I laughed, trying not to wince at the resulting throb in my temples. Last night, I’d gone to a cocktail bar with Abby, my co-worker at Bay Street Fitness, and made up for some lost drinking time. My body, no longer accustomed to large amounts of hard liquor, was repaying me with a monster hangover. Hopefully the Brogans wouldn’t notice. They hadn’t said as much, but I knew they wouldn’t appreciate it if I ever came home drunk in the middle of the night, or stayed in bed until noon nursing a dehydration headache. Neither would Taylor, for that matter. I hadn’t told her about my hasty reunion with vodka.
“I’m afraid your first dinner here as an official member of the household won’t be very fancy,” Steven said as we walked downstairs to get the last of my stuff. “Lynn’s just picking up some pizzas on her way home from work this evening.”
I paused on the bottom step. Lynn was a nurse—surely a medical professional would recognize hangover symptoms. “Thanks, but I have plans for dinner tonight,” I said, slightly relieved to have an excuse. In all the craziness of the past few days, I’d almost forgotten about Jane’s invitation to join them for their barbecue today. I didn’t have to go—I wanted to. Jane’s family, and all their rowdy normalcy, had a comforting effect on me for whatever reason. I wasn’t truly part of it, but I could pretend. And being around Mason and his cousin made me miss Drake and Lila a little less.
“Ah, I see,” Steven said, giving me a knowing wink.
Seriously? I knew Taylor had apprised them of my issues with my mother and the twins and Alan, but I didn’t think she’d tell them about Jane and the supposed hots I had for her DILF son. Just as I was dreaming up cruel and unusual ways to repay her, Steve’s stepson appeared in the foyer.
“Hi, Jamie,” I said, smiling. I’d known the kid since he was seven, but his face never turned completely red upon seeing me like it was doing now. He mumbled something unintelligible before scurrying past us to the living room as fast as his tall, gangly body could carry him.
“Terrific,” Steve muttered, watching him go. “Like he isn’t already distracted enough by video games.”
I laughed again. Apparently, now that he was in the throes of puberty, Jamie no longer saw me as a big-sister type.
I hung around the house for another few hours, arranging my new room and getting ready to go out. Like last week, I made sure to call Jane beforehand and ask if I was still invited to dinner, to which she answered, “Of course, silly.” It was a beautiful spring day, sunny and warm, and my hangover had dissipated enough that I was starting to feel ravenous.
The Brogans didn’t have any wine bottles I could re-gift, so I stopped at a bakery on the way to pick up a fresh-baked apple pie. By the time I arrived at the cozy brick house, the warm cinnamon aroma had roused my appetite even more.
This time, the youngest daughter, Nicole, answered my doorbell ring. “Oh, hey,” she said, her blue eyes skimming my outfit—a black knit mid-length skirt and red cowl-neck top. Too dressy for a barbecue, I realized too late. Nicole herself wore ripped skinny jeans and a blue tank top that showed off the intricate tattoos on her slim biceps. “Just come from church?” she asked wryly as she ushered me inside.
I snorted. “No.”
She appraised me again, her lips twitching into an almost-smile that reminded me of her brother, and took the apple pie off my hands. “Everyone’s out back,” she said, gesturing with her head for me to follow her. She led me to the kitchen, where she placed the pie on the counter and then pushed open the garden door to the deck. “The chick who looks like she just stepped out of a Forever 21 ad is here again,” she announced to her family, most of whom were sitting or standing on the large deck.
“Nicole,” Jane scolded as she rose from her padded wicker chair and smiled at me. “Robin, honey. So good to see you again.” She came over to hug me, and I couldn’t help but melt into it. It wasn’t often that I received heartfelt hugs from parental-type adults.
The rest of the family—same faces as last week, minus Ryan, who I assumed was still at the bookstore—greeted me warmly, and little Mason paused in his game of child-sized horseshoes to come over and hug me too. I liquefied even further, the kid-shampoo-and-peanut-butter scent of him reminding me strongly of Drake and Lila. Missing them was a constant, steady ache, but sometimes I’d see or smell or hear something that intensified that ache into a stabbing pain to the gut, leaving me breathless. Like now.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Jane asked. “Wine? Beer? Coke?”
