26. In Which Aiden Loses Shakespeare
IN WHICH AIDEN LOSES SHAKESPEARE
L ionel Astor and Juniper don’t end up submitting a paternity test. Instead they submit samples for an avuncular DNA test—a test that will tell them if Lionel is Juniper’s uncle.
I didn’t realize that was a thing, but apparently it is.
If he’s her father, the test will reveal that as well, based on a number of genetic markers.
It must be sweet being rich and well-connected, because Lionel has an NDA drawn up and ready for us to sign within two hours of our meeting, stating that with the exception of law enforcement, we’re not allowed to disclose to anyone the potential relationship between Lionel and Juniper, or the fact that he and his wife apparently can’t have kids.
Personally, I think he’s telling the truth, at least about not being her father.
Granted, I’m not an expert on body language or anything like that, and I don’t trust the honesty of a politician, but in this matter, he seems sincere—especially since he was so ready and willing to take the DNA test. He seems just as disturbed as Juniper does about what might have happened to her mother; it’s that, more than anything, that convinces me. It’s clear that he cared for Nora Bean.
News spreads fast about the disappearance of Sandra von Meller.
Lionel’s clearly been successful in convincing Tonya to report her daughter missing; it’s all over the local news and in the local gazette.
Sheriff Garrity calls Juniper and me in to give our statements, looking both sheepish and defiant, and I don’t hold myself back from giving him a swift dressing-down.
Once I’m done with that, though, I tell him everything I know.
Juniper takes even longer than I do when she talks to him, and by the time the two of us head home for the day, the sun is setting.
“I’m so tired,” Juniper says when we get inside.
She throws herself face-first onto the couch, groaning on impact.
“But my brain won’t shut up.” Her stocking-clad feet dangle off the edge of the sofa, wiggling to the beat of some unheard song.
She’s got on a skirt made of corduroy, a dark red color, with a white turtleneck underneath.
It doesn’t look comfortable, but I can admit it’s very her.
“I know,” I say, my voice grim. “Mine won’t either. We should try to get some sleep, though. Maybe take some Benadryl or something.”
“Meh,” she says, turning her head so that she’s looking at me. “I’ve got some insomnia medication somewhere. It makes me kind of loopy, but it works well.”
“Take that,” I say, nodding.
“I don’t like feeling groggy when I wake up.”
“Are you going to be able to sleep on your own?” Because I know I won’t. My mind is racing with everything that’s happened. I’m still having trouble reconciling my friend Rocco with Juniper’s potential psycho father Rocco.
“No,” she says in a dull voice. “I’ll stare at the ceiling and jump every time I see a shadow.”
I shrug. “Your call.” Then I sit down on the couch, right on top of her legs. “I’ll just rest here until you decide.”
She laughs, wiggling her legs. “You’re such a child.”
“Am I?” I say with a grin. I let her continue to muscle her legs back and forth until she finally manages to topple me off of her. I slide to the floor, still smiling. Then I look over my shoulder at her. She’s sitting up now.
“Hey,” she says, her eyes sparkling, her hair somehow extra pink. “I like you.”
“Yeah,” I say as my smile fades into something softer.
“I like you too.” These aren’t words I’m used to saying; I don’t have these kinds of conversations.
But this thing with Juniper…I’ve fallen into it.
Slipped into it, really, with astonishing ease.
Maybe because she found her way here first, and I simply held on for dear life while she dragged me along after her.
Her mind is magical, and her heart is strong.
How could I not follow her into whatever rainbow dimension she hurled us toward?
“Go to bed,” I say, reaching up and curling my fingers around hers. “Tomorrow is a new day.”
She nods and swings her legs off the couch. Then she stands up, lifting her arms high over her head as she stretches. It causes her shirt to ride up a few inches, and on her back I can just make out a hint of the tattoo that’s inked over her scar.
What if I hadn’t found her that day, all those years ago, digging through a dumpster for her breakfast? Would we still be sitting here like this? Would we have traveled separate paths?
Or would fate have brought us together in a different way?
“You look like you’re thinking big thoughts down there,” Juniper says, and I realize with a start that I’ve just been sitting here, staring up at her and zoning out .
“Do you believe in fate?” I say. I don’t know where the words come from.
“I believe in people,” she says, like my question isn’t strange at all. She holds her hand out to me, and I take it, letting her pull me to my feet. “I do believe in a higher power of some kind, but mostly I believe that people create their own luck and chances and fortunes.”
