by Brona Mills
‘Fuck.’ His voice is hoarse. ‘This is getting off topic.’ He clears his throat and is back to business. ‘I’m going to give Mike an extra hundred for you—’
‘Don’t,’ I cut him off.
‘It’s petty cash for your business,’ he says sternly. ‘In case you need to pay for anything unexpected.’
I think I’m finally in a place where I trust that he cares about me. That he’s not a low life cheating scumbag. That he’d never hurt me, not physically anyway. I only hope he doesn’t hate me when he realises I may have kept him from someone else.
‘Time for a break. Dinner’s ready.’ David serves up plates of steaming-hot chicken pasta, and I carry mine and Max’s to the couch.
‘He’s not been on yet, Mom,’ Max tells me.
David joins us, and we settle in to watch Mike at the premiere interviews.
‘Did you tell Mike about us yet?’ I ask.
David looks at Max, sitting between us, his attention on the TV, then at me. ‘You said you wanted to see how things went before we told anyone.’
‘He knows you’re seeing someone, though?’
He shakes his head. ‘If I told him, he’d want to meet her—you.’
‘Doesn’t that get old? Mike meeting all your girlfriends?’
David laughs. ‘He’d only want to meet you because it’s the first relationship that’s lasted longer than a few weeks. Trust me, it’s a big deal.’ He turns back to his dinner.
I look at my watch. A few people have had interviews so far. ‘Mike should be on soon. They always do the shorter roles first and leave the leading roles to the end of the night, right before the premiere starts.’ I blow on a forkful of pasta.
‘He still feels bad about walking in on us in the dorm. And it means he leaves me alone.’ David swallows a mouthful of food. ‘If he thinks I’m heartbroken and mad at him, he won’t get on my case about not getting L-A-I-D every weekend.’
My heart skips a beat. ‘Don’t need to spell it out for me.’
David nods at Max and glares at me.
I laugh out loud and cover my mouth. ‘Sorry. And thanks,’ I tell him. ‘Does it bother you?’
‘What?’
‘Not getting L-A-I-D every weekend?’
His face falls. ‘No. Why the H-E-L-L would you think that?’
I grin and look at him through my lashes. ‘You were worried I didn’t trust you. Well, I’ve trusted you for a while. I’ve just been waiting for you to forgive me.’
‘Did you say sorry, Mommy?’ Max asks.
David and I snap our heads to Max.
‘If you want someone to forgive you, you need to say sorry first, remember?’
I bite my lip to stop grinning. ‘I guess three-year-olds hear more than they should.’
‘Three and three quarters,’ Max tells us.
David leans in close and pretends to whisper. ‘Hey, dude, tell me you can’t spell yet.’
I laugh, and Max looks at David. ‘You need to teach me how to spell. But I can do the alphabet song really good. Want to hear? A, B, C . . . ’
David listens to Max recite the alphabet almost perfectly, while I take the empty plates to the kitchen. At least the expensive child care Mike is forking out from his Starbucks wage is preparing him for kindergarten.
‘Mike’s on,’ David calls over the back of the couch.
I run around the kitchen island and plop on the couch. I wrap my arm tightly around Max. ‘Oh god, I never realised how nervous I was,’ I shriek.
David leans back and puts his arm on the back of the seat, enveloping Max and me.
The interviewer asks Mike about his time on set and his move from England to the States. Within thirty seconds Mike has turned the conversation to how little actors get paid and the rising costs of rents in LA. This can go either way. He can come off looking like he’s trying to stick up for himself and the humble lifestyle he’s living for the sake of the arts, or on the flip side, come off looking like a spoiled brat, wanting to be rolling in the money like his peers. I cover my mouth in horror.
‘What’s he doing?’ I spit at the TV and David sits forward at my reaction.
‘So you want to petition for a change in the working rights of actors?’ the reporter asks.
‘Well, I don’t know about taking it that far.’ Mike shrugs. ‘But I bet there are other struggling actors out there who need that extra help too.’
