Chapter 4
FOUR
The front door opens, and the blinds rattle, alerting me of a visitor. The thud of shoes tossed unceremoniously onto the floor, followed by the familiar sound of a bag dumped, draws a smile to my lips as an exuberant, red-faced, dark-haired beauty races around the corner into the kitchen and catapults herself onto a stool.
“Good afternoon, Lily.” I chuckle as she guzzles down her after-school apple juice and wipes the remnants across the back of her hand like an adorable Neanderthal despite there being a napkin beside her snack plate.
She offers a bright, toothy smile before digging into a turkey and cheese sandwich on slices of freshly baked bread I picked up at the local bakery after I worked a handful of hours this morning at Dark Delicacies, going over wine inventory and making a quick stop to the apartment to ask Cell to do some digging on Dark and Sunshine. It’s what I planned on asking her last night, but I forgot to ask before I left. Surprisingly enough, she didn’t pry. Just offered a polite nod and an even politer, upbeat, “ On it, Boss Lady.” Have I mentioned how much I love Cell? In case I haven’t, she’s amazing.
It’s finally Friday.
Another after-school day to spend with Lily.
Since I returned from California, we spend every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoon together. The weekends are based on what I have planned. Lately, apart from time with Todd or the shop, there hasn’t been much. Lily is always welcome to participate in the rest of the stuff I do around here—from cleaning to tea making to caring for the plants and flowers in the greenhouse. For safety reasons, I keep her away from the dangerous plants that grow in a different section of my favorite outdoor space, but the rest are up for tending to. It seems to soothe her as much as it does me.
Hip resting against the island, arms tucked loosely over my comfy Dark Delicacies sweatshirt, I wait for Lily to finish her snack. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she didn’t have breakfast or lunch, but I know from asking her that’s never true. She’s in the middle of a growth spurt and growing like a weed.
She chomps three bites from her sandwich, filling her cheeks like a chipmunk.
“Smaller bites. We’re in no rush,” I remind her, not for the first time this week.
“I-wown,” she mumbles around a mouthful.
I arch a mom brow, the effective kind that has my kids, birthed or not, straightening up and acting right before I enact the dreaded mom voice or, even worse, mom actions. Nobody likes those, especially Fog and Tarek.
Lily finishes chewing and swallows before trying again. “ Sorry. It’s yoga and plant day. My favorite day.” She bounces excitedly in her seat.
I chuckle.
Yoga and plant day are my favorite days, too… usually.
When I don’t fall asleep after a home invasion and wake up riddled with anxiety, worried about how today might go now that both of the bikers in my life are back in town.
When I padded out of my bedroom this morning, I half expected to find Sunshine or Dark in my home or, at the very least, knocking on my door shortly after dawn. But nothing happened. After last night's craziness, it was anticlimactic, in a good way.
Seated at the kitchen island, wrapped in a blanket, I sipped a hot cup of breakfast tea and checked the long text threads I missed from yesterday. They weren’t anything out of the norm. There have been no new texts today—not even one. That’s unusual, but I’m not holding my breath for it to last long.
This feels a lot like the calm before the storm.
I’ve been riding the razor’s edge all day, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Lily’s company couldn’t have come at a better time.
“Plants or yoga first?” I ask the sweetest, almost nine-year-old.
Picking up her floral napkin, Lily wipes her mouth and crumples it into a ball. “Can we do yoga in the greenhouse?” She smiles as if that’s the best idea she’s come up with yet. I have to hand it to her she’s one smart cookie .
“Hmmm.” I press a finger to my lips and pretend to be deep in thought. “Yoga in the greenhouse.”
Knowing I’m being silly, Lily giggles. “Yess,” she sings out of tune, tossing her balled-up napkin onto her empty plate.
“Wellll…” I rub my hands together. “I suppose that could be arranged.”
Lily pumps her fist in the air but says nothing as she climbs off her stool, puts her trash in the bin, and sets her dishes in the sink for me to wash later.
I wait for her to finish her tasks before clapping my hands. “You get the mats. I’ll get the speaker. The last one to the greenhouse is a rotten egg.” I clap again, and off we go, racing through the house and gathering our items. Lily squeals in delight as she grabs the rolled mats from the laundry room and dashes out the backdoor just as I sprint into my bedroom, unplug the portable speaker from my nightstand, and follow her outside. Dancing along the concrete pavers I made from colorful, broken plates, rocks, and cement, I’m the last to leap through the greenhouse door Lily left open.
“You win,” I grouse good-naturedly as I set the speaker on a mosaic bistro table with two matching chairs. When it’s warm enough, I love spending hours out here tending to plants, reading a spooky novel, drinking tea, or just breathing. It’s Zen—my Zen.
Connecting my phone to the speaker and selecting a relaxing yoga playlist we often use, I leave it to Lily to choose where our yoga mats will fit along the pea-gravel-lined paths that weave like little streets through the glass-walled greenhouse .
I shut the door to keep the moist air in. Caring for plants is equal parts science, luck, and love. I try my best to keep the temperature and moisture levels within a range throughout the year to give my plants the best life possible. Almost everything here runs on carefully installed automation, apart from the actual planting and harvesting.
“Over here.” Lily waves from her spot beside the koi pond at the far end of the greenhouse.
Of course, she’d pick there.
Fred and Barney gulp food from the surface as I join Lily and sit cross-legged on my mat, or Sukahsana/Easy Pose, for my fellow yogis.
