
“Right. Yes. Couldn’t have planned it better.
Noah and Jessica want to meet with you as soon as possible.
This isn’t a normal thing they do, but like I said, they love you.
I used Devin’s graduation as an excuse to hold them off as long as I could.
They’re chomping at the bit, though. I don’t want to overwhelm you the minute you get out here, but it would get them off my back if we could meet them for lunch after you land. ”
I looked Jessica Jordans up on the internet, and she is gorgeous.
Young, with long brown hair that’s always perfectly wavy.
Slim but athletic. One-thousand-watt smile.
I can’t say I’m excited to meet her and watch her fawn all over Lennon, because I’m sure she will.
Who wouldn’t? Everyone would, if the women he’s had in and out of his life are any indication.
I take two more dresses out of the back of my closet and lay them next to my suitcase.
While I can’t say I’m excited to meet Jessica, I try to sound as enthusiastic as I can. “Oh. Sure. Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Perfect. Thank you. I’ll make it up to you by taking you somewhere really cool or—”
“You don’t have to do anything special,” I cut him off. “Just being with you is going to be more than enough.”
He tilts his head. “I want to, Songbird. I want to show my favorite person in the world around my favorite place in the world.”
I can’t help a smile at that. It sounds like exactly what I need.
***
Richard and Rachel leave as soon as they drop Devin off from their shopping trip. He grouses about carrying all the stuff they bought her back to New York, and I have to bite my tongue so I don’t mention that he could have saved himself the trouble by following the original plan.
Devin is a tornado of activity from the minute he leaves right up until I’m wheeling my suitcase to the front door and shouting up to her room that we need to get going.
My phone dings with a message just as Devin tosses a duffel bag down the stairs.
“I hope there wasn’t anything fragile in that,” I mumble to myself as I check my phone.
Hannah: Delivery for you!
What does that mean? I pull the curtain over the porch window aside and see a package on my doorstep. Hannah’s car is in the street, but she pulls away quickly. She stops down the street, and my phone dings again.
Hannah: I knew if I were still here when I gave it to you, you wouldn’t take it. I’ll be back a few times this week to check on the place.
What in the world? I open the door to get the box, then slide my finger under the tape keeping it shut. Inside is a bathing suit. A red one. Two pieces, though the bottom looks big enough to be high-waisted. I hold it up against my torso. It’ll probably fit.
Lark: You didn’t have to do that.
Hannah: Do you have a bathing suit?
Lark: No.
Hannah: You do now. You’re welcome. Have fun.
I laugh and, shaking my head, open my suitcase just enough to slip the bathing suit inside.
***
Somehow, I hold my tears back long enough for Devin to round the corner toward her terminal. Molly had texted her that she was already there and waiting, but Devin spent an extra few minutes with me, even though I could tell she was excited to go.
As soon as she’s out of sight, the waterworks start, and they don’t stop until I’m in the air.
I pull Sizzling Secrets out of my carry-on to take some notes, and I try.
I really do. But I end up mostly watching the puffy clouds pass underneath the wing of the plane from the window, counting down the minutes until I get to squeeze my best friend.