Still feeling the tiny remnants of my hangover, I chose Coke. As Jane headed back inside to get it, her husband Graham stood up from the patio table and offered me his chair. “I have to get the grill started anyway,” he said when I protested. With a nod of thanks, I took his spot between Nicole and the oldest son, Garrett, who was talking about computer stuff with Alicia’s husband, Kenji. Going by their conversation, Garrett was some kind of software developer.
“So what do you do?” I asked Nicole. She looked around my age, maybe a couple of years older. “For a living, I mean.”
“I’m a hair and makeup stylist,” she replied, both hands curled around her bottle of hard lemonade. “Mostly for brides and their wedding parties. And what did you say you did?”
I’d talked about my job and career plans plenty last Sunday, but I reminded her again. We discussed our jobs for a few minutes before Nicole veered the conversation into more personal territory.
“You have a boyfriend?” she asked, peering at my face like she was looking for confirmation on something.
“No, I’m depressingly single. How about you?”
“I’ve, um, never had a boyfriend.” She flicked a chunk of blond bangs out of her eyes and raised her brows at me significantly.
Oh. Oh. Now I understood. “I don’t have one at the moment,” I said carefully. “But I have had one. Well, more than one. Lots.”
“Ah.” Her cheeks turned slightly pink and she took a long sip of her cooler, smiling at me around the rim. “Too bad for me, then.”
I smiled back at her, feeling flattered. Even though I liked men, being the object of an attractive person’s interest—male or female—was always good for the old ego.
Jane returned with my Coke then and placed it in front of me. I thanked her, and she scurried back inside. “Should I offer to help?” I asked Nicole. I was still unsure about how to tread in situations like these.
“You’re a guest, so no. Take a load off. Fuck, I don’t even offer to help.”
I laughed. My first impression of her had turned out to be correct—we were going to get along just fine.
The garden door opened again, revealing Ryan. Before he could even get his bearings, Mason flew up the stairs to the deck and catapulted himself at his father, almost knocking him over. I watched as Ryan’s face lit up with that same disarming smile he’d unleashed last week by my car. He swung his son up into his arms, and Mason wrapped all four limbs around him like an affectionate chimpanzee.
“Oh, so it’s like that, is it,” Nicole said with a tinge of playfulness.
I spun my head around to face her. “What?”
“You, eyeing up my big brother.” She nudged my elbow with hers. “I bet you’d be good for him. You seem normal, and he could really use some normal after that train wreck ex-wife of his.”
My brain whirled, trying to settle on a response. For one, I wasn’t normal, if by normal she meant stable and well-adjusted. Two, I wouldn’t be good for anyone, let alone a vulnerable single dad who’d obviously had his heart broken. And three, my curiosity about this useless train wreck ex-wife of his had now reached a fever pitch. But just as I was about to toss out a line and fish for more info, Jane stepped out onto the deck, arms weighted down with serving dishes, and announced that it was almost time for dinner.
We ate outside, paper plates balanced on our laps because every available surface was covered with food. I’d never seen a family eat so much and not be three hundred pounds each. But an hour la
ter, after dinner had been devoured and cleaned up, I found out at least part of the reason why they all stayed so trim.
“Come on, Robin.” Nicole grabbed my arm and started pulling me toward the yard. “We’re going to play some baseball.”
Baseball? The back yard was pretty big for a house in the city, but not quite extensive enough for a proper baseball diamond. Still, they managed, placing paper plates on the grass to represent bases and another one to mark where the pitcher would stand. They obviously did this a lot.
“Um,” I said, peering down at my skirt and heels. Not the best outfit to run around in, and it wasn’t like I could borrow some sweats from Jane. “I think I’ll sit this one out.”
“Suit yourself,” Nicole said, and went to join her family on the lawn.
Jane had a bad knee, so she begged off too. The two of us sat side-by-side on the deck, wicker chairs facing the yard so we could watch the game. The evening air was cool and brisk and carried the scent of freshly-bloomed flowers. This, along with the lingering smell of the grill, assured me that summer was officially close.
