Chapter Eleven
Lemon
“Hey, Em. Hey, Abs! Wow, it’s busy this morning.” I steady my purse on the Sugar Stable counter and crane my neck in search of my cousin, Katie, Pine Forest’s resident social worker.
I pulled out some spending-cash at the credit union, and I have about seventeen thousand left in my side account.
I thank the stars for sending me to the longest line of the newest clerk the day I opened it.
Her inexperience allowed me to use a school ID with a nickname rather than my driver’s license, so our family accountant’s been none the wiser.
See, Zitrone Perkins is worth billions.
Lemon Perkins doesn’t exist.
It’s wrong, I know.
But it’s the only money I have that’s really mine.
It should be plenty to cover utilities and food for the families in need while I’m barred from my trust. The debit card in my hand will allow Katie to deduct whatever they need.
“Shana’s not here, if that’s who you’re looking for. She and Jeremy usually grab coffee before her adult barre class.”
“She’s still teaching this far along?” I’m impressed. “I’ll have to swing by before drop-off one of these days and see how big that baby bump’s gotten.”
I narrow my eyes at the board. The twins probably want sprinkle donuts as an after-school snack, while Poppy and Bryar might enjoy the sophistication of a bear claw. Would Nash…er, Oliver…want anything?
I think about how he treated Bryar.
He doesn’t really deserve one. I overheard his eldest daughter venting to Poppy late in the night, and while I’m still not sure what Bryar was doing with that boy, Poppy was on her sister’s side by the end of it, and I trust that twelve-year-old more than anyone else in this family I now serve.
If she thought her sister was in the right, my instincts say she is.
“Did you say drop-off?” Emily zones in on the key to Oliver’s Denali, hanging from my thumb. “Oh, my gosh, you did! You got the nanny job for the Nashvilles?”
Her eyes widen when I tuck away the keys.
“You so did. I told y’all Lady Kempling wasn’t gonna last a week. Abby’s gonna be pissed.” She shouts over the coffee grinder, “Hey, Abs, did you hear? Lem’s gonna snag your sugar daddy! Guess who got the—”
I stop her, hand on the register as she slides in my crisp dollar bills. I always pay in cash. It gives the illusion that I’m a stripper, and I like that for me. What I don’t like is the words your and daddy coming out of this little girl’s mouth in reference to my…employer.
That’s all.
Has nothing, whatsoever, to do with how he used my body like a pocket pussy less than a week ago, or that I still haven’t gotten the mud off the bottom of my skates from the audacity of his existence.
Abby meanders over, blushing from head toe, so I can’t stop myself. I simply can’t. “What do you mean, sugar daddy?”
“It’s nothing.” She cuts her eyes to a giggling Emily. “Em is supposed to keep secrets to herself.”
“What secrets do you have with Oliver Nashville? He’s double your age.” I attempt indifference, but my body doesn’t get the memo. My fingers grip the counter awaiting Abby’s response.
“Older men have so much rizz.” She says it like the interns say his name, breathless.
“He has four children,” flies from my lips faster than I’d like.
“Who cares?” Abby grins at Emily. “The way those pants hug his ass...I’ll be mommy.” She winks, and my pinky nail cracks in half against the counter. Shoving away, I curse as my pastries fall to the floor. “Sorry, y’all. I’ll pay for more.”
“No need.” Emily strides over with a broom. “Dustin would kill me if I let you pay twice.” Abby scoops up a new bag of goodies and returns to the back. “You’re on the list of like three people to call if there’s an emergency. Pretty much a VIP here.”
“How is Dustin?” I ask. “I haven’t seen him here lately, but that’s reasonable when your wife is a month away from delivery. Last time I visited, he’d built a Noah’s Ark shaped crib from plans he found online and Shana was padding the sharp parts with pool noodles.”
“He’s the same as always.” She laughs. “Just more of a pep in his step. Always humming something I swear Shana hears from across the courtyard.” Emily stares out the window. “Sometimes I think she dances in time to it, but…” She shakes her head. “That sort of love is rare, right?”
Right, I wish I would say.
“Well, I need to find Katie so I can get back and snoop for diaries and candy stashes. Nanny duties, am I right?” I jiggle the new pastry bag. But something pulls me back before I can reach the patio door, and I hate that it feels a lot like Olive Lover.
“Is Abby involved with Mr. Nashville, Em?” I swallow, giving her a glare most women understand when they receive it.
He’s mine.
I’ll worry about why I feel that stupid shit later, but for now? “I need to know.”
“Seriously, don’t worry about it.” She flicks her eyes to the back. “She thinks he’s a zaddy is all.”
“A zaddy?”
