Chapter 6 The Old Apartment #2
I’ve known Huxley since I was in my 20s.
He used to hang around the recording studio after training sessions because he thought I was cute.
One night, I stayed late working on some backing vocals, Hux and I got to chatting, there was tequila involved, and well…
Violet was born nine and a half months later.
He and I were each at the height of our respective careers, and we tried to make a relationship work, but we were always better friends than partners.
I think if we’d stayed together for Violet’s sake, we probably wouldn’t be on speaking terms right now.
As things stand though? Everything works surprisingly well.
Huxley lives two blocks away from us in SoHo, and he’s the best co-parent a gal could ask for.
He’s been there for every recital, every PTA meeting, and last summer while I was touring he took Violet on a father-daughter trip all over Europe.
“Come on,” he smiles, reaching an arm out and helping me up off the floor. “You’ve gotta be starving, especially after making such a big-ass mess.”
We wander into the kitchen where Violet’s diligently unpacked the food.
This was always my favorite room in the apartment, with its 1950s black & white checkerboard tile, seafoam-green cupboards, and cherry-red leather seats.
Grandpa decorated it himself as an homage to the diners he spent a hell of a lot of late nights in on the road.
“Thanks for setting everything up.”
There’s a wide assortment, from sashimi to miso soup, and Violet quickly shoves a sushi roll into her mouth as she loads up her plate.
“Can I have one of your crispy mango rolls too, since I did such a great job?”
I ruffle her hair, and she beams back at me, crinkling her little button nose.
“Listen to this kid!” I laugh, turning to Huxley as he cracks open a soda. “This has got to be your doing.”
“Absolutely not! You think she has to wheel and deal to get things out of me? I fold like a paper airplane. If anything, she had to become such a shrewd negotiator from years of your cold, hard parenting. Next thing you know she’ll be negotiating for a car.”
“Oh, can I have a car?!” Violet asks.
I cackle, gently pinching her cheek.
“Not quite yet, but you know what, I may be willing to part with one crispy mango roll.”
“Oh good, because I already ate one.”
“You brat!”
“Better to ask for forgiveness than permission!”
Just as I take my seat, struggling to come up with another clever retort, my phone starts to ring.
COLE CALLING…
Hux’s eyes darken, his voice dipping into a lower register.
“Is that him again?”
“Unfortunately, yeah.”
Cole’s been trying to get a hold of me since I kicked him out last month.
“You should block his number, mom,” Violet cuts in, sipping her soda. “That guy sucks.”
I stare at my phone, letting it ring. I can’t tell you what brought me back to him after so many years apart, because he’s no romantic, despite playing one on TV. I don’t know how many text messages, calls, or drunken voicemails he’s left me, but I refuse to entertain a grown man’s crashout.
“Yeah,” I sigh, picturing his face as I let the phone ring. “He does.”
I spent my 20s and part of my 30s jumping from relationship to relationship, enough that the media dubbed me The Heartbreak Queen.
Heartbreak has been a fantastic muse over the years, and it’s gotten me a hell of a lot of accolades, but the older I get, the more I just want to settle down.
When Cole came back into my life last year, I guess I thought he might have been my chance for that.
He seemed more mature, and more grounded, and things were really great for a while.
Then his show got canceled and he went off the deep end. The shiny new version of him was immediately replaced by an angry, hard-drinking asshole with a mean-streak.
I wait for the call to end, pull up his contact information, and hit the block button.
“There. Done.”
He had to go.
“Hell yeah.” Huxley raises his soda. “To boundaries.”
I should feel good about this, but I know Cole’s going to find another way in. He always does. Will he get his assistant to try and call me again? His PR team? His mom?
All the options are on the table for a man with no shame.
As I pop a sushi roll into my mouth, happy to finally settle down for the evening, a sharp knock at the door sends my heart rate through the roof and I almost jump out of my chair.
“Jesus, Daph, you gotta chill. Are you expecting someone?”
“No.”
I push my chair out and head for the door, my heart in my throat.
The bar’s been closed since grandpa died, and the only people with a key to get up to the apartment are the manager and my parents.
Maybe he called from outside? If it is him, at least I know Hux is ready to toss him down those stairs like a rag doll.
I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the worst as I turn the handle, but when I open the door I only find a tall blond man with slicked back hair, dressed in a crisp blue suit.
“Daphne Carmichael, I presume?”