Chapter Thirty-Eight Nico
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Nico
The next morning I wake up in bed alone.
I stretch against the sheets, my hand resting in the space where Lee was curled up, sleeping against me.
The pillow smells like honey and my entire body is aching.
We crashed out after round three last night, and there’s a deep, heavy satisfaction in my limbs.
I want her again, I want her now, and it’s a hunger that scares me.
I drag myself up, jump in the shower and pull on my clothes.
When I open the bedroom door, Lee and Phoebe are in the kitchen and the smell of bacon fills the air.
No wonder Taco is sitting hopefully at Lee’s feet.
There’s music on the speaker, a Disney soundtrack that Phoebe has been playing relentlessly lately.
‘Hey, Dad,’ Phoebe says, waving a spatula in my direction. ‘We’re making pancakes. Chocolate chip pancakes. And bacon.’
My stomach rumbles. Lee looks at me over her shoulder and smiles. She’s wearing those pink cat pyjamas again. Her feet are bare. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
‘I thought you didn’t know how to make pancakes?’ I say, pouring myself a cup of coffee from the pot that Lee has made and grabbing a seat at the table. Look at me, I’m so civilised. I feel like a wild creature pretending to be a normal human man.
‘I don’t, but I found a recipe online,’ she replies, frowning as she ladles batter into the pan.
‘And there’s nothing gross in them at all,’ Phoebe is gleeful. ‘They’re just regular pancakes, and they’re delicious.’
‘Phoebe had to try the first one,’ Lee explains. ‘Just to be safe. And because it was wonky.’
Phoebe nods solemnly. ‘I took one for the team.’
‘Okay,’ Lee says to her now, ‘I see bubbles, let’s flip.’
She moves aside and holds the pan so that Phoebe can get in and carefully flip the pancake over, her tongue held between her teeth as she concentrates. Obviously the two of them have a system.
I want this every morning for the rest of my life.
It’s quite the realisation, and I sit frozen in my seat, letting that sink in, as the two of them laugh and talk. Did my entire world just get turned upside down over a chocolate chip pancake?
‘… and then we did line dancing,’ I finally tune back in to hear Lee say.
‘Dad danced?’ Phoebe groans. ‘Did other people see? That is so embarrassing.’
‘He did pretty well, actually.’ Lee slides a plate of pancakes and crispy bacon in front of me.
‘I was terrible,’ I say, trying to pull myself together. ‘But not all of us are former ballerinas.’
‘You used to do ballet?’ Phoebe asks Lee, interested.
Lee tips another pancake onto a plate for Phoebe and nods. ‘From when I was four until…’ she tilts her head, thinking, ‘about fourteen I guess.’
‘Why did you stop?’ Phoebe asks, bringing her plate to the table and sitting next to me.
‘My parents wanted me to go professional,’ Lee replies, leaning back against the counter.
Her feet are crossed in front of her, and her toenails are painted a delicate shell pink.
‘But I really hated performing. I got terrible stage fright. I wanted dancing to be fun but they didn’t understand that, and it led to too many disagreements so in the end I quit. ’
I digest that fact for a moment, another dark mark against Lee’s parents.
‘Why? Are you interested in doing ballet?’ Lee asks.
I snort out a laugh at that, but instantly realise my mistake. There’s a little flash of something hurt and vulnerable in Phoebe’s eyes and I put it there.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ I rush to say. ‘I didn’t think ballet would be your thing but if it is then I’m all for it.’
I glance at Lee, panicked. I hate this, the times where I fuck something up, where I think, with an awful clarity, wow, here is a moment my daughter will be bringing up in therapy someday.
Lee only blinks, her face calm as she brings her own plate with her to the table and takes the seat on my other side.
She leans towards Phoebe and lowers her voice.
‘How can someone so pretty be so silly?’ she sighs, before turning to me, resting her chin in her hand.
‘Nico Hart, don’t you know women contain multitudes?
Your daughter can be a badass grudge-holding astronomer and rock a tutu. ’
Phoebe bursts into giggles, her expression instantly lightening. ‘Yeah, Dad,’ she echoes, her voice a verbal eye roll.
I know I’ll always be fighting a losing battle when it comes to these two. Why do I love it so much? ‘You’re absolutely right, I apologise.’
Lee gives a regal nod, which Phoebe copies.
‘Anyway, I think the dance studio in town offers beginner ballet classes,’ Lee says, sipping her coffee. She looks at me over the top of her cup. ‘Doesn’t Lacey teach them?’
‘I have no idea,’ I say, wondering how she knows about this, but Phoebe nods.
‘Yeah, some of the kids from school go. It’s on Mondays.’
‘So why don’t I take you on Monday?’ Lee asks, sending me a questioning look. ‘We can see if you like it.’