“I swear, millennials are the new boomers.” My young friend pinches the bridge of her nose. “A zaddy. A snack.”
“She wants to…eat him? Not sure I like that any better.”
“She thinks he’s a hottie! Ohmygosh, you are so vibing with him, aren’t you? Do you know his sun, moon, rising signs?”
“His what?”
“Never mind.” She lowers her voice with a knowing smile.
“Look, he’s been off the market even before his wife died.
As far as anyone knows, he was a faithful husband who kept to himself, and now he’s a faithful widower who keeps to himself.
And apparently you.” She smirks when my eyes widen.
“If you want my opinion, he’s packing.” She searches the room and drops to a whisper.
“I know the shoe size thing isn’t always a good comparison, but have you seen the man in some steel toe boots? ” She fans herself.
Unfortunately, I have.
She winks when I can’t seem to hide my blush, and on that note, I need to get all thoughts of zaddies out of my brain before I, too, want to eat a snack.
“Thank you, Emily. If Katie comes by, can you send her to the patio?”
“Will do. And hey! If you end up riding the magic carpet, do us fangirls a favor and report back. We’re dying to know if it matches the drapes.”
Abby bursts into laughter, poking her head from the back. “Don’t let us down, Lemmycakes!”
“Or do!” Emily winks. “Let us all the way down. We want to see, too!”
“Goodbye, ladies!” I smile unmanageably.
Their unbridled confidence reminds me of myself at that age. But if that was me then, who am I now? I hold the pastries in one hand and Oliver’s keys in the other.
Who do I want to be?
Katie never made it to the patio, and the anxiety has me picking at my gel polish the whole drive home.
Oliver’s home.
The thought of housing in general forces my mind back to the debit card still burning a hole in my pocket.
The underprivileged families of Pine Forest need this money.
Ryder has baseball fees, my scholarship is funding parenting classes so Garrison can earn back custody of Jonathan, and the DiFazio twins need formula for another two months before their overworked teen mother—with zero support system—transitions them to whole milk.
These people are my neighbors, and fences may separate us, but basic resources never should.
I’m stopped for construction at Mullins Road when I finally text Katie.
ME:
Where ARE you?! Answer me, or I’ll release the Hannah Montana sleepover photo of 2006
Posting in 3…2…
KATIE KAT:
Sorry! Things got chaotic at the fundraiser. PLEASE don’t post Hannah.
The fire department showed up.
My heartbeat quickens.
ME:
At the group home?
No response
ME:
Is everyone okay?
No response.
ME:
WHAT HAPPENED?!
Questions spring to my mind faster than my fingers can navigate the keys.
Fuck it, I’ll just call her.
“Oh, my God, you’re certifiable,” Katie answers.
“You don’t sound very relieved to hear from me.”
“Z, I’m never relieved to hear from you. I tend to avoid it.”
The road workers wave me through the left lane, and I switch to the car speaker.
“I said the fire department showed up, not that there was a fire.”
“Why’d you stand me up then?” Annoying. “You realize I’m under constant watch now, don’t you? Delivering secret debit cards has never been more difficult.”
“You’re a lot,” Katie says, “since we were kids. You know that, right?”
“I’ve heard.” My eyes roll. “What I haven’t heard is a legit excuse.”
“It’s a long story, but there’s this person,” she sighs, “…man. The fire chief to be specific.”
“You stood me up for a fire daddy? You little harlot.”
“I did not. He was there, yes, but he’s infuriating. Hardly responsible enough to be anyone’s daddy. You have no idea how much I want to pound him.”
“Kit Kat, I can hear how much pounding you want with him.”
“I pretend we aren’t related, have I told you that?”
“Often.” My grin wars between irritation and pride. Even if she doesn’t care to admit we’re alike, my cousin rarely expresses interest in anyone seriously.
My thoughts immediately shift to the parallels with Oliver. It’s genetic, isn’t it? This aversion we have to permanency.
So, what makes this man different than the rest?
“He has a big water hose, doesn’t he?”
“Zitrone Perkins!”
“Long, hard pole?”
“You’re bad.”
“Fine, tell me about his schlong when you’re ready. In the meantime, you need these funds. I promised Ryder he’d have his name on the back of his jersey this year like the other kids, and I’m not about to be made a liar after he gave me a bubble-gum machine ring and asked me to be his girl.”
“Thanks for helping, Z, even when you can’t.
Are you sure you don’t want to pause the funding until you’re done with—I’m still not sure what to call this situation Uncle Emil has put you in.
I did check, and it’s not illegal to halt your trust. The way his lawyers have it laid out, none of it is yours at all until you’re a seated partner at Perkins Global. ”
“I figured as much.”
“You’re not pissed?”