Lily finishes dropping a handful of koi food into the pond and claims her mat, facing me in the same position.
I offer her a black tie from my wrist to tie up her hair and keep the locks from falling into her face.
Lily smiles in gratitude and does her best to make a messy bun on her head, similar to mine. It flops to one side as baby hairs stick up all over, and I grin. She’s the cutest.
“Shall we begin?” I double-check.
Eager as always, Lily nods once, and her bun flops to the front, then back, smacking the top of her head.
Pressing my lips together, I stave off a laugh. “In for five.” I draw my hand up my belly, pushing it out as I audibly inhale for five. Mimicking me, Lily draws breath—in for five, hold for five, out for five.
Moving from one pose to the next, we breathe, falling deeper into ourselves, the calming music, becoming one with the universe, opening ourselves to its wonder, its flow. Lily is right there with me, embracing the connection, the calm, the strength.
When we finish, lying on our backs, breathing in corpse pose, the sun beaming through the glass ceiling panels, we exhale our final breath and release all the bad, all our fears, and all our pains into the ether. For the first time in days, I feel steady. I feel good. I feel myself.
Lily and I move in unison as we get up from the ground, roll up our mats, and set them against the base of the koi pond.
By the entrance, we don aprons, grab buckets (mine black, hers pink), slip on floral-printed gloves, and secure our tools. We work in tandem for a few short hours, clearing away dead leaves, loosening soil, and communing with nature as the calming music continues to play.
“How’s school?” I ask to initiate a conversation. I know the deeper issues are floating below the surface, but I won’t wrestle anything out of her. That accomplishes nothing. When Lily wants to open up, she will.
She crumbles a handful of dead leaves in her palm and watches them cascade from her fist into the bucket. “Dad came home last night with Pops.”
“That’s nice.” I don’t tell her I already knew that because she’d ask questions, and I won’t tell her what happened last night.
She bobs her head slowly. “Mom stopped crying.”
My stomach clenches, hating that she noticed, hating that she has to deal with any of this in the first place. Adult matters interfering with kid life always bothers me. It bothered me when my sons were going through with it when Dark returned with Abby, just as much as it bothers me now with Lily. “Did Dad bring you home anything good?” I ask instead, knowing Dark rarely returns without a gift for his girls.
Staring at the flower beds, Lily shrugs up a shoulder and drops it hard. “I… guess.”
I wait for her to tell me what he brought, but she says nothing and continues to stuff dead leaves into her bucket.
Hating to see her sad, I move on to something happier. “Todd’s taking me to a later dinner tonight,” I announce. I’d made the plans with him earlier in the week. Fridays are girls’ time, so I always plan boyfriend time after, when it’s closer to Lily’s bedtime. It’s an hour or two past regular dinner hours, but Todd never seems to mind.
This information perks the nosy girl right up. She sits on the ledge of a raised planter box and stares at me as if she’s waiting for me to give her all the exciting details. Unlike everyone else I associate with, Lily actually likes Todd. He brings her flowers when he brings me flowers. He brings her new toothbrushes when he brings me new toothbrushes. He doesn’t have any kids, but Todd’s surprisingly good with children. He’s a dentist, so that must be part of the job description—be nice to everyone, which checks out because Todd is a bona fide golden retriever.
“Where’s he taking you?” Lily asks, sweeping a mess of dark, sweaty hair from her forehead. She blows at it as if that’ll somehow keep it from sticking. Then, she frowns and throws off her gloves to deal with the issue.
I chuckle, and she rolls her eyes, getting more frustrated by the second when her elastic band won’t come loose. Having sympathy for the kiddo, I throw my gloves in the dirt beside hers and round the flowerbed. I push her hands away from her hair and untangle the band from the nest she’s created.
Lily hisses in pain, but I do my best not to pull too hard. “He’s taking me to some fancy place a few towns over,” I explain, trying to distract Lily long enough to get the pain-in-the-ass tie from her locks. Holy Mother Earth, how did she get this twisted in such a short time?
My companion huffs a frustrated breath. “Kali,” she whines as I carefully pull strands from the band.
“Almost done,” I promise.
“No more ties like this,” she grumps.
“Duly noted. I’ll throw them out tonight,” I promise and try to change the subject altogether. “Now, what dessert do you want Sugar to make for you next week?”
“You like chocolate, so something chocolate.”
I chuckle. “She’s a chocolatier. It’s always gonna be chocolate.”
“I like her cakes.”
Me, too.
“Cake it is, then.”
“Can it have Nutella?”
“Yes.”
“Can it have sprinkles?”
I snort. “Yes.” This girl and her sprinkles.
The tie comes free, and I fling the damn thing across the room, never to be seen again. At least, not today.
Lily rubs her newly freed hair.
“Why don’t we finish up here? Then you can come in and help me pick out what I’m wearing to dinner with Todd tonight. Sound good? ”
“Yes.” She dusts her hands on her shirt. “I love picking out clothes.”
“I know you do.” I smile.
“Can I pick your makeup, too?”
I nod. “Within reason.”
With renewed excitement and a pep in her step, Lily collects our gloves and tools and puts them by the door, right where they belong. I follow suit, ready to shower and don clothes for my date with Todd at a fancy place I’ve never been to before.
I know I shouldn’t be nervous, but I am.
I haven’t done fancy in a long, long, quadruple-long time.
What in the hell do I wear?