I nod eagerly. ‘Absolutely.’
‘Really?’ Phoebe looks so happy my heart squeezes.
Thank you, I mouth to Lee over Phoebe’s head when she’s not looking. Lee just smiles, gives a little shrug.
‘But before that we need to talk about Halloween,’ Phoebe says around a mouthful of pancakes. ‘It’s on Wednesday and we haven’t even discussed costumes.’
‘That’s right.’ I stifle a groan. No one mentions how many costume ideas you have to come up with as a parent. Every week at school seems to bring some new, themed event that I find out about at the last minute, leaving me scrabbling to make something impressive out of bin bags and parcel tape.
‘This year we can do a family costume!’ Phoebe declares.
‘A family costume?’ Lee repeats the words.
Phoebe slurps her juice. ‘Oh yeah, Charles will love it.’
It’s a bucket of cold water. My eyes meet Lee’s as the two of us remember what we’re all actually doing here. The lines between pretend and real shifted a long, long time ago, but Phoebe doesn’t know that, and I can’t tell her about it. Why confuse her when Lee is leaving in a week?
As far as my daughter is concerned, we’re pretending we’re one happy family, and if that thought hurts me it’s absolutely nothing to what I know Lee is feeling in this moment.
Because she’s the one who has to leave all this behind, and I have a horrible feeling she wants to keep it just as much as I do.
Under the table I put my hand on her leg. She gives me the sort of blank, calm look that I know means she’s going through some serious emotional turmoil.
‘What about the Three Musketeers?’ Phoebe muses. ‘Taco can be Dogtanian.’
‘Maybe,’ I say distantly.
‘Sounds good,’ Lee says neutrally.
Phoebe picks up her plate and licks the maple syrup off it, and I don’t even have the heart to stop her.
‘Shall we watch a movie before your meeting?’ she asks.
‘Sure,’ I agree, and as Phoebe keeps up a stream of cheerful chatter, Lee and I descend into silence.
‘Why am I so nervous?’ Lee asks me later, as she moves around, straightening cushions and smoothing the curtains so they fall just so. Magda has collected Phoebe and Taco so it’s just the two of us in the house, getting ready for our interrogation.
‘I don’t know.’ I walk over and take her hand in mine, holding her still. ‘I let you rearrange the spice rack and everything.’
‘You’ll be glad about that when he tells us he’s doing a surprise inspection,’ Lee mutters, but she squeezes my fingers. ‘He’ll say, wow, this is truly the spice rack of a responsible adult, and you’ll say, thank you, Lee.’
‘Thank you, Lee,’ I say, and I drop a fleeting kiss on her mouth.
We haven’t spoken about the awkward moment at the breakfast table this morning.
What is there to say about it that we didn’t discuss last night?
I thought about bringing it up, but what if it pushes her further away?
Lee and I agreed on the parameters of this relationship, and I can’t immediately start asking for more, knowing she might not be able to give it.
‘Besides,’ I say now, keeping my tone light. ‘Nothing can be as bad as the first time he came over. We’ve got this. It’s not our first rodeo.’
‘I hate it when people say that,’ Lee grumbles. ‘Would you consider someone who had done two rodeos to be an expert? That doesn’t seem like enough rodeos.’
‘How many rodeos would be sufficient?’
‘I don’t know!’ she huffs, exasperated. ‘Maybe if someone said “this isn’t my seventeenth rodeo” I’d think, huh, this person probably knows a thing or two about rodeoing.’ She pauses, frowns. ‘Wait, is rodeoing a word?’
‘How did we end up here?’
‘I have no idea!’ She has a wild look in her eye. ‘It’s your fault! You’re the one who started going on about rodeos.’
‘You’re absolutely right,’ I agree. ‘But it’s all going to be fine. You’re wearing your shoulder pads and everything.’
She deflates, leaning against me, and I press my cheek to the top of her head. ‘That’s true,’ she says. ‘We can handle this.’
‘We’re a good team,’ I agree.
We’re still standing wrapped around each other like that when there’s a knock at the door.
‘Show time,’ Lee says, pulling her shoulders back.
It is 3 p.m. exactly. Charles Saunders waits neatly on the doorstep. Lee invites him inside, all calm politeness, while I fix everyone a cup of tea.
‘Thank goodness,’ Charles says gratefully. ‘I haven’t had a proper cup all week.’
It’s incredibly civilised.
We arrange ourselves around the table and Charles pulls an embossed, leather portfolio from his briefcase, unscrews the cap on his gold fountain pen and begins going through his questions.
‘Most of this is standard,’ he says, looking at us over the top of his glasses. ‘Obviously the terms of a clause such as this one are very broad. It’s a trifle unorthodox and leaves a certain amount of latitude to the trustee.’