Chapter 19
NINETEEN
As I get in the car to leave Gia’s, Zach texts again, asking if I’d like to hang out tomorrow. My pulse quickens and tingles run along my skin as I read and reread his message. After agonizing over my response, I decide to erase all the exclamation marks after the “yes” I’ve typed.
Zach replies:
I’m thinking a walk maybe, lunch, and then we could hit this beach not many people know about
“Sounds good,” I write back, even though I want to say, “Can we go right now instead?” Now that we’re not stalking my parents, I miss seeing him, miss his winks, his whole laid-back vibe that feels almost contagious. But at the same time, I am tired with a capital T.
Honestly, after all the emotion of today, an early night would be the best possible plan, but first, I have some business I need to take care of.
Otherwise, it will be in the back of my mind tomorrow, hanging over me like a thick cloud of responsibility.
I need to invite Dad’s girlfriend to the wedding so he can be as comfortable as possible.
I take a different route home from Gia’s, so I drive by Dad’s house, vowing that I’ll either invite his girlfriend to the wedding myself, face-to-face, if she’s there, so she truly knows that we want her to be there—or give Dad a heartfelt talk and make sure he tells her that we’d really like her to attend.
Our new version of normal is changing, and Gia and I need to embrace it and make sure that each of our parents is happy.
I guess this confrontation was meant to be, because they’re both standing together outside of Dad’s door when I pull around the corner.
I slow the car instinctively, feeling my stomach give a little flip.
They’re side by side like a team, like a couple.
It looks like she’s about to leave for the night.
The younger blonde woman and Dad embrace in the doorway, a soft, quiet goodbye, and he closes the door behind her.
I drive a little closer and stop several houses down, watching her take a step toward her car.
It looks like it’s go time.
Before she can leave, I pull into the driveway behind her and park, effectively blocking her in.
I get out of the car and head up the walkway, feeling the gravel crunch beneath my feet.
Dad’s lawn has been freshly mowed, and he’s planted new flowers since the last time I was here, neat rows of purple pansies and pink geraniums, cheerful and surprisingly coordinated.
It seems like a good sign to me. Instead of wallowing in misery, he’s out here planting flowers like nobody’s business.
Who says Mom’s the only one with a green thumb.
The woman catches sight of me and a wave of emotion passes over her face. She goes from looking a little cornered, to looking nervous, to looking sort of happy. Her eyes brighten. She gives me a small, wavering smile and lifts her hand in a wave.
“Hi,” I say, stopping a few feet away. “Sorry for trapping you here, but I have something I want to ask you, if that’s okay.”
She straightens a little, her shoulders relaxing. “Lexi,” she says in a breathy voice, and before I can react, she rushes forward and wraps me in a hug. “I’m Claire. So good to finally meet you.”
Finally? How long has this been going on?
Her voice ripples with emotion. It’s a warmer welcome than I expected, especially from someone who, until recently, was part of a mystery Gia and I didn’t even know we were supposed to solve.
She’s already acting like I’m her stepdaughter.
Part of me wants to back up and say, Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
But she seems so genuinely happy to see me, so fully present in this moment, that I don’t have the heart to be so confrontational.
“I’ve seen you with my dad,” I say, pulling back a little, “and I think I know what the story is. I’m sorry I’m rushing, but I just wanted to say, you should come with him to my sister’s wedding.
Gia would be happy if you came. We’ve had our fair share of drama lately, and she’s starting to realize her big day might not look exactly like what she pictured when she was ten years old, sketching dream dresses in her notebook, but she wants everyone to have someone there with them. Weddings are about love.”
I pause. That actually came out better than expected. Mature. Comforting. Maybe even wise. Honestly, I could write that on a napkin and sell it in a card shop.
Claire’s blue eyes go wide, and she fidgets with one of her sleeves, glancing toward the house as if she’s half hoping Dad will come back out and witness this too. “Wait . . . did he finally work up the nerve to tell you everything?”
I take a deep breath. “He didn’t really tell me all that much, but I’ve pieced things together.
Doing some investigating lately, you know?
” I glance down the street for a second as a steady stream of stakeout memories march through my mind.
“Anyway, I need to get going. I’m on my way home from a very long day, believe me.
But tell my Dad that Gia and I want you to come. And please do.”
Claire opens her mouth as if to say something, but then quickly closes it again.
Her expression flickers, and another wave of emotion washes over her face.
This one’s harder to read. There’s something tender in it, something a little unsure.
Maybe things between her and my dad are more serious than I thought.
She seems deeply invested, more than someone who’s just casually dating.
Maybe they’re planning on getting married .
. . Whatever’s going on, I don’t think I have it in me to have another deep conversation today.
“After the wedding, we’ll talk everything out,” I say. “We promise.”
She nods and wraps her arms around her own shoulders like she’s holding herself steady.
There’s a small silence. Not quite awkward, but not quite comfortable either. I smile at her, then turn and walk back to the car, the gravel crunching again under my shoes. I climb in, back slowly out of the driveway, and glance into the rearview mirror.
Claire’s still there.
She hasn’t gotten into her car. She’s just standing there, one hand lifted in another small wave.
And when I look again, a few moments later, she’s still waving.
Still smiling. It’s giving a Stepford Wives vibe, and I don’t really know what to make of it.
But it doesn’t matter. I’ve had more than enough emotion for the day.
Or the week. Or maybe even the whole month.
Thank God I’m going to the beach with Zach tomorrow.
There’s something about being in the ocean that makes me feel like I’m surrendering anything I’m carrying with me. Like I’m unspooling.
Maybe Claire was relieved I didn’t show up screaming and accusing her of tearing our family apart.
Maybe she’d built this moment up in her head.
I have no idea why she seemed so happy to see me.
But I do know this: the moment I walk through the front door of my apartment, I’m turning on the most brainless, mind-numbing TV show I can find and sinking into the couch with a blanket and something salty to eat and something alcoholic to drink. This day has been a lot.