“What about soulmates?” I say, because I’m interested to hear her answer.
She smiles at me. “No,” she says. “I tend to think that almost any two people could be happy together if they were both determined enough. But”—she shrugs—“really, what do I know?” Her smile turns mischievous as she reaches up with both hands and pulls my face down to hers.
“Why?” she says, planting a kiss on my lips. “Do you think we’re soulmates?”
I grin, prying her vice-like grip off of me. “That’s way above my pay grade.” I kiss her right palm, then her left. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Mmkay,” she says with a little smile. “I probably won’t be up before you leave.”
“That’s fine. Get some sleep.”
She nods, blows me a kiss, and then heads toward the stairs. I watch her until she’s disappeared from my view, a dopey smile on my face the whole time, like a lovesick fool.
I putter around in the kitchen for a bit after that, staring at our refrigerator, which still has all the notes we’ve made on it.
That stresses me out, though, so I pace aimlessly instead.
I open the fridge, peek in the pantry. Do a lap, then look again.
Surprise, surprise, no new foods have magically appeared.
I look several more times anyway. Then, remembering something Juniper said, I pull out my phone.
“Ma,” I say when she answers.
“Oh, don’t call me that,” she says, and I picture her waving her hand at me. “You sound like one of those New Jersey Shores boys.”
“ Jersey Shore ,” I say, amused.
“Whatever it’s called. Those kids needed a parent or two,” she mutters.
I smile. “That’s actually why I called,” I say.
Silence.
“Not because of the show,” I say quickly. “It’s because—ah—I’m dating someone.” I stumble over the words, but I know my mother hears them, because she gasps.
“Is it this woman you’re living with?” she says. “Caroline—Caroline!” she shouts, and I stifle a groan. “Your brother has a girlfriend!”
From the background, barely audible, comes Caroline’s response: “It’s about time. Details!”
“No details right now,” I say firmly. I can’t handle that conversation at the moment. “I just wanted to let you know, because her mom has passed, so I told her she could borrow mine. I told her—” I clear my throat. “I told her my mom is pretty great.”
“Oh,” my mother says, her voice suddenly wobbly. “Oh, dear. Her mother passed away?”
I nod. “Years ago.”
“What about her father?”
I think of Rocco and Lionel Astor, frowning. “No father is in the picture.”
“Oh, dear,” my mother says again, and I can just picture her fretting. “That won’t do. Caroline? Caroline!” she shouts.
“What?” my sister’s voice says, sounding exasperated. “Why are you yelling? I’m right here.”
“Oh, sorry, sweetie; I didn’t realize. Just listen up. Aiden’s girlfriend—what’s her name?”
“Juniper,” I say, and Caroline echoes the same thing .
“Juniper,” my mother says. “Juniper needs a family. I want you to go over there tomorrow morning, Caroline, and tomorrow evening we can all have dinner together?—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say quickly. “Slow down. She has a brother; they get along well. She’s not completely alone.
So no one needs to come over here in the morning.
And we’ve got a lot going on this week, so probably no dinner tomorrow.
” Inexplicably, a lump has begun to form in the back of my throat, spurred by my mom’s immediate call to arms—no hesitation, no questions, just love.
I swallow thickly. “I just meant that I’m dating her, and I like her, and I hope you’ll be welcoming.
That’s—” I clear my throat, squeezing my eyes shut a few times to get rid of the sting. “That’s all I meant.”
“Oh,” my mother says, and her voice softens. “Of course, sweetheart. Of course we will. Although”—now her words turn stern—“we should discuss how you’re living in sin.”
I can’t help it; I smile.
She’s truly the greatest mother in the world.
When I’ve finally maneuvered the phone call to an end, I return to the living room and sink into my reading chair, swiveling just briefly to pull a book from my shelf. I grab one without looking, my mind lost to my exhausted thoughts.
I open the book and am pleasantly surprised to find that my random grabbing led me to Shakespeare once again; As You Like It this time. One of my favorites, actually. I begin to read, trying to force my brain to pay attention.
It’s slow going.
At some point, I hear several disconcerting thuds from upstairs; a few seconds later, Juniper blunders down the stairs, dressed in her pajamas. Her eyes are more closed than open, and she’s moving like a zombie.