47. Preston
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
preston
We leave the hotel around five-thirty. Mia’s hair is still a bit damp from the shower, pulled into a messy bun, and I can smell her citrusy shampoo from across the center console. Lucky me, she takes it everywhere.
My hand has found new residency on top of her thigh, and I don’t dare move it. We’ve barely turned onto the main road when Callie calls. I pick it up on speaker.
“Preston. You better not be screening your calls just because you’re having an existential crisis.”
“Hi, Calista,” I answer.
“Where are you?”
“I’m good, thanks for asking. How are you, my dear friend?” Sarcasm drips so thickly, I worry for my car's sound system.
“Mrs. Romano said you left the house to go on some important calls? What calls? Are you talking to the board again?” Callie presses, more bite in the question this time. “You’re coming back? When? And how come I’m not in the loop?”
“Calista, where are you? In my house?”
“Obviously. By the way, love the plan for your bedroom. Zaha is amazing, isn’t she?”
I rub my forehead, feeling new lines form there. “Those prints were in my office.”
“Yeah, I got bored. Then broke. Mrs. Romano beat me in seven rounds of poker and took all the money I had on me. And two rings too. Any chance you can convince her to give me my jewelry back?”
“Consider them pawned already.”
“Damn it. That woman is a grifter in pearls. She probably bluffed seven times.”
My patience is wearing thin. “What do you need, Calista?”
“A slice of that lasagna in the oven. And good news. Were you settling the details of your return?”
“No. But you can stay for dinner. I’ve arrived at Lily’s school. See you in a bit.” I hang up before she comes up with more questions I’ll have to make up answers for on the spot.
Mia jumps in the passenger seat. “Oh no, she’s calling me now. What do I do, what do I do?” she asks at twice her normal speed, and I calmly take the phone from her hands.
“Ignore it. You’re busy. Look, there’s Lily.”
Miraculously, there’s a parking spot right across the gate. We step out just as the bell rings and kids start to pour out. I spot Lily before she sees us—her wild hair bouncing, backpack askew.
“Lily,” I call, and she runs straight toward us. My arms are open. But she barrels past me and throws herself into Mia’s legs. Again.
I’m about to play chauffeur one more time, but today it doesn’t sting. I open the door for them myself.
“You sure?” Mia checks.
I nod. “Shotgun’s overrated anyway.”
They climb into the back together and Lily launches straight into some science experiment involving glitter and vinegar.
Mia listens like it’s breaking news. I pull into traffic, one eye on the road, the other watching them.
Lily’s leaning into Mia, offering to share a granola bar.
Mia breaks it in two and takes the smaller piece.
They eat, heads tilted together as they chat.
Even though I should be focused on driving, my mind keeps drifting. I know what a real home could look like. I can see it in my rearview mirror.
* * *
Before I put the car in park, I spot two troublemakers at my doorstep. Mrs. Romano stares teasingly at her sparkly fingers while Callie does a poor job pretending to ignore her and walks toward us at the driveway.
“Hey, I didn’t know you started a side gig at Uber.”
I ignore her and open the rear door for the girls. Then I greet Mrs. Romano first, obviously. “Evening, Mrs. Romano. All good?”
“Yes, they did a nice job in your bathroom today. And your bedroom is down to nothing, empty. They cleaned it all before they left.”
“Thank you for keeping an eye on everything. Are you joining us for dinner?”
“No, grazie, my boy. I’m going home to show Mr. Romano my new rings. Thanks again, Miss Calista.” She pats Callie’s back as she walks past.
“You’re not welcome,” my friend grumbles.
The four of us have dinner. I deflect Cal’s questions about my fake calls the best I can, then Mia takes Lily upstairs for a quick shower, teeth brushing, and bedtime stories. I’m washing the dishes when Callie says something that scrambles my brain.
“Oh-oh. Trouble’s calling.”
“No, she isn’t,” I answer without thinking, but close the tap to listen closer. There’s no sound coming from upstairs.
“What are you talking about?” she asks, staring at me funny. “I mean the phone. Look.”
She shows me Mia’s screen, and sure enough, ‘Trouble’ stares back at me on her caller ID. What the actual fuck?
“Who the fuck is Trouble?” Again, I speak my thoughts out loud. I’ve got to tape my mouth shut. Now.
“I don’t know. This is Mia’s phone,” she answers as if I don’t know. “Funny, right?”
Fucking hilarious, Calista.
I need my friend gone. I need this cleared out. Time to understand once and for all why this nickname bothers Mia and who the fuck is calling her with what I can only assume is bad news.
Callie yawns, and I take it as an early Christmas miracle. “Yeah, I’m tired too. I’ll walk you out.”
“Your subtlety always takes me by surprise, Pres.”
“Stop, Calista. We’re family. If I can’t tell you I want to go to sleep…” Or lie to you with a straight face…
“Fine, I’ll take my naked fingers home.”
That pulls a lifeless laugh out of me.