Chapter Six
CHAPTER SIX
Thanks to ridiculously light lunch traffic, excellent parking karma, and some favorable planetary alignment, I find myself around the corner from Foothills Coffee a full eight minutes before I’m supposed to meet Caprice. Just enough time to check one more thing off today’s to-do list. I grip the steering wheel, glance once more at the clock on the dash, and hit the “call” button on my phone, working my mouth into an enthusiastic smile.
“Happy birthday, Mom!”
“Oh! Thank you, sweetheart!” my mother says, muffling the receiver to speak to someone in the background. “It’s my daughter. No, the other one, with the dog business.”
I roll my eyes and shut off the engine. My mom loves to tell her friends about her two successful daughters. Both of us are entrepreneurs with our own businesses. Though I suspect she finds my sister Celia's position as CEO of a mindset and life coaching company a bit flashier. After all, it doesn’t regularly involve dog hair and poop.
“I don’t want to pull you away if you’re celebrating,” I say quickly. “Did my package arrive?”
“It did, thank you. You know I love my films. That was such a sweet gesture. ”
Her tone seems sincere, so I exhale. My mother is inherently difficult to buy for, but I thought I did okay this year with a “100 Classic Movies” scratch-off poster, a couple of theater passes, and a big popcorn selection. Her favorite films are from an era when all the men were heroes and all the women were there to be kissed. Maybe because our dad hadn’t stuck around to do either. But when we watched those films growing up, she always made sure Celia and I were paying attention.
“And,” she says, her voice suddenly injected with excitement, “It looks like I’ll be getting another special delivery today!”
Clearly I’m supposed to get the significance of this statement, but despite racking my brain, I draw a total blank. “Did you end up ordering that new couch?”
She laughs. “No, silly! Your sister is in labor! I get to be a grandma for my birthday!”
Oh.
Yet another thing my older sister has done better than me. Not only does she have a perfect job and live in a perfect house, she also married the perfect man (a doctor, in case that’s not obvious), and the two of them immediately set about giving Mom the one thing that was apparently missing from her life.
“Is it time already? I thought she wasn’t due till May.”
“End of April. But baby decided to come a little early!” Her voice sounds like she’s sitting on a cotton candy cloud.
“Well, keep me posted on...what they have.” Celia and Adam decided not to find out the sex of their baby, which, after being the first to produce an heir apparent, is the second most annoying thing ever. It just made sending a gift for the shower that much harder.
I make a mental note to text my sister later. Something congratulatory. Though I guess I can count on my mom to let me know when it’s official. I glance again at the clock on my dashboard, collecting my purse and sunglasses off the front seat. If Mom’s in a hurry to get back to gabbing about her impending grandchild with friends, I might still get to Caprice on time.
“You’ll be first to know after me.” She chuckles, and I prepare to say our goodbyes, but then she pivots the conversation so fast I hardly know what’s happening. “So, when will you be coming to visit? ”
“Oh...uh...” I throw open the car door somewhat hastily, climbing out into the shadow of an apartment building on South Broadway. When my mother isn’t fawning over my sister or gossiping with her church friends, she’s plotting ways to get me on a plane to Ohio to see them. “I’m not sure. You know, I’m so?—”
“Busy,” she finishes.
A horn blares at me, and I glue myself to the side of my car in the rush of traffic. “Well, yes.”
That, and going home seems to shine a spotlight on every tiny thing I’ve managed to get wrong since puberty.
“Excuse me, I’ll be back in just a moment,” Mom says away from the receiver again, and now I wish I had gotten her voicemail. She comes back in my ear with a barely hushed tone. “I know I shouldn’t make comparisons, but if your sister can run her business and have a life, so can you. You haven’t been here since her wedding.”
“That was only last year, Mom. It’s just really hard to make time to?—”
“And when are you and that husband of yours going to start making me some grandbabies too?”
I nearly fall into traffic. “ Mom .”
She snorts. “You two have been married seven years. What’s the holdup?”
I stagger to the sidewalk, my face surely glowing like a traffic light.
“You—you have a grand-dog,” I stutter, wishing I’d come up with something not completely inadequate. Anton and I have discussed this. We do want to start a family. We’re just waiting for the right time. “And you know, we both go to these things we call our jobs .”
“So do Celia and Adam.” She sniffs. “Didn’t stop them from getting busy.”
I gasp, the corners of my eyes suddenly pricking with tears. She can’t know how close this hits right now. How I was so tired the other night, but I did try to get something started. How Anton stormed out on me and spent the whole night on the couch. How we haven’t spoken about it since. But I’m not about to mention any of that to her. Because she might say something like “I told you so.”