‘Help up the ladder, you mean?’ the reporter asks.
‘Hey, we all need a little help now and then, right?’ He grins.
‘We’re totally screwed,’ I shout at Mike through the TV. ‘That was the most damaging two minutes of our very short careers.’
David moves to the edge of the couch. ‘I’m sure you can salvage things.’
I glare at him.
‘Tomorrow, I’ll take Max and Pamela to the movies, then go to lunch. It’ll give you and Mike time to talk.’ He speaks to Max, ‘And we can look for one of those places to eat that have a jungle gym in the corner for you to play on, right?’
‘Please, Mommy?’ Max begs.
I nod. ‘Thanks, David.’
‘One condition, ’ David tells Max. ‘You have to go straight to bed tonight and make sure you brush your teeth without arguing with your mom, right?’
‘Okay.’ Max jumps from the couch and runs to the bathroom.
‘I didn’t mean right now.’ David chuckles.
I follow Max to the bathroom, then back through the living space where David is loading the dishwasher, to our bedroom, and his feet disappear under the covers in record time.
I collect a small pile of books and lay them on the bed. ‘Pick three, and I’ll be back in a second.’ I take my pyjamas to the bathroom and throw water on my face. I need to send Mike on a media course. These oversights could cost us dearly.
I turn the knob on the bathroom door and hear David through the apartment, already reading to Max. He’s getting really into it. I snicker as his voice deepens, and Max giggles. I tiptoe across the hall to keep quiet.
Leaning on the doorjamb, I listen to the story. I could get lost in David’s voice all night. The firmness and confidence of it, along with the exotic accent, was the thing that soothed me when I was in labour and distracted me from the nightmare I thought I was stuck in.
‘Come on, Mommy.’ Max pushes the covers back.
I climb over Max to get in my usual spot at the far side of the bed. ‘After three books, your legs are going to get numb on the floor. You should come up here with us.’
David’s jaw slacks. ‘Three?’ He tickles Max on his way up. ‘You told me seven.’
Max giggles and peeks through his lashes to see if he’s in trouble.
‘Don’t worry,’ I tell David. ‘He tries that with everyone.’ I giggle then stop abruptly. ‘Not that there’s been anyone else here reading to him. I mean, there’s my mom. And my friend, Sarah, used to visit sometimes.’
David smiles. ‘It’s fine, really.’ He turns to Max. ‘I would have read seven.’
After Max falls asleep, David and I sneak out of the room. David pulls me into his arms as he flops on the couch. ‘How do you sleep with Max kicking like that every night?’
‘I start him in his own bed, but if he wakes in the middle of the night crying, I let him sleep with me. That way he sleeps all night. I normally stuff a pillow between us to avoid the bruises.’ I grunt.
‘How bad was Mike’s fuck up tonight?’ he asks.
I run my hand over his chest and linger around his waist. ‘Honestly? I’m not sure. If he was more established, it wouldn’t have been as bad. It might even have got more exposure, but he’s so new, it could go either way. It really depends on the media and whether they want to destroy him over it. They could spin it either way.’
‘Yikes.’
I blow out a breath. ‘I might be overreacting. I hope I am, anyway. It was pure luck he was in a minor role and arrived so early, ’cause not many people would have bee
n watching at that time. There are a few people I can call tomorrow, who can maybe put a stopper in the dam before it gets too much air time. The media is one thing, but if producers see him bitching, people might decide they don’t want to work with him.’
‘You should still give him hell when he gets home, for stressing you out.’
‘I might just do that.’ I yawn and close my eyes for a second.
‘Hey, you want to play a game?’
I open my eyes. ‘As long as it’s an appropriate game.’ I laugh.
‘Of course it’s appropriate. It means we can get to know each other better.’
‘We’ve lived together for six months. We know each other pretty well.’
‘We have to ask each other thirty-six questions and answer them as quickly and as honestly as we can.’
