Chapter Eight Dr. Napkin #2
I’m not romantically attracted to Beverly Lark. I just need to create music for her show. But I can admire nice hair and a beautiful neck any day. She doesn’t need to brush her hair at all. The messier, the better. But I don’t say that.
Instead, I watch as she rolls the hair tie down to her wrist and secures the napkin. She tucks the excess between her four fingers and thumb, then drops the thumb down, like a jaw opening in the mouth of the new creature.
A puppet.
In a lower, casual voice, Beverly says, “Oh, hello there.”
I shake my head in disbelief. The way the napkin instantly came to life is astounding.
“Uncanny,” I murmur.
Beverly makes the napkin say, “Quite.”
Ava’s eyes lock on to Beverly’s hand too. Her cries have stopped.
“Ava, have you met my friend, Dr. Napkin?” Beverly asks in her normal voice.
Ava slowly shakes her head side to side, squeezing her fists tighter, then releasing.
Beverly drops her thumb once more, making Dr. Napkin announce, “Pleasure to meet you, Ava.”
Ava’s eyes go as wide as those silver dollar pancakes. Her eyes look to me, then back to Dr. Napkin.
“I’m starving,” Dr. Napkin continues. “Think you can share some of your delicious breakfast with me?”
Ava stares at her plate, side-eyeing me again.
I rub my thumb over her shoulder. “Go on.”
Cautiously, she picks up a scrap of pancake and tosses it toward Beverly’s hand.
It’s almost like she’s feeding a pigeon and anticipating its peck.
So, of course, Beverly does the only reasonable thing: She darts her hand down, making Dr. Napkin absolutely devour the piece, accompanied by as many obnoxious eating noises as possible, before tossing the scrap to the side and out of sight.
Ava gives an anxious giggle.
“Yum. Might I have another?” Dr. Napkin asks, poised and calm, as if he hadn’t just transformed into a pancake-eating monster.
A little faster this time, Ava tosses a piece of pancake her way. Beverly is quicker, too, nearly nipping Ava’s fingers as Dr. Napkin growls and chomps and gnaws.
Ava descends into a fit of laughter. There are knocks against the bottom of the booth seat as her swinging legs kick the wood.
Unprompted, Ava throws another scrap of dry pancake. Beverly darts for it, capturing Ava’s tiny fingers in Dr. Napkin’s mouth along the way. Ava’s laughter convulses through a beaming open-mouthed grin that I can’t hold back either.
“Now, d’ya think you want to try some too?” Beverly asks her.
Ava hesitantly picks up a pancake, clutching both sides in a grip that almost tears it.
She peers at me. I nod. Slowly, she tucks the edge of the pancake into her mouth.
When she bites, I help tug the floppy remains so that it rips apart.
She chews slowly, occasionally glancing up at me again, as if waiting for approval.
“Good?” I ask her.
Ava nods.
“Then keep on. It’s all yours.”
I rest my cheek onto my fist as she takes another bite. The corner of my mouth tips up. We may be in a new place with new people, but seeing my daughter try, and love, a new food grounds me again. It feels normal.
Except here’s Beverly, who whipped up a new character out of nowhere, even with the whole diner watching. That would have had me on edge, and I perform in front of tens of thousands. But Beverly doesn’t care how it makes her look at all. I’m not sure what to think.
Ava’s cheeks puff out with pancake as she shovels in handfuls the size of her mouth.
I stroke her hair. “Slow down a bit.”
Ava squirms in her seat, throwing another piece of pancake at Beverly’s napkin hand. I catch it instead.
“No!” Ava says through laughter. A word. A real word. It’s the first time she’s spoken since we left the car.
I pat her arm. “Let’s eat our food instead of feeding Dr. Napkin, all right?”
Beverly takes the spare moment to free her hand of the makeshift puppet, finally pulling her hair back into a ponytail with a sigh.
The slender column of her neck is exposed again, and I focus on it for probably too long.
By the time I look away, I notice the old woman staring at me with a beaming smile.
Heat slides down my chest to my stomach, like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t.
“I’m Alice, by the way,” the woman says. “You can just call me Nana. Everyone else does.”
“Griffin,” I answer, introducing myself. “And this is Ava.”
Nana side-eyes Beverly, and a very familiar mischievous smile rises to her cheeks. It looks exactly like Beverly’s did in LA when we agreed to this mess. They exchange a look—a silent conversation—and, despite her reddening cheeks, Beverly starts to smile. I like it when she smiles.
“Hi, sorry.” Another person stands beside me. “Are you Griffin Harvey?”
There’s nothing I want to do more than lie, but at this point it’s too obvious. My hat is useless.
“Yes,” I answer.
The woman’s jaw drops with a gasp of shock. “Wow. That’s just…” She looks from me to Beverly, but her expression changes when Nana tucks in her chin.
Beverly clears her throat. “Fran, this is Griffin and his sister, Ava. He’s here for the next couple months to work on a show with me while he writes his next album.”
Hearing Ava’s name leave someone else’s mouth feels wrong. I hold her T-shirt between my thumb and forefinger, twisting it around like it might keep her closer.
“Oh, the show?” Fran says. Her face falls. “I thought you were dating. You just said—”
“And he’s not to be disturbed or photographed,” Nana interjects. “Are we clear?”
Fran nods quickly. “Oh, of course, Nana. Yes. Absolutely.”
“And you can tell Taylor that too.”
“Right. Yeah. She’ll get the memo.” She glances at Ava and gives an awkward, breathy laugh. “Well, it’s nice to meet you two. Hopefully we see you around town.” She walks off, almost stumbling into another booth before hopping back on a stool at the bar.
Nana shakes her head. “Lord, you’d think they’ve never seen a new person in their life.”
Beverly’s eyes catch mine, squinting at the corners.
“What?” I ask.
She sighs. “I’m sorry. I…I might have done what you did.”
“What did I do?”
Beverly winces. “Tell people that we’re a couple?”
A weird hook wraps around my stomach and tugs.
“Did you, now?”
“I’m so sorry,” she pleads on a hushed whisper. “I mean, some of them saw the tabloids anyway, and…I was gonna tell them it was all a hoax at first, but…”
I’m not a fan of how often she’s apologizing, but when I open my mouth to counter, I’m interrupted.
“Let’s not discuss this here,” Nana mutters, looking between us.
Nana has good sense. Beverly’s eyes stay locked on the table. Her thumb ticks away at her nail polish, now a bright orange. I don’t know what makes me do it, but I stretch out my leg beneath the table to nudge hers. Her head jerks up, and I raise my eyebrows. That’s all it takes to make her smile.
Yeah, I really like that smile.
“We’re having a family dinner tomorrow,” Nana says. “You and Ava should come.”
Beverly’s eyes widen. “Oh, no…Griffin’s got work to do, and I’m sure Ava has a bedtime—”
“Nonsense,” Nana says with a raised chin. “He’s our guest in town. And I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Beverly exhales, staring at me with her bottom lip trapped between her teeth.
“You’re allowed to ignore her,” she says, as if only to me. Except, from the corner of my eye, other faces in the diner watch us. Eyes wander.
I clear my throat. “You’re my girlfriend’s family,” I announce. “Of course I’ll be there.”
“Fantastic,” Nana says, beaming.
“Fantastic,” Beverly whispers, but there isn’t a smile in sight.