“I’m just trying to help, honey. You don’t want to wait too long. ”
“I’m only twenty-nine!” I jam my credit card into a parking meter and stop to collect myself. Anton always tells me I need to set better boundaries, that I feed into her too much. I just can’t help it when she starts digging at me like this. It feels like I’m back in high school being grilled on keeping my legs closed and my body pure. Except now I guess the message has reversed. “Anyway, this is between me and Anton.”
“Is something going on with you two? You haven’t put on weight, have you?”
“Mom, stop .”
She lets out a long sigh. “Sweetie, I just want to see you happy like?—”
“Like you and Dad?” I snarl, because now I can’t help myself. My father walked out when I was four and Celia was ten, and sometimes I think I understand why. “Babies definitely brought you two closer together.”
“Oh!” Mom’s voice drifts back into its cottony state. “I just got a text from Adam. Celia’s already at ten centimeters, and he says she’s absolutely glowing!”
I roll my eyes, trying to imagine my sister giving birth without a hair out of place.
“Hope it’s beautiful,” I say through my teeth. “I’ve got to go.”
“Motherhood will suit her so well,” Mom says wistfully. “You’re both already much more capable than I was.”
Nope. Not even dipping my toe into that subject. “Happy birthday, Mom.” I pull the phone away from my ear, my attention shifting to an incoming text from Tomás. “Let me know if it’s a boy or a girl.”
“Goodbye, my little canine executive officer.” She laughs, amused by her own wordplay. “I’ll send pictures of your new niece or nephew soon!”
“Sorry I’m late. Thanks again for rescheduling,” I say around a bagel shoved in my mouth. I set down my mug at one of the few outdoor tables on the back patio at Foothills Coffee off Alameda, firing off a text to Tomás before I sink into the chair.
Caprice glances up from her phone, looking slightly startled. “Hey. Sure. It’s fine. I uh...I know how crazy you’ve been.”
“I admit, I barely remember what day it is this week.”
“Thursday . . .” she says absently.
“Right.” I force a laugh. “Sorry, I just had the most surreal chat with my mom.”
She sets her own phone down, raising her head to look up at me. “Oh? What about?”
I open my mouth, then quickly realize I don’t want to bring up the whole baby thing. Or my current situation with Anton. We’ll be fine in a few days. Hopefully. “Umm, it’s her birthday, and she didn’t think I got her enough.” I turn my phone face down on the table, hoping it stays silent for at least ten minutes. “So, how are things with you?”
“Good. I . . . I started a new blog series.”
“That’s exciting,” I say, relieved to discuss her life instead of mine. “What about?”
She opens her mouth, then closes it. “I can’t really talk about it yet.”
I wait for her to give me a little more. Caprice and I have known each other since freshman year at CU when we lived in the same dorm. One of the things I love about her is how direct she normally is, but right now, she just looks kind of uncomfortable. The story she’s working on must be big if she won’t even hint to me about it.
“Okay.” I cough. “Well, how’d it go the other night?”
She looks at me blankly. “Which night?”
“You had a date?” I raise my brows. “With the college professor who likes motorcycles, romantic comedies, and home brewing?”
“Oh . . . that guy.” She shrugs. “It was fine.”
I wait another minute. This is starting to feel weird. Normally, it’s hard to get a word in with Caprice. “Was it seriously that bad?” I narrow my eyes. “Or was it seriously that good?”
She waves me off with one hand. “We just met for drinks. He was nice. Lives up in RiNo, I think. Or maybe by the ballpark.”
“My barista here was nice,” I say, sipping my coffee. “That doesn’t mean I’d want to wake up next to him.”
She clears her throat suddenly, glancing under the table. “No Heartthrob today? ”
“No.” I tap the side of my mug. “He was snoring in the office when I left. Figured you wouldn’t miss him.” Caprice doesn’t like dogs, or any animals that I’m aware of, but she and Heartthrob tolerate each other for my sake. It’s odd of her to bring him up, though. And she’s still so quiet.
I study her more closely. She’s in running gear—no surprise. Like my husband, she often spends her lunches in the gym, biking, or jogging. She’s invited me along many times, but I’ve never found the time. Her light brown skin is flawless, as usual. Dark hair straightened and pulled back, the way she often wears it. Her ever-present notepad sits next to her phone on the table. She’s ordered a smoothie and some high-protein egg and fruit plate. Also normal.
“Well, is there going to be a second date?”
She stares at me for a second. “Um, probably not. How are you and Anton, though? I feel like I haven’t seen you together in ages.”