‘Thirty-six? You’ve played this before. I won’t even remember the questions to ask you back.’
He scoffs. ‘Trust me. I’ve never played this before. I read about it in a psychology journal. I never found anyone I wanted to play it with.’
‘But you memorised thirty-six questions in case you did?’
‘Yeah.’ He clears his throat. ‘I can answer right after you, okay? We’re supposed to do this in forty-five minutes and take it from there.’
‘Take what from there?’
‘You’ll see.’ He smiles. ‘The first one’s easy. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?’
I lean back, not wanting to look him in the eye when I counter his question. ‘Dead or alive?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘’Cause I kind of think I’m owed one last dinner with my dad, you know?’ I tilt my head to see him nod once. ‘And you?’
‘Me?’
I laugh. ‘David, I have dinner with you most nights. I mean what’s your answer?’
He cringes and covers his face. ‘Okay.’ He slides his hand down his face. ‘James Crawford.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘He’s a magician I saw in London when I was a kid. I kind of have a fan-girl thing going on, and I have a lot of questions for him.’
I chuckle. ‘I didn’t expect the serious scientist in you to believe in magic.’
‘I don’t, but I’d love to know how the secrets behind the illusions work. To bend perceptions in such a way that anything is possible? Magic takes all scientific theories out of their boxes and widens the possibilities. Plus, it’s pretty damn entertaining.’
I grin.
‘Okay, number two. This one is fitting for you. Would you like to be famous?’
‘No. I’ve seen so many lives destroyed by chasing fame and money. It’s not all pretty when you’re on the inside.’ He looks scared. ‘Oh, god. Don’t tell me you want to be famous?’
‘Well, I have been told I have a face for TV.’
‘Seriously?’
‘I wouldn’t mind. But not everyone should be famous. There are things that can make a person or kill them. It’s a fine line. “Be careful what you wish for” kind of thing. If I were famous, it would need to be for something important, like my work.’
‘Your contribution to the entertainment industry?’ I mock.
He flicks me on the forehead. ‘No, smart ass. My research. To know I’ve made a difference in the world, or someone’s life. To be remembered in history, or be known for figuring out how to manipulate something in the universe that mankind uses to their advantage. That would be pretty cool.’
‘Like time travel?’ Saving a girl’s life?
He shrugs. ‘Plus, if it got me a TV show with extra funding and a paycheck? That wouldn’t suck either.’
‘It’s not a bad idea, actually. I can already assure you that you’d be the hottest scientist hosting a documentary show. It might even get your field more mainstream interest.’
‘All I heard was hot.’ He stares at me.
‘Come on, you said forty-five minutes on this.’
Questions and answers are thrown back and forth between us for a few minutes.
David shifts beneath me. ‘Oh, this is a good one. If you were able to live to the age of ninety and retain either the mind or the body of a thirty-year-old for the last sixty years of your life, which would you want?’
‘Mind. ’
‘Interesting. Mine would be body.’
‘I didn’t realise you were so vain.’
‘I’m not, but your brain grows with age. Sure, it might deteriorate, but it could get a whole lot better before then. The body typically fails. Staying in the body of a thirty-year-old means you can still exercise, which helps grow the brain. Not as much danger of falling and breaking bones. You’re still young and fit enough to go to work every day. But the mind . . . I’d love to have another sixty years’ worth of research in my head.’
I make a sound, totally dissing him.
‘You disagree?’
‘Sometimes the mind deteriorates in other ways, and it can be devastating.’
‘You’ve seen it happen?’
‘My dad killed himself.’ I kick my feet up on the coffee table. ‘I understand it was depression that took hold of his mind and became this black grasp that he couldn’t get out of. But his decision had consequences for all of us. The guilt and blame that those left behind suffer is devastating, even now.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He threads his fingers through mine. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘Didn’t Mike tell you?’
He shakes his head and keeps his gaze on mine.
‘What’s next?’
