40. Raif
My chin restson Lavender’s shoulders, my arms around her waist as she and Daisy wave at Whit’s Bentley as it pulls out of the gates.
“Glad that’s over?” I ask as the car disappears into the street.
“Yeah.” She rests her arms over mine. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Can I have some ice cream?” Daisy asks, canting her head Lavender’s way.
“Sure.”
“Yes!” Her damp ponytail slaps her back as she fist-pumps the air and spins on her heel. “I’ll get the spoons!”
“Uncle Raif will get the dishes,” Lavender teases.
“I like Mimi,” I say as we turn, following Daisy into the house.
“Mimi’s great,” she agrees.
“Your brother is… an interesting character.”
“Interesting. That’s one way to put it.”
“Yeah, but Mimi is the one who offered to buy me hash brownies instead of a birthday cake.”
“When?” I ask with a laugh.
“When she was Whit’s PA. I think it was a miscommunication. Something he’d said, and she thought he was serious. Serves him right that he left her to book a restaurant for my birthday.”
“Why? What’s wrong with that?”
“She booked a vegetarian place. Oh, the complaints from my meat-eating brethren.”
“And the cake?” I ask, amused.
“She ordered something from a fancy hotel. I tried cannabis once, but it didn’t agree with me.” Lavender inhales deeply, her next words spilling suspiciously carelessly. “I have high-functioning anxiety. It seems the two don’t mix. At least, not with me.”
My hand tightens on hers, and I tug, making her slow. “Tell me what that feels like,” I ask softly, settling my hands on her waist.
“I’m like a duck on a pond. Calm on the surface, but under the waterline, my mind’s paddling like hell, spinning off in a thousand directions. Worrying about the irrelevant and putting ridiculous pressure on myself.”
“Princess, you’re a motherfucking swan, not a duck. Fierce. A warrior.”
“Yeah, but I’m mostly fighting myself,” she says with an unhappy laugh.
“You know what your brother told me? He said you are unstoppable, that you always have been.”
“Really?”
“Yep. He said a prime example was when you were little. That you wanted to learn to ride your bike without training wheels.”
“Oh, I know this story.”
“Did you ever take note of the respect in his tone?”
She pulls a face. So no.
“He explained there was so much going on at home that you were told next weekend for a while.”
“Big families. Not enough parents.” She scrunches her nose again. “You can’t take a ticket like you might at the deli because someone older or with a more pressing need jumps the queue.”
“But not you. Whit says you went into the shed, jimmied open your dad’s toolbox—he said the lid was probably as heavy as you.”
She laughs again. “Yeah, then I tried half a dozen tools. Cut my finger, too.”
“But you managed to take those training wheels off, didn’t you?”
“Of course.”
She says this like it’s obvious. Like other kids wouldn’t have given up.
“They were purple. I’ve always hated that color.”
“Not only that but you also taught yourself to ride. All by yourself, without anyone’s help.”
“It took me ages. Not to mention most of the skin from my knees and hands.”
“But you got back on. Because you’re Lavender. Anxiety or not, I’ve never met anyone like you. I wish you could see how special you are. The way you worried about seeing Whit, and the way you handled him.”
Her mouth drops comically open.
“Dangerous,” I murmur as she allows me to close it with my index finger under her chin.
“You sneaky thing. You listened in on our conversation?”
“A little,” I admit. “I wanted to make sure he wasn’t being an asshole to you. If he had been.” I shrug. “I know you wouldn’t have appreciated it, but I would’ve stepped in.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t have liked that, but I would’ve understood.”
“Because you would do the same for me. For anyone. Because that’s the person you are.”
“I’m perhaps a little more partial to you than I am random people,” she says.
“And I’m grateful for that.” I give a soft laugh. “But what I heard told me you didn’t need me there. You had it all on your own. You are strong and resilient, and you are a survivor, Lavender. There isn’t anything you can’t do. Your brother knows that and said as much. You need to see that, too.”
“Thank you.” She tries to scowl, though how can she when her eyes sparkle? I begin to lower my head, craving a taste of my unstoppable wife, when the sound of shattering glass freezes us in place.
“Oops!” calls a little voice. “I might need a little help in here!”