Chapter 9 #2
“I can’t stay,” I say quickly, noting four petite filets on butcher paper, already dressed up with cracked pepper and pats of butter.
A flush creeps across my cheeks. Clearly, I’m intruding.
“I’m actually staying in the city with my new client for the next few weeks, so I came to say goodbye to the girls in person, since I won’t be around as much. ”
A satisfied look of pleasure bleeds through Helena’s beautiful face like spilled red blend, rosing her cheeks.
“Don’t go,” Emma says, burying her face in my abdomen.
“I promise not to miss opening night,” I say, rubbing Emma’s back, “and we can still run your lines over FaceTime.”
“Oh, I can handle running lines while you’re gone,” Helena offers. She holds her hand up in a scout pledge. “Unabashed theater nerd, at your service.”
I risk a look over at Casey. There is no way Helena was any kind of nerd, but he’s nodding along as if this is wonderful, factual new information.
“We’ve got it covered,” I say quickly, hugging the girls tight to me and smelling their Jolly Rancher shampoo one last time. I grab the leather training bible from the island where I’d left it, slipping it into my shoulder bag. “I’d better go. My client is in the car waiting.”
“It’s kind of late to still be working, isn’t it?” Casey says, looking at his watch.
“His situation is … unique,” I say, choosing my words artfully. I have no interest in overstepping my nondisclosures on day one, especially in front of Helena, who would all too likely turn me in. “We’ll be working together around the clock.”
Casey’s brow furrows and his shoulders tense, but he doesn’t say more. I’m anticipating the moment when he wraps his arms around me to see me off. He gives the best hugs, putting his whole body into them. They are my favorite part of saying goodbye. If only Helena wasn’t here.
We’re interrupted by a knock at the door. Casey and Helena look at each other, puzzled. I close my eyes tight.
He wouldn’t.
“A little late for ,” Casey says, setting down his wine glass and heading to the front door.
Danny’s wide, muscled frame is visible through the glass of the French doors. Casey opens them, and the obscured golden tones from behind the glass materialize into a real person.
Bathed in the porch light, Danny looks like a god fallen from heaven. His bronzed skin, mischievous hazel eyes, and sun-tipped hair all glow incandescently as he bites a plump lip with his angled canines and smiles, unleashing his dimple.
“Jesus,” Helena says quietly under her breath.
“Can I help you?” Casey says, puffing up his chest. He’s a hair taller than Danny, but in a lanky way.
Danny is all wide, smooth muscle, and he moves his body in a manner of hypercontrol, as if he knows each muscle’s purpose.
If the rest of us are plodding around with the constraints of gravity on dry land, Danny is swimming.
“Hey, I’m Danny,” he says, his face relaxed and friendly. “I was hoping you had some limes. I’m making dinner for Lauren tonight,” he adds, raising a brown grocers’ bag in one hand, “but the shop was out of limes.”
“What are you making?” Helena asks, her voice an octave higher and breathier than normal, as if she’s just sucked sexy helium.
“Vegan poke,” he says, with a slight accent on the word. “It’s my go-to for meatless Monday. My grandmother’s recipe, although she’d be furious we aren’t using skipjack. And fresh margarita mocktails, hence the need for limes. Do you have any?”
“No,” Casey says.
“Yes, you do.” I drag my eyes from Danny over to Casey. “The girls and I picked some up at the farmers’ market.”
Danny waits with a friendly, expectant expression, still standing on the porch having not been invited in.
“No limes. Sorry.” Casey’s arm flexes as he squeezes the door handle harder.
“Ah, no worries,” Danny says, his lips breaking into a smile.
“I grabbed some fresh grapefruits just in case. I’ll make her a paloma instead.
” He reaches into the bag, procuring a giant, ruby red grapefruit, and tosses it up and catches it in one hand, his bicep flexing.
“See you back in the car, Lauren.” He turns to leave, treating us all to a glimpse of his straining T-shirt across his back and shoulders.
Casey closes the door and takes a deep breath.
“My new client,” I say apologetically. “Clearly we’ll be working on his boundaries.”
Helena’s eyebrow is raised as I shuffle to put my boots back on. Then she frowns at Casey, who is clearly still processing.
“Anyway,” I say, standing up taller, my boots now securely underfoot.
“I’ll be back up here sporadically to pick up some things, but otherwise …
I guess this is goodbye.” I move closer to Casey, but he hastens the embrace by pulling me to him by my waist. He wraps his arms completely around me, like I am something precious.
Like I am something at risk. Like Helena isn’t here.
“Be careful, Lauren,” he says into my hair, his arms still snug and secure all around me.
Helena is standing nearby. It must be discomforting for her to witness such affection between her date and another woman.
It would not serve my highest self to enjoy said discomfort …
but maybe a little enjoyment won’t hurt.
I squeeze Casey tighter. Helena shifts the wine stem between her fingers as she waits. Finally, Casey releases me.
“Bye, girls,” I say to Emma and Zoe, shifting my attention from Casey before he takes his from me.
“I will miss you so much, but I’m just a freeway ride away.
” They hug me tight and I breathe them in, finally having to dislodge Emma from my leg like a barnacle.
Casey lifts her up, and she sobs quietly on his shoulder. Zoe follows me out to the front grass.
“Bye, Zo,” I say, giving her one last hug.
“Auntie Lauren,” she says, using the mature voice she’s been cultivating, “can I ask you something?”
“Yes, you can start wearing mascara to school, but only if it’s subtle enough for your dad not to notice.”
“It’s not that.”
“What is it, honey?” I glance over to the car and see the outline of Danny Kekoa in my front seat. His eyes are in that peaceful closed position again, but his window is down so I’m sure he can hear every word.
Zoe looks down at her feet, her toenails painted in the maroon color of her softball team, the Lightning, complete with little silver lightning bolts on her big toes. Casey wouldn’t have done it. Helena strikes again.
“Do you want me to hate her?” A single tear escapes Zoe’s eye, and her mature voice dissolves into that of a child. “Because I will. And I’ll make Emma hate her too. We can do that, if that’s what you want.”
“Oh, honey,” I say, bringing her close to me.
I hold her for a moment, modeling calm long breaths in the face of her rapid, upset child ones.
Do I want them to hate Helena?
Hell yes.
It’s terrible and it’s wrong. And it’s also true.
“Of course not, honey. I never want you to hate anyone.”
“He’s happy with Helena, you know,” Zoe says in my arms. “Everything is way more chill when she’s around.
We can eat dinner in front of the TV, and she does all these messy crafts with Emma.
And she’s teaching me to cook with real knives and frying oil and everything.
At first, I didn’t want to like her …” Zoe’s voice trails off.
When she speaks again, it’s in a light whisper, as if trying to lessen the impact of her words.
“Maybe she should run lines with Emma. Just while you’re busy with work. ”
An ache blooms in my chest. I smile so she can’t see how much this hurts. “OK.”
She looks back at the house, where we can still hear Emma’s sobs. Her cultivated adult voice is back when she says, “I think some space could be good. For all of us.”