She Gets That from Me

by Robin Wells

  “Oh, how wonderful!”

  “Yeah.” He takes a sip of coffee. “They adored my sister and me, too. We were a really close family.”

  “You were lucky.”

  “Yeah.” He looks at me, and I get the feeling he’s seeing far too much. I’m afraid he’s picking up on my badly parented inner damage and is going to ask about my family, so I change the subject.

  “The kind of law you practice—it sounds really . . .” I search for a word.

  “Boring?” His lips quirk up.

  I smile. I’d looked up his firm on the internet. “I was thinking ‘dry,’ but I was going to say ‘complicated.’”

  He grins. “Very diplomatic of you. You might have a future in corporate law.”

  “No, thanks.”

  The prototype of Lily’s dimple flashes when he smiles. “Actually, my work’s a lot more interesting than it sounds. I mainly figure out compromises. I try to find win-win solutions.”

  My eyebrows rise. “For both parties, or just your clients?”

  “Ouch.” He puts a hand on his chest as if I’d just wounded him. “Sounds like you don’t have a very good opinion of attorneys.”

  I don’t, but it’s an opinion I formed when my parents divorced. My mother complained long and loud about the incompetence of her attorney, the viciousness of my father’s lawyer, and how they both were only interested in making money. I lift my shoulders.

  Zack leans forward. “Here’s the way it works: it’s my job to help my clients get what they want, but in order to do that, I have to convince them to make concessions, too. That’s really the hardest part of my job. Our firm has a reputation for settling things quickly, but that won’t happen if deals aren’t equitable.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “So you’re an attorney who believes in fairness?”

  “Yeah, I do. That’s the whole concept of justice.” He says this with an utter lack of guile.“I know it goes against the stereotype.”

  “How did you end up practicing this particular type of law?”

  “My dad’s grocery store went through a hard time when I was in college. A big-box store tried to buy him out for a ridiculously low amount—they wanted to tear down his store and expand their parking lot. Dad refused. They told him he couldn’t compete and they’d run him out of business, so he’d better fall in line. He still refused.”

  He takes a sip of coffee. “The new store went up, and things got nasty. They lowballed him on everything. He started selling specialties they didn’t offer—organic foods, local bakery items, special cut meats—but every time, they’d add something similar. And with their advertising budget, they’d outpromote him.”

  “That’s terrible!”

  “Yeah. The big corporation must have spent a fortune, trying to run him out of business. Dad finally hit on something they couldn’t duplicate: he started barbecuing meat. He put a smoker right outside his store. The scent wafted over the parking lot and attracted shoppers in droves.”

  I smile. “What a great idea!”

  He nods. “They tried to sell their own barbecue, but Dad had won the barbecue competition at the state fair and was well-known around town for bringing his smoker to charitable benefits. He had a local reputation and a secret recipe, and they wouldn’t compete. When people came in to buy Dad’s take-home barbecue, they’d find all kinds of other locally made specialty products and buy those, too.” He grins. “Within a year, Dad’s business was flourishing again.”

  “That’s a great story.”

  Zack leans back in his chair. “Dad said that if they’d made him a decent offer at the beginning, he would have taken it. It was the bullying that made him fight. So that made me realize this is an area of law practice where there was a lot of room for improvement.”

  It occurs to me that Zack is his father’s son. If I try to keep him from seeing Lily—especially now that he knows Margaret wants him to—he’s going to persist.

  Besides, I’ve been weighing Sarah’s comments about Lily resenting it when she’s older if I keep her from knowing her father.

  I set down my cup. “I’ve been thinking about you meeting Lily.”

  He leans forward. “And?”

  “I’m okay with it, but now is not the time to tell her you’re her father.”

  “I’m fine with that.”

  I tell him about Sarah’s suggestion for a casual encounter. He grins, showing his dimple. “Where and when would you like to run into me, old friend?”

  “How about the Creole Creamery on Prytania Street at three o’clock tomorrow?”

