12. Chapter 12 #2
Lark would never just up and leave. I don’t know why I feared she would.
My parents would—and have. Used to anyway, when I was young.
I woke up alone in my house sometimes with a note to go check in with a neighbor who had a similarly aged kid.
They liked to party. Or “network,” as they called it, which may have been true to some extent.
Dad was always looking for the next big job that could change our lives.
Mom was always looking for something exciting to do.
Eventually, they came back, but it was the same thing every time.
I’d panic, force myself to pour some cereal and eat it, and go to the neighbors’ house to hang out for the day.
The neighbors never seemed to mind. They liked having me around to play with their kids, but I never let myself get too attached.
Dad would find a different job soon enough or Mom would want to see somewhere new, and the friendship would be over.
As I got older and was able to be by myself, I’d stay and try to read a book until they came home but would usually end up flipping the pages without registering any of the words.
They brought Daisy home with them after one such evening at a party that turned into the whole night and the entire next day.
Just came back after an entire day gone with the dog as an apology, or maybe as a makeshift babysitter. It’s hard to say.
Eventually, I had Lark, too. She suggested once that we notify some authority, but she must have seen the dread in my face when I insisted she not tell anyone.
Children’s Protective Services could take me away, and once I found her, I couldn’t imagine being anywhere she wasn’t.
So I’d call her, and she’d come over with a paper cup in each hand—coffee for me, tea for her—and we’d sit together on my back patio watching Daisy chase rabbits while we waited for my parents to show up.
It only takes a few minutes for my coffee to brew.
I set it aside and use the machine to make tea for her.
With a mug in each hand, I cross the living room to the sliding door.
I set one of the mugs down to open the door, then walk outside.
I put her tea on the small table in front of her and cup mine in my hands against the slight chill in the morning air as I take a seat in the other armchair.
“Thanks,” she says, but she doesn’t look at me. Her eyes remain fixed on the sliver of horizon between the buildings.
I hum and sip my coffee. It burns my tongue a little, but I welcome it. It feels better than the numbness I was experiencing inside. “I’d ask if you slept well, but it’s five in the morning, so probably not.”
She shakes her head. “You?”
“Same.”
Her blue eyes slide to me then, glancing down to my bare feet and up to my bed head. She huffs a small laugh. “What’s your excuse?”
“You,” I say without thinking.
Her eyebrows lift in question, but I haven’t had enough coffee to explain that away. I take another sip. She doesn’t push it; she just sighs and turns back to the horizon.
The silence between us is charged but easy. Something’s coming, but it’s not going to wreck us. That’s impossible. But it does stretch for a few moments. I drink about half of my coffee and Lark starts on her tea before she speaks.
“I’m not sure I belong here.” Her voice is small, unsure.
It’s unclear whether the heartstring that snaps at that is because of her words or because of the way she says them as if she’s defeated.
She sounds like a woman who has tried to talk herself into something one more time than she’s tried to talk herself out of it.
I want to jump out of my seat and get on my knees and beg her to stay.
I already thought she left once this morning, and it sent me into a spiral.
If she actually left now after I’ve had only one day with her, I’d be inconsolable.
But I try to keep my words as measured as possible. “What do you mean?”
She swallows some tea, then fidgets with the tea bag as she speaks.
“This isn’t me, Lennon. I don’t make impulsive decisions to fly to LA and sign on to do a job I have absolutely no qualifications for.
No matter how much I’ve missed you.” Her gaze meets mine as her voice cracks on the last sentence.
Fuck, I’ve missed her, too. It’s easy to ignore when life gets busy and we talk every day anyway, and I probably should admit that a big part of me was avoiding seeing her to also avoid the necessity of parting again.
But having her next to me right now is a million times better than talking on the phone, even if things are fraught between us in a way neither of us seems to be able to explain.
She drops her gaze back to the mug in her hand. “And I don’t want to burden you.”
I set my cup down and take hers from her to do the same. I hold her hands in mine as I lean forward. They’re warm from the mug but also clammy. She’s nervous again. The desire to take away this pain of hers and make it all better is a constant beacon, but there isn’t much I can do.
I run my thumb back and forth over her knuckles. Her eyes track the movement for a second before she closes her eyes. She looks pained. Heavy. Older, suddenly.
“What’s going on here?” I ask, not changing the rhythm of my thumb tracing the back of her hand.
“I don’t know. What if I’m not any good at this?”