About ten minutes into the first inning, Jane’s son-in-law Kenji appeared on the deck behind us. He was carrying baby Ellie, who’d been napping. I watched as he gazed wistfully at the makeshift baseball field.
“I’ll hold her,” I offered.
He handed the baby over without a moment’s hesitation and took off down the steps. Jane laughed at his eagerness. At first, I was afraid Ellie might have stranger anxiety and start screaming, but she settled on my lap like she was thrilled to be there.
“You’re a natural,” Jane said, watching me.
I shrugged, and Ellie twisted around to look at my face. When I smiled, she smiled back, her entire face lighting up in delight. She looked more like her father with her straight black hair and delicate Asian features. Looking at Jane, with her wavy blond hair and hazel eyes, I never would’ve guessed they were related if I hadn’t known it to be true.
Ellie stayed content on my lap for the next half hour, blowing spit bubbles and waving her arms like she was conducting a symphony. She smelled like the baby body wash that Lila and Drake used to have as babies, and I couldn’t get enough of it.
“Oh!” Jane exclaimed suddenly, causing us both to look her way. “I have to go inside for a moment and…grab a pitcher of water for everyone. Be right back!”
She jumped up and dashed toward the house with uncharacteristic speed, making me wonder if she suffered from a bad stomach as well as a bad knee. But I caught on to her game when I turned back to the yard and saw what she’d seen—Ryan approaching, sweaty and out of breath. I sighed. I’d have to tell Jane, and soon, that I wasn’t interested in dating her son. He was nice to look at, sure, but I wasn’t in a good place for a relationship right now. And from what I’d gathered, neither was he.
“Strike out?” I asked as he gingerly lowered himself into Jane’s vacated chair.
“Yeah.” He shifted in the chair and winced. “And I think I twisted something that’s not meant to be twisted.”
I laughed and jiggled Ellie on my knee. She gurgled, her eyes on Ryan. When he smiled at her, she thrust herself forward on my lap, reaching for him.
“She wants her uncle,” Ryan said, and I handed her off to him. My lap felt cold without her warm, solid weight. “I don’t often get to hold her in peace. Mason gets jealous. He’s been really clingy since we moved back here.”
I peered across the yard at his son, who was distracted with retrieving the ball whenever someone hit it out of bounds. Right now, he was digging for it in one of the thick bushes lining the privacy fence.
“Where did you live before here?” I asked.
“Hyde Creek. We—I moved there after college. My ex’s family is from there.” He lifted Ellie up in the air, making her giggle and grab at his face. Again, I felt myself melt a little. I may not have been interested in dating him, but I wasn’t immune to a hot man with a baby.
“What did you do there? In Hyde Creek?” Hyde Creek was a mid-sized town about an hour from here.
“I was an assistant manager at a sporting goods store,” he said after a pause. I wondered if I was being too nosy.
“And now you manage the bookstore and live…here?” I asked, nodding back toward the house.
He lowered the baby and settled her against his shoulder, shooting me an amused look over her head. “I don’t live in my parents’ basement, if that’s what you’re asking. Mason and I have our own apartment.”
“Downtown?”
A genuine laugh burst from his lips, surprising me even more than the full-on smile from last week. “No, the bookstore isn’t doing that well. We live in Oakfield.”
I nodded, feeling a little naïve. Of course city apartments were expensive, unless you wanted to live in a bad neighborhood or in a run-down dump no one else wanted to rent, like the places I’d lived in with Mom. Oakfield was where Taylor had grown up, an affordable, safe, family-oriented town.
“How old are you?” I asked him, fully aware now that I was prying. But he didn’t seem to take offense. He just looked straight ahead, gaze focused on some arbitrary point as he absently patted the baby’s back.
“Twenty-five,” he replied. Then he stood up suddenly, Ellie still nestled against his shoulder and sucking her thumb. “But I feel about forty.”
With a distant nod in my direction, he turned and carried the baby inside, leaving me alone on the deck. I barely noticed, intent as I was on reviewing the math.