‘It’s kind of morbid.’
‘More than the last?’
‘Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?’ His tone is flat, but I know his nonchalance is forced.
‘Probably.’ The answer comes with more acceptance than I expect, but the dread stills runs through me. I thought the days of fearing Nathan killing me were gone.
He senses my discomfort and readjusts his arms around me.
So I give him a different fear. ‘I’m terrified I’ll kill myself too.’ He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. ‘Don’t say the obvious, that if I don’t want to kill myself, I won’t. But there was a time in their lives when people who committed suicide didn’t think about killing themselves. Depression takes over, perhaps slowly at first, or maybe all at once. I’m terrified I’m already following in my dad’s footsteps. Chasing the same career, having the same fears about money and success for my child. The same worries.’
He squeezes my hand. ‘I was going to say that you have a head start. You can recognise the changes, so you can look for help before it ever gets to that stage.’
‘I hope so. How about you?’ I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.
‘Not a hunch, really.’ He sighs. ‘But lately I’m thinking my work might kill me.’
I freeze. I have more future knowledge about the dangerous things David is going to encounter in his life than he does. What if the time travel is the way he dies? When DD vanished, he didn’t know for sure he was heading home.
‘Too much time in the lab, death by workaholic,’ he adds.
We continue with a quick fire round, describing things we have in common and what we’re grateful for. This round of honesty and similarities has my attraction for him stirring, and before I know it, I skate my hand around his neck and tilt his head towards mine. I push him down on the couch and he grabs me around the waist. I sprawl on top of him and slip my tongue inside his mouth, kissing him slowly, caressing his face. His hands tighten around me, and I give his hair a tug. He lets a growl roll from the back of his throat.
His hands grip the backs of my thighs, and longing stirs in my belly. He pulls me tight against him, and his erection presses against me. I need air. I need to stop this. I really don’t want to have sex on the couch with my son in the next room. I break away from him and try to sit up, but he grabs my hands and holds them to his chest.
‘Stay like this, please. I don’t
mean for things to go further, but you feel amazing so close to me.’
I lie back down at his side. He hooks his hand on the back of my knee and holds on to me. I settle my head in the crook of his arm, wrapping my arm around his waist, and I feel like I’m somewhere I could stay forever.
‘If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?’ he asks.
‘My dad’s drive. No matter what he achieved, he couldn’t stop wanting more. I wish he would have been happy with what he had and not felt like a failure. He was always comparing himself to other people. He would become more successful and move into a different level of his career, different circle of friends, and he always felt like he was at the bottom. Then he would surpass his own expectations, and climb onto the next level, bigger house, more expensive cars, and start climbing another ladder all over again. I was raised to believe you should always be better than everyone else, that you shouldn’t stop until you’re on top, and that’s a shitty way to live.’
‘I think I would have liked less too.’ David agrees. ‘We always had dinner parties and family holidays, but Mike has some great stories about being raised in the middle of a family business. Even his younger sister, Caitlyn, was expected to help in the busy seasons of the B&B. I think it brought their family closer. Sometimes it’s the struggles in life that bind you together. My parents always had everything and handed it to me.’
‘That’s awful,’ I deadpan.
‘I know. My childhood will scar me forever,’ he retorts. ‘So for this question, we’re supposed to tell each other our life stories in four minutes.’
I flinch, and he tightens his grip.
‘Will you tell me about him one day?’
‘Who?’
‘Max’s dad.’
‘He’s gone. Nothing more to know.’
‘He’s the father of your child, and he shaped your life more than you want to admit.’ He kisses the small white scar that runs from my hairline to the centre of my forehead. The one I can normally hide with make-up. He’s never asked about the scar, but each time he places his lips there, he simultaneously traces the neat white scar that’s the only evidence left of the split mouth I was given. I’m now thankful for the ER doctor calling the plastics resident who took an agonising twenty minutes to make sure my lip was properly aligned before he started on the sutures.