“The audiobook? Lark, you’re going to be amazing. Noah, Silas, and Jessica are already obsessed with you. Or were you not at the same lunch I was at yesterday?”
She huffs, then opens her eyes and pins me with a serious gaze. I know what’s coming before she even says it.
“Jessica was obsessed with one of us yesterday. I don’t think it was me.”
“I’m not sleeping with her. I told you that.”
Her lips form a thin line, and she ticks an eyebrow toward the sky. “It wouldn’t bother me if you were. You’re allowed to have women in your life. I just want to know before I get knee-deep in this project.”
I squeeze her hands. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”
She softens at that. “I know. I’m…” She trails off and looks upward to the sky again. “I don’t know what’s going on with me. I’m sad, Lennon. I’m out of my depth, and I miss my kid.”
I stand and motion for her to scoot over.
There’s barely enough room on the armchair for both of us, so I pull her halfway into my lap and wrap my arms around her.
She rests her head on my shoulder and sighs.
For a moment, I think she might start crying, but she doesn’t. Maybe she’s all out of tears for now.
I steal a kiss on top of her head. It’s probably wildly inappropriate, but I can’t help myself. She feels so good in my arms. Satisfying, like the piece to a jigsaw puzzle I thought had been missing and suddenly found under a couch cushion.
“You’re a good mom,” I say into her hair. “Devin is a testament to that. She’s the best kid, and she feels safe to explore the world because you made sure she’s been safe her whole life.”
“Shit.” Lark sniffles. “I had literally just stopped crying, you asshole.”
She doesn’t mean it. It’s just how she is—deflecting with a joke or a taunt. I’m glad she’s back at it. It feels much more normal than the deep introspection.
I squeeze her tighter, not quite ready to tease her back yet. “You carried her for eighteen years. Let me carry you for a few weeks. Stay here, be as sad as you want. We’ll do some fun stuff, drink some good wine, you’ll be brave and try something new. We’ll be together. It’ll be great.”
She wipes her nose with the back of her hand and shifts so she’s sitting sideways on the armchair, her legs spread over my lap and her head still on my shoulder. “Okay.”
And then, even though I know it might be a death sentence given the words on repeat throughout my dreams last night, I ask, “Do you want to practice before you start recording tomorrow?”
She chuckles, the sound vibrating against and through me, all the way to the tips of my toes. “You mean run lines like we used to do in high school?”
Yep. This is a terrible idea, but like toothpaste out of the tube, there’s no going back now. I’d do this and a lot more for her, just to hear that laugh again. “Something like that.”
“You think you could help?” she asks skeptically.
I scoff, offended. “I’ve engineered, like, hundreds of these things. Yes, I think I can help.”
She tips her face up to mine. We are so close together that I can feel her warm breath on my skin. It smells of tannins and lemon.
“My bad.” She nestles her head into the space between my neck and shoulder. “I’d be grateful for the help. Thank you.”
We sit there in silence for a long while before I ask, “Why did you come out here? Just to think?”
“I wanted to watch the sunrise.”
I hum as I roll my lips together and bite them to hide a snicker. She must sense it, though, because she looks up at me again.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I insist. I nod in the direction she’s been facing. “That’s west.”
She doesn’t move. “Oh.”
And then, because I can’t help myself, I say, “Out here, we watch the sun set mostly.”
“Mm-hmm,” she hums, each note a short staccato. She’s annoyed with herself, probably, but I can sense the humor coursing through her, too.
“Because it’s the West Coast,” I add through a chuckle.
She smacks my arm. “I got it, you dick.”
“I think you’re confusing me with your ex-husband.”
She barks out a laugh. Her head pops off my shoulder, and she looks at me, incredulous. “Lennon Samuel Hollis. Stop.”
I roll my eyes dramatically. “Okay, okay.”
Her body shakes with restrained laughter as she rests her head back on my shoulder.
I smile out over her at the brightening sky and the buildings beyond the balcony.
Eventually, she settles, and she lets me hold her in a comfortable silence as the sky goes from navy to pink to a bright royal blue.
I watch as the sun starts weaving its way through her hair, twisting it into gold fibers that tickle my cheek in the morning breeze.
Once the sun has broken over the top of my building, she unfurls herself and stretches her neck one way, then the other. “I don’t know,” she says on a breath, her voice airy and content. “This might be the West Coast, but that was the best sunrise I’ve seen in a while.”
She stands and takes both our empty mugs with her inside, but I linger on the balcony for another few minutes wishing I could hold her for a little longer.