My head nearly swivels with the direction of our conversation. Why is everyone asking about us? Can they tell something’s wrong? As a journalist, Caprice does tend to pick up on subtle details. But her attention often goes in five directions. And if her date was bad, maybe she’s just tossing out random topics to avoid discussing it. I’m about to formulate an acceptable non-answer to her question when my phone vibrates on the table. “Hang on, I just have to answer Scarlet about a hiring interview this afternoon.” I shoot off a quick text, then manage a shrug. “Anton and I are fine. You know, he goes to the office, does his crazy workouts at the gym. You probably see him more than I do sometimes.”
She studies her silverware. “You know, I haven’t seen him much at the gym.”
“When the weather gets warmer like this, he prefers to get outside,” I mutter. “But honestly, I can’t keep track of everywhere he goes. It’s been another level of crazy trying to get The Pooch Park’s second location figured out.”
“That has been taking a while. Is everything still moving forward?”
“Yes, finally.” I grin, eager to talk about this at least. “They’re working on the wiring this week. Then they can move on to drywall, and I should get an update Saturday on when we might be able to open. ”
She bites her lip. “But you guys still make time for each other, right? Date nights and all that?”
“What? Yeah, of course.” I sip my coffee, annoyed she keeps returning to this. She knows I’ve been putting everything into expanding my business. Then again, she’s not into dogs, so I guess it’s not as exciting for her. “I mean, I know I’m busy, if that’s what you’re saying. But Anton gets it. He’s cool with it.”
“Is he?”
“Huh?” I raise my head.
My phone rings, and I swear under my breath when I glance at the screen. “Sorry. I have to take this. One sec.”
I’ve been waiting two days for my shampoo distributor to get back to me. The salon is super low on oatmeal bath, which is essential for certain dog breeds with sensitive skin, but there’s a problem with the manufacturer, and it’s been out of stock for weeks. Caprice picks at her food, avoiding my gaze while my distributor informs me that he won’t be able to get my particular brand of shampoo for the foreseeable future.
“I know it’s not your fault, Steve, but therapeutic baths are our most requested specialty service. I need something . Just email me some alternatives, okay?”
I hang up and set the phone back down.
“Sorry. Never own a business,” I say with a tight smile. “Now, what is all this about? Did Anton say something to you?”
“I was just...” Caprice wipes her forehead. Her skin looks gray.
“Are you okay?”
“Lydia, we need to talk.”
“I thought that’s what we were doing,” I say, going for a chuckle and not quite succeeding as uneasiness grows in my gut.
She sets her coffee aside. “I’ve been working on a new blog series.”
“You said that before. What’s it about?”
She swallows hard and looks up at me. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
“Telling me what ?” I sit back in my chair, anxious to find out what’s going on. “Did Anton say something about the second Pooch Park?”
“It’s not that.” She gives her head a tiny shake. “You know how there are dating apps people use? Like, married people? ”
“Married people dating? That sounds like good material.” My skin prickles. Apparently we’re changing subjects again. I take a bite of bagel and tap out a quick text to Tomás about employee hours.
“Right? I thought so too.”
She sits up in her chair, her voice slightly sturdier. Caprice needs to feel like she’s really onto something before she can write about it. So, if she’s excited about a good lead, I’m happy for her. Even if this conversation is all over the place.
“Well, I can’t wait to read the series. I’m sure you’ll expose the underbelly of Denver’s cheating society.”
She swallows. “Yeah, there’s this one site, Unmatched, that I’m particularly interested in. It’s seventy-five percent male, many of whom live in Denver, and they all use aliases.”
“I’m sure they would if they’re not complete idiots.” My mom sends a GIF that says It’s a Boy! on a group text, and my phone immediately blows up with congrats from aunts, uncles, and cousins. I swallow hard and turn it face down again.
Caprice rearranges her silverware. “Well, I made an Unmatched profile so I could do some covert browsing...some of the guys on there seem downright familiar.”
“Ooh, you’re going undercover? You’ll probably sting some local celebrities. Maybe a few politicians. This sounds sensational!” I grin at her, then my phone starts vibrating on the table. I reach for it, knocking back the last sip of my coffee, which has gone cold.
“Lydia—”
“I really should take this,” I say through my teeth. “Scarlet’s had nothing but problems since last week.”
“ Lydia .”
I pull my hand back at her tone. She’s staring right at me with this look like she just ran over my dog. I reach under the table for Heartthrob before remembering he’s not there. The tips of my fingers tingle.
The ringing stops. I fold my arms and stare at my friend, who looks every bit like she’s about to throw up.
“Caprice, what is it?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, dropping her gaze to her hands, then back up at me. “I logged onto Unmatched, and I...I found a profile for Anton.”