  His eyes, so much like Lily’s, light up. It’s hard to ignore how attractive he is, and noticing it disconcerts me.

  “Sounds great,” he says. “I’ll see you there.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Zack

  Sunday, May 12

  I ARRIVE AT the ice cream shop early, park at the curb about halfway down the block, and wait in my car. I see Quinn drive by in a white Equinox and then parallel park down the street. I get out of my vehicle, pretending to be engrossed in my phone, as Quinn climbs out and opens the back door. She’s wearing jeans and a white shirt, nothing fancy, and her hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail, but I’m sure my friend Ben would give himself whiplash doing a double take. As I watch, she helps a little girl scramble out of a safety seat and onto the sidewalk.

  I suddenly feel as if my airways are being throttled—it’s that hard to breathe. Nothing prepared me for the emotional punch of seeing Lily in person. My brain kind of shorts out. That’s my child! I think. My actual flesh and blood! A real live person I helped create! My heart skips. My palms sweat. I try not gawk, but it’s hard.

  Lily looks a lot like she did in the Mardi Gras photos, but I think I would have recognized her even if I hadn’t seen them. She’s a doppelgänger of my sister at that age. Hell, if you take away the long hair, she looks just like me.

  I watch as she grabs Quinn’s hand and bounces on her tiptoes as she walks. I can tell she’s talking a blue streak; Quinn is smiling, her head inclined toward her. If I didn’t know otherwise, I’d think they were mother and daughter.

  I stroll toward the ice cream shop, pretending to be absorbed in my phone, and we arrive at the door at the same time.

  I feign delighted surprise. Well, the surprise part is feigned; the delight is one hundred percent genuine. “Quinn! It’s great to see you.”

  She does a slightly better acting job. “Zack! Long time, no see!”

  I give her a hug, the way I’d hug a friend I haven’t seen in a while. I can’t help but notice that she smells wonderful—like herbs and flowers and sunshine. Not that I’ve ever noticed that sunshine has a scent, but if it did, it would smell like Quinn.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “I’m bringing my goddaughter for some ice cream,” she says.

  I pull back and smile down at the little girl beside her. She’s wearing strawberry-printed shorts with a strawberry-themed shirt and holding Quinn’s hand. Her skin is smooth as cream, and her blue eyes have the longest lashes I’ve ever seen. Her blond curls are parted on the side and held with a large red bow. My heart dissolves in a warm puddle.

  “This is Lily Adams,” Quinn says.

  I bend down and hold out my hand. “Hello, there. I’m Zack.”

  Lily puts her hand in mine and gives it a big up-and-down pump. “It’s very nice to meet you,” she says solemnly.

  My heart melts a little more. “Wow, you have lovely manners.”

  “Thank you. Mommy says manners are important.”

  “She’s right. They are.”

  “We’re about to go inside,” Quinn says. “Want to join us?”

  “I’d love to.” I hold the door, and Quinn and Lily walk in. “How old are you, Lily?”

  “Nearly four,�
�� she says. Her voice is sweet and high-pitched.

  “Wow. Nearly four is a great age.”

  “Yes.”

  The customer in front of us finishes paying and moves down the counter. A white-haired woman comes into the shop and stands in line behind us.

  “May I help you?” the teenage girl taking orders asks. She’s wearing a blue-and-white-striped apron, has dark hair pulled back in a thin ponytail, and is chewing gum.

  I look at the board. It has a bewildering number of flavors. I wonder if we need to read all of them aloud to Lily. I look down at her. “Do you know what kind of ice cream you want?”

  Lily nods. “Cookie dough with colored sprinkles.”

  “Sounds delicious.”

  “Cookie dough is my mommy’s favorite.”

  I’m a little confused by her use of the present tense when talking about her mother, but then, I don’t really know how well three-year-olds talk. “Is that right?”

  She nods. “Mommy is dead.”

  “Oh. I’m very sorry.”

  “Do you think she has ice cream in heaven?”

