Chapter 29
CHAPTER
IN THE MORNING, Arrya waits by her favorite coffee truck on Van Ness. There are no waiters, linen tablecloths, or silverware, just wooden picnic benches, earth-friendly cutlery, and the best homemade apple fritters I’ve ever tasted.
“Thanks for meeting me,” Arrya says.
I set down my matcha (Nate was right, I love it) and doughnut. Despite the bright-pink hair that complements a plaid jumper paired with Doc Martens, Arrya looks washed-out. “What’s up?”
“What’d I miss?” Nate asks, trotting over to the table. He’s in full regalia and straddles the bench, tail curled beside him.
“Weirdo,” a guy yells as he passes on his bike.
Nate ignores him but I throw up my middle finger. Val and Kiki would be horrified, but it felt right. Without realizing it, a wolf has breached my defenses, and I feel protective of him.
“I saw my folks last night,” Arrya says. “It was like a time warp. They listed all their grievances and how disappointed they are in their only daughter. Plus, all the various ways that their friends’ children have exceeded expectations.”
Nate puts his furry arms out and hugs her. “Sorry, doll.”
“Sometimes we can’t make people better,” I admit to both of us. It’s what I’ve tried to do all my life. “That truth kind of sucks. But we do have the power to surround ourselves with friends and chosen family who accept us.”
Arrya comes up for air from Nate’s embrace. “I want to have parents who accept me.”
“Well, you don’t,” Nate says. “And Penn doesn’t have a mother who isn’t an addict.”
“True. And she’s dead,” I add, “so I don’t have a mother, period.” Saying it aloud tugs at a wound I thought was long scarred over.
Nate doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, that sucks, too.” He adds, “And my folks think I’m a freak. Up until you two, I didn’t even have friends IRL, only the ones I game with online.”
No friends? That revelation makes me super sad.
“But we have our pack now, right?” Nate adds, a thread of fear in his question.
“Right,” I say and take his paw.
Arrya grabs the other one. “Right.”
I feel myself sliding hard and fast into this friendship with Nate and Arrya, caring about them, and it scares me. But even if I lose both, if for some reason they betray me like Val and Kiki, I will still have Aletheia. Despite overstepping a bit, she’s come through for me again and again.
On the way home, I stop by the Crissy Field workout station, make it over halfway across the rings.
“Not bad,” I tell Sally. She licks my knee in congratulations.
Then we chill on the grass. A pale-yellow butterfly lands on Sally’s front paw.
It’s beautiful how she watches it, content to let it rest, then eventually float off on a breeze.
Instead of returning to the apartment, I decide to take a chance and text Circe.
She agrees to meet for lunch at Peet’s, a block from her school.
This goes against Dr. Beth’s advice to hang back, let time work some magic, and I don’t run it by Aletheia.
No matter their advice, I can’t just stand by and let my daughter do things that could damage her life.
Sally and I wait at an outdoor table with a lemonade and caprese sandwich for Circe, an iced tea for me, and one of the homemade pumpkin-chicken chewies I make for my dog.
“I’m nervous to spend time with my own daughter,” I admit to Sally.
“It’s a new paradigm. Circe has the power.
She can reject me, and I desperately want her in my life.
” In response, Sally rests her chin on my knee.
I trace the white circle around her eye with light fingers and her tail thumps.
My heart stretches—Sally is growing inside it.
“Holy shit, Char said you have a dog,” Circe exclaims when she sees Sally, immediately plunking down on the pavement beside her.
I bite my tongue to avoid telling her not to swear. Maybe it’s apropos after years of begging for a dog. “Her name is Sally Field.”
“Hey Sally,” my daughter says. “You’re such a pretty girl.
” Circe rubs her chest and the dog’s eyes slowly close in such utter relaxation that she ends up resting her head on Circe’s shoulder.
Maybe Circe reminds her of the kids she left behind.
Or she’s just a good judge of character.
Circe has always been a sweet kid. Kiki once said there’s nothing meaner than a teenage girl, expect, maybe, a pit viper.
But they both usually only strike when they’re feeling insecure, threatened.
“Are you nervous for sectionals?” I ask.
She takes her seat, digs into the mozzarella, tomato, and basil sandwich.
“Yum. Not really. I’m a base. Char’s the one who climbs to the top of the pyramid and double flips off it.
