Chapter 41
Asher
“You’re not doing it right,” Bea cries, her wet hair drenching the counter next to the kitchen sink.
“Dolly, I’m trying,” I grouse.
She humphs. “That’s not how Claire does it.”
Feeling utterly defeated for not playing beauty salon up to my daughter’s standard, I force myself to breathe and count to five—or fifteen—before speaking. “Can you explain it to me, please?”
She crosses her arms. “No. I want Claire.”
Those three words are like ripping open the gaping wound that is my chest cavity and pouring alcohol into it.
Bea and I may not agree on how to play make-believe, but our feelings are mutual when it comes to Claire. We miss her.
She catapults herself off the counter, and my dad reflexes kick in. I catch her and set her on the floor, then wrap a towel around her hair. Fortunately, the shampoo has already been rinsed out. I’m still in the dark about what Claire does differently, but I let it go.
“I’ll be right back.” I stride down the hall and into my bathroom. I need a minute.
Sitting on the edge of the tub, I rest my elbows on my thighs and cradle my head in my hands.
The scent of vanilla invades my olfactory receptors.
When I suggested to Bea that we play beauty salon—because she wouldn’t let me wash her hair otherwise—she handed me the bottles of shampoo and conditioner Claire left behind.
When my phone rings in the other room, I don’t move. I prefer to sit here and torture myself by remaining engulfed in the scent of the woman who got away. Let me wallow, god dammit.
But when Bea answers on my behalf, I’m forced to get up.
“Hi, Dolly. Where’s Daddy?” my sister asks, her voice tinny.
“Pooping,” she answers as I step into the kitchen.
“I’m not poo—” I grab the phone. “I wasn’t—” I sigh, holding back the urge to glare at my daughter. “Hey, Mills. What’s up?”
“Hi, Ash. Ezra’s here too.”
My brother-in-law comes into view on the screen and waves.
“Hey, man,” I say. “Is everything okay?”
“Let’s Uno-reverse that,” my sister says. “Is everything okay with you?”
“Yeah,” I answer.
At the same time, Bea shouts, “No. He’s a sad boy.”
“I’m not a—” But I stop myself, remembering my buddies’ advice when they encouraged me to show emotion in front of my daughter.
I squat down to her level and sigh. “You’re right. Daddy’s been sad.”
With two hands, she grabs my cheeks and stares into my eyes.
“Can I have chocolate chips in my pancakes?”
Ezra cracks a thunderous laugh, and I can’t help but chuckle too. Here I thought my child was going to say something profound.
“Sure. Why don’t you play in your room while I talk to Lee Lee and Uncle Ezra, then I’ll get started on the pancakes.”
She pecks my nose, then skips off.
“Kids, man,” I laugh, then slip outside onto the back porch.
“Did Bea tell you about school?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation away from landmine-type topics.
“Cut the shit,” Millie snaps. “I love my niece more than just about anybody, but that’s not why I called.”
There it is.
I’ve been avoiding her calls, texting her back with pictures and updates about Bea, praying it would suffice. But the time has come to face the music, and I don’t mean Millie on Broadway.
“Fine. Let’s talk.”
“I saw her, you know,” she says.
Slowly, I nod. “And? How’s she doing? How’s her new job?”
I immediately want to smack myself in the head.
Why would I ask a question I don’t want an answer to?
While I want her to be happy and I want her to thrive, I’d prefer that the process of her moving on isn’t shoved in my face.
Her social media hasn’t been updated, which is probably best for my mental health.
If she posted pictures of another dude, I doubt I would survive it.
“She’s still drop-dead gorgeous, if that’s what you’re asking. But she’s not doing great.”
A pit forms in my stomach. “What? Why?”
“Dude,” Ezra huffs. “Don’t be an idiot. It’s not a good look.”
“I’m not. What happened? Did something happen with her job? Don’t tell me she’s working for another asshole.”
If she’s in another toxic work environment, I will lose my ever-loving shit.
“Hey, slow down,” my sister soothes. “She’s not working for another dick. She’s, um, not working at all, actually.”
“What do you mean?”
Millie glances at her husband then to me. “There was never another job, Ash.”
“What are you talking about?” Frustration boils up inside me. “She only worked here for the summer because she wanted to continue her career in the city. That was the plan.”
“Yeah, well, plans change. Obviously.”
“Unbelievable,” I mumble. “First she funds the construction and now—”
“I’m sorry, what?” Millie practically screeches.
Wincing, I turn the volume down on my phone. “She didn’t tell you?”
She shakes her head.
“It was meant to be anonymous, but it was her.”
“Asher.” Tears stream down my sister’s face. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard, and I narrate romance novels.”
“Fuck, I’m an idiot,” I groan.
“You think?” she says.
“Has she—” I hesitate to ask, but I do it anyway. “Has she asked about me?”
The expression on Millie’s face is as likely to be sympathy as it is sorrow, and the anticipation is eating me alive.
“Of course she has.”
I exhale, my whole body relaxing. “What did she say?”
“I promised her I wouldn’t say anything.”
Though I’m disappointed, I don’t press. I understand and respect their girl code.
“But Ash? As your sister, let me just say… stop fucking around.”
“Gee, thanks a lot.” I scoff at her bluntness. Then again, why would I expect anything less from her?
We’re all silent for a few moments, my mind whirling. When an idea materializes, I straighten. “Will you two help me with something?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Millie smirks. “But you need to do something about your”—she waves a hand across the screen—“face. Unlike my husband, a beard does not suit you.”
I run my fingers along my jaw. “I know, I know. I’m overdue for a shave. I was thinking of nixing the mustache too. You know, a clean slate.”
Ezra moves in closer, his face taking up the whole screen. “Do not shave the ’stache.”
“Why not?”
He narrows his eyes. “You want Claire to forgive you, don’t you?”
I laugh.
“Keep the womb broom, bro.”