  I have no idea if people eat in heaven or not. I realize Lily’s looking at Quinn. I’m relieved that the theological question isn’t aimed at me.

  “I’m sure they do. She can probably have as much ice cream as she wants, whenever she wants it,” Quinn says.

  Lily smiles.

  “One child-sized cone with cookie dough and colored sprinkles,” Quinn tells the girl behind the counter.

  “We can’t put sprinkles on cones,” the teenager says, chomping her gum.

  “That’s okay. Put the sprinkles in the bottom of a cup, scoop in the ice cream, then place the cone upside down on top, like a clown hat,” Quinn says.

  I can tell she’s done this before. It occurs to me that caring for a child requires more skills than I realized. Even ordering an ice cream cone requires some know-how.

  Quinn orders a small cup of chocolate almond ice cream for herself. I order a cappuccino chocolate chunk cone, then pull out my wallet and pay.

  “Are you datin’ Quinn?” Lily asks.

  The question makes me freeze, my wallet halfway back in my pocket. “No. We’re just friends. I’m, uh, married.”

  “Oh.” She sounds somewhat disappointed. “So where’s your wife?”

  “She’s on a trip to Seattle.”

  “What’s she doin’ there?”

  “She’s visiting her parents and doing work stuff.”

  Lily seems to find the answer acceptable. “Do you have chil’ren?”

  I hesitate. This is a tricky one. I don’t want to say anything that might later seem like I’m not claiming her. “My wife and I want them, but we haven’t had any yet.”

  “How long have you been married?”

  “Three years in June.”

  “It doesn’t take that long to make a baby. You must be doing somethin’ wrong.”

  The woman behind us in line chortles. Quinn’s face grows pink.

  “My friend Alicia jus’ got a little sister,” Lily continues, “an’ her mother said it took nine months for the baby to grow in her stomach. An’ there are twelve months in a year, so you should have one by now.”

  “Well, aren’t you smart!” I say.

  “My goodness, yes!” says the woman behind us. She’s wearing a colorful flowered dress and has glasses hanging on a chain around her neck. She leans down to address Lily. “How old are you, honey?”

  “Three. Nearly four.”

  “Goodness gracious! I’m amazed you can remember numbers, much less figure out months and years at your age.”

  “I can count all the way to a hun’red,” Lily volunteers.

  The woman straightens and smiles at Quinn and me. “That’s a very bright little girl you’ve got there.”

  My heart swells with an intense sense of pride. I’m about to say, “Thank you,” then catch myself.

  “Yes, she is,” Quinn says, patting Lily’s back. “We’re all very proud of her.”

  We move down the counter to wait for our ice cream.

  Lily looks at me. “Are your baby-making parts broken? That happened to my mommy. Her baby-making parts were about to break. That’s why I have a donor instead of a daddy.”

  So she knows about the donor situation. “It’s, umm, something like that,” I say. “My wife . . .” Hell. I don’t want to throw Jessica under the bus in front of Quinn. I start again. “My wife and I are seeing doctors to try to help us.”

  Thankfully, our ice cream arrives. Quinn gathers up napkins and a spoon, and we head toward an empty bistro table by the window.

  Lily’s feet dangle from the chair as she sits down. “Could you please fix my cone?” she asks Quinn.

  Quinn presses the cone into the scoop of ice cream. “Presto change-o.” She covers the ice cream and cone with a napkin, then flips it over. “Ta-da! Your magic cone, my princess.”

  Lily laughs. “That’s not really magic.”

  “How do you know it’s not?” I ask.

  “Because I know how she did it.” She watches Quinn use the plastic spoon to scoop the remnant sprinkles from the bottom of the cup onto the top of the ice cream. Quinn hands it to her, and she takes an eager bite.

  “How is it?” I ask.

  “Yummy! My mommy would love this.”

  Quinn nods. Her eyes are sad.

  Lily licks some sprinkles off the top. Her eyelashes brush her eyebrows as she peers up at me. “Did you know my mommy?”