I’m more nervous for her.” Circe takes a sip of her lemonade.
“I thought you weren’t volunteering in the office anymore, but Char saw you at school? ”
I weigh my options. I’m her mother, not her friend, but nothing is as cut-and-dried in real life. “Your guidance counselor called.”
She looks away. “Dad said.”
He did talk to her. “Do you like your new classes?” I ask, skirting the elephant at our table.
Circe takes another bite, then focuses on petting Sally. “I know you don’t approve.”
“There’s a reason I’ve been so hard on you,” I venture.
“Yeah, I’m a disappointment.”
“That has more to do with me than you.”
“Meaning?” Circe asks, brows raised.
The words on my tongue freeze. Circe already thinks Bruce is the better parent. I don’t want to tip the scales further in his favor by giving our daughter even more reasons to have less respect for me. “Let’s talk about something else, okay?”
Grudgingly she nods, then fiddles with her silverware. “You do know that they’re engaged, right?”
I saw a photo Mackenzie posted on LivLoud—she tagged Circe (I’m still monitoring her account, more so now).
Bruce gave her a four-carat oval diamond set in gold.
Mackenzie bragged it was flawless. There was a photographer to capture the proposal—a beach, sunset, Mackenzie in a floral dress, and Bruce down on one knee. He looks old enough to be her father.
“Yes,” I say with forced lightness.
“Mackenzie asked me to be a bridesmaid in their wedding when the divorce is final. It’ll be at the country club. The guest list is already over two hundred people. They’ll say their vows at midnight.”
“Midnight?” Bruce can’t even stay up past nine on most nights and falls asleep in his recliner. Not to mention that the way our divorce is playing out, the two won’t be getting married anytime soon.
“It has to be dark because the theme is Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Circe explains, trying to control the excitement in her voice. “It’s from Shakespeare.”
“I’m familiar,” I say with a forced smile. “Four Athenians run away to the forest where Puck, a fairy, makes both boys fall in love with the same girl and plays a trick on a fairy queen.”
“Huh,” Circe says, “Kind of a weird theme for a marriage.”
I’d call it juvenile but bite my tongue. “In the end, Puck reverses his spell and the couples marry.”
Circe considers. “I don’t think it’s that deep for Mackenzie.”
Shocking.
“She just wants thousands of candles and everyone to wear flower crowns and go barefoot.” Circe chews her lower lip.
“I can say no to being a bridesmaid. I don’t, like, mind.
And I can skip the whole thing and do something with you that night instead?
With so many people, Dad won’t even know if I’m there. ”
I push down my feelings. “Flower crowns, candles, and a barefoot wedding sound fun. And your dad would miss having you there. You should go.”
My daughter tentatively smiles. “Mackenzie says I can pick my own dress. But she wants it to be pastel, A-line, and long, keeping with the theme and stuff.”
I don’t know if it’s the fact that Bruce can so easily marry another woman, that of the two hundred guests many will be our old mutual friends, that Mackenzie is so much younger, or that Circe is going to be an active participant that feels the worst. I focus on school to keep from going further down that rutted road. “So, what’s your favorite new class?”
Circe hesitates, then says, “Math is okay now, and chemistry, too. But photography is still my favorite.” She emphasizes the latter with a jut of her chin, daring me to say more.
Instead, I pivot. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear this from me, but sexting—”
Circe blushes and leaps to her feet, startling Sally. “Dad already grilled me. I’m not telling you who I sent it to.” She grabs her backpack. “I’ve gotta go.” She quickly strides away.
My mood plummets. I messed up. Again. I should’ve run this by Aletheia.
A text pings.
Viola: Just checking in to see how you and Sally are getting along.
Sally glances up at me with soft brown eyes.
Me: She’s my dog if that’s okay?
Viola: Be happy.
“Now you’re stuck with me,” I tell Sally. In response, she puts a paw on my leg. At least someone likes me. “How about we go home?” Sally creakily gets to her feet, and we head off at her pace. I don’t mind and feel grateful to have her by my side.
When my phone rings, I quickly answer, hope it’s Circe calling to smooth things over. “Hello?”
“Hello, Penn,” a woman says.
“Who is this?”
“It’s Mackenzie … Mackenzie Hanks.”