Twenty-five. That meant he’d been twenty-two when Mason was born, and probably in his last year of college. Not the most opportune time to have an infant. Or a wife. Again, I wondered where she was, and what she’d done, and if she was anything like my own mother, selfish and spineless and always pacing her cage, longing for a chance at freedom.
Chapter 9
Abby appeared beside my desk on Friday afternoon as I was scheduling an orientation for a heavyset man in his fifties, the kind of guy whose doctor suggested he buy a gym membership and do some heart-healthy cardio. I’d worked here long enough to distinguish the most common client types: gym rats who spent most of their lives here, moms trying to take off the baby weight, and potential heart attack victims who needed to shape up or else.
When the man left, Abby sidled closer to me and said, “It’s ladies’ night at Fusion tonight. No cover charge before one a.m. You up for it?”
“Fusion?” I said, my eyes on the computer screen. “That place is kind of a meat market, isn’t it?”
She leaned on the desk and grinned. “I’m counting on it.”
I continued typing, stalling my response. I didn’t want to admit that I’d never been to Fusion before, or any nightclub, for that matter. The teenage me would’ve been all over it, but Good Role Models didn’t go to clubs and get drunk and wiggle their asses against guys’ groins on sticky dance floors. Instead, they kept their heads down, did the right thing, and set a shining example for the impressionable youth.
Then again, like I was reminded every day like a smack in the face, the only youth I ever cared to impress were currently two hundred miles away and safe from my bad influence.
“Sounds like fun,” I told Abby.
That evening, after a late dinner with the Brogans—lasagna, made earlier in the week by Lynn and then frozen for future consumption, which is how most of their meals came to be—I showered and then sifted through my clothes for something club-worthy.
“This one?” I asked Taylor’s little sister, Emma, as I held up a pink lace halter top for her inspection.
“Sure,” she said, barely glancing up from her sketchpad. She was stretched out on the bed, half working on a drawing of some kind of thorny, winged dragon and half keeping me company as I got ready to go out.
“I agree.” I pulled on the halter top and checked the mirror to see how it looked with my stretchy white mini skirt. “Good call, Em.”
She grunted and continued to shade a secti
on of the dragon’s tail, her long dark hair tucked behind her ears. As always, it gave me a start to see her lying there, on Taylor’s old bed, looking so much like Taylor at that age. Same wavy hair, same green eyes, same curvy body hidden under too-big sweatshirts. But that was where the similarities ended. At fifteen, Taylor and I had read magazines with the latest boy bands on the cover and spent our time gossiping and making messes in the kitchen. Emma read graphic novels and spent her time sketching in her room and being dramatically moody.
“If I came downstairs wearing that,” she said, surveying my outfit, “Dad wouldn’t let me leave the house.”
“Really?” Not surprisingly, Mom had never cared what I wore at Emma’s age, and I left the house in some pretty revealing ensembles.
“Uh, yeah,” she said, going back to her sketch. “But he still treats me like I’m five.”
I laughed. Taylor used to say the same thing.
At nine, I took the bus downtown and walked the short distance to Milo’s Pub, where Abby and I had agreed to meet for a pre-drink or two. She was already seated at the bar, talking to a swarthy guy in a dress shirt with too many undone buttons. When she caught sight of me, I immediately recognized the expression on her face: Please rescue me.
I walked over, dropped my purse on the bar, and hoisted myself onto the stool next to her. Swarthy Guy stopped talking in mid-sentence to stare at me. “Praise Jesus,” he said, his gaze sliding up my long, bare legs. “It’s my lucky day.”
“Sorry I’m late,” I told Abby. “I was on the phone with my fiancé.” I turned to the guy and said, “I’m engaged to a bodybuilder.”
He laughed. “Sure.”
“No, really.” I dug my phone out of my purse and brought up the picture I used for occasions such as these—me at the gym, standing close to one of the big-as-a-house guys that trained with Wade. When I showed it to Swarthy Guy, his smile slipped a few notches. “She dates his friend,” I added, nodding toward Abby. “He’s just as huge.”
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