  “No. I’ve heard about her, but I never got to meet her.”

  “She was beautiful. Like Auntie Quinn.” Lily’s tongue flicks around the edges of her ice cream.

  “Why, thank you, Lily.” Quinn smiles.

  “Welcome.” She nibbles at the edge of the cone. “People think they’re sisters.”

  “We were as close as sisters,” Quinn says.

  Lily nods. “My grams is in the hospital, so I live with Quinn now. Did you know I have my own room at her house?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Well, I do. We’re gonna dec’rate it to make it more kid-like. But it’s already my room, because it’s got lots of pitchers of lilies an’ roses on the wall, an’ my name is Lily Rose.”

  “That’s a beautiful name.”

  “Yes.” She takes a mouthful of ice cream, managing to get some on her chin. “Rose is Auntie Quinn’s middle name, too.”

  “I didn’t know that.” I look at her.

  “My mommy an’ she were best-est friends an’ I got middle-named after her.”

  “That’s really special, being named after someone,” I say. “It’s a good thing Quinn’s middle name wasn’t Stinky.”

  Lily bursts out in a loud laugh, resulting in ice cream spillage. Quinn laughs, too, then takes a napkin and wipes Lily’s jaw as naturally as if she were wiping her own.

  “That would be a terr’ble middle name!” Lily says.

  “Yeah, it would,” Quinn agrees.

  “I’d be Lily Stinky, an’ you’d be Quinnlyn Stinky!”

  Grinning, Quinn nods. “I like Rose so much better, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Roses smell nice.” Lily looks at me. “You’re funny!”

  I grin. “I try.”

  We eat our ice cream in silence for a moment. I realize I don’t have a lot of experience initiating conversation with kids. “So, Lily—what kind of things do you like to do?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, do you like to paint, or swim, or play board games or computer games, or play on swing sets or what?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, which ones?”

  “All of them! I love to do all kinds of things.” She points out the window. “Oh, look! That dog’s wearin’ a litt
le dress! She looks like Ruffles with all-white fur!”

  Quinn gazes out the plate glass and smiles. “Yes, a bit.”

  I turn and see a woman on the sidewalk, walking a small dog in a yellow froufrou outfit past the ice cream shop. “Is Ruffles your dog?” I ask Lily.

  “She’s Auntie Quinn’s, but she loves me, too.”

  “Are dogs your favorite animal?”

  “Yes! Although I love koalas and giraffes and all kinds of baby animals. Especially the baby ’rangi-tangs at the zoo.”

  “You like to go to the zoo?”

  She nods vigorously, her curls bobbing.

  “I do, too,” I say. “Maybe we can all go to the zoo some afternoon this week. Maybe tomorrow.” I look at Quinn. “Your store is closed on Mondays, right?”

  Lily bounces up and down in her chair. “Yay!”

  The moment the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve said the wrong thing, because Quinn’s face freezes over. Too late, I realize I should have asked before I mentioned it to Lily. “If that’s okay with Quinn, that is.”

  Her face looks kind of tight. “We’ll have to see how Miss Margaret is doing. And I want to get Lily reenrolled in preschool.” She puts her plastic spoon in her ice cream, then looks up. “Besides, what about your wife?”

  “Oh . . . Jessica will still be on the West Coast. She’s visiting some hotels in her new region, so she’ll be going to Portland and San Francisco. She won’t be back until next weekend.”

  “Wow, she goes a lot of places,” Lily says.

  “Right now, she does,” I agree. “She works for a hotel chain.”

  “I didn’t realize she’d already started the new job,” Quinn says.

  “She hasn’t—at least not officially. But corporate wants her to visit some of the larger properties before she starts the regional position, and the hotel here can’t very well tell the corporate office no.”

  “Does she live in a hotel like Eloise?” Lily asks.

  I smile at her. “No. She’s staying with her parents right now, but she’s looking for a house. We’ll be moving out there in a month or so.”