I sit down next to her. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“Do you think it’s better that Marco’s in Diego’s l-life, even with all of his problems?”
“Definitely. He needs his dad. All kids do.”
I stare out at the garden as though if I look hard enough, maybe I’ll see the lavender grow taller.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t even think. That was so stupid of me to say.”
“I saw him. My f-father.” It’s what I came out here to talk about, isn’t it? Because if I don’t work this out in my mind I might go crazy.
“What? Where?”
“He came by the café. Total coincidence.”
She looks genuinely concerned. “What did he say to you?”
“He, uh, didn’t recognize m-me. Why would he, right?”
“Ryan . . .” She turns sideways so her long legs are almost on mine.
“It’s okay. It’s f-fine. It was a shock, is all. And now it’s over.”
“Is it?”
She puts her hand on mine. I didn’t realize it was in a fist. I let my fingers relax and she grabs them.
“Not like I have a choice. He didn’t w-want us. And Jude wants nothing to d-do with him.”
“Well, this isn’t about Jude or your dad. What do you want?”
“I want to know w-why he left and n-never looked back. But does it m-matter now? He did, and it’s not like an apology will h-help.”
“Maybe you’re curious about him? Want to know him?”
“Yeah, well, he doesn’t want to know m-me.”
She doesn’t look at me with pity, only understanding. When she puts her head on my shoulder, I breathe a sigh of relief and place my head on hers.
“I remember right after Diego was born, he clamped down on me hard while I was trying to nurse him. I yelped and it startled him. His eyes popped open and it was the first time we looked at each other. He could barely see me, probably, but I saw him. And I realized that we were connected, but also that he wasn’t really mine. I gave birth to him, I loved him something crazy, but I didn’t own him. He was his own little person, and someday he’d be his own man.” She sits up and looks at me, her eyes tender. “Just like you are now. Your father doesn’t control you. He can slam the door on your face, but he can’t stop you from reaching out.”
“What if he does s-slam the door?”
“I don’t know. Would it still be worth it to try?”
“I need to f-figure out what I’m hoping to get out of it. I know he’ll never b-be a dad to me. But I’d like to find a way not to h-hate him so much.” My voice is shaky and I feel unbalanced, like I’m crossing a creek hopping from stone to stone.
Maybe I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. Eva and I don’t know each other well enough to confide like this in one another, but we do. We shouldn’t already be so wrapped up in each other, but we are. I don’t care; I want to take a flying leap of faith with her and hope there’s something for us to cling onto.
“If he does slam the door, he’s a fool,” she says.
I wrap my hands in her hair and pull her to me. “What about you? Are you g-going to keep me out?”
She’s breathing in small, fast beats, and I’m close enough to feel her exhale against my mouth.
“Ryan . . .”
“Find a place for me, Eva.”
“But Diego . . .”
“Are you going to wait until he’s out of the house to give it a sh-shot? I want to b-be there for you. For both of you.”
“This could go really bad for both of us.”
“It won’t.” Forget about ex-husbands and kids and complications. She’s worth it. “Just let me in.”
She tries to steel her resolve, but I think she’s tired: of denying herself, of shouldering everything, of being alone. She kisses me then, like she’s been dying for it, like I’m going to be the last man she ever kisses.
Maybe I wouldn’t mind if that were true.
Chapter 12: Eva
There are three hundred chairs in this room, each perfectly in line with the next. Two oversized Jericho banners frame the stage at the front. Mics are live, coffee station is ready. In thirty minutes, a swarm of people will flow in here to listen to a panel of experts discuss the future of cybersecurity.
Another event down, a million more to go.
“It looks nice in here,” Maria says, sidling up next to me.
“Thanks. I did the best I could.” Blue and gray linens cover the tables on the side of the room, and I brought in plants to spread around the room and on stage. Still, there’s only so much you can do in a room this size.
“Did you get a look at the VP from Sentinel? Maybe I should put in for two transfers.” Maria peers at the stage, where a ridiculously handsome man in his thirties is getting a lapel mic adjusted by the AV guy.
“You’re married and I’m seeing someone.” I make a shooing motion with my hands. “Now go away so I can work.”
Cara darts up to us—she’s one of those fast walkers—interrupting my conversation with Maria.
“Hey, glad I spotted you. I was hoping to talk.”
Cara and I are still planning her open-source conference—the one she brags to anyone and everyone about. She’s making quite the splash as the new girl, which means more visibility for her, more work for me.
But I’m used to the pressure of large-scale events and she isn’t. The closer the conference gets, the more manic she becomes.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Maria says, shooting me a look as she goes.
Cara flips her hair over her shoulder. “I know you’ve been doing this a long time and you’re the expert, but I’m really hoping we can change the venue.”
I can feel my blood pressure rising and I’m fairly certain the vein at my temple is visibly throbbing. I stand up straighter, delighted to tower over her.
The AV guy gives me the thumbs up to let me know he’s all done. “I’m busy right now, but I’m happy to talk it over later. However, we’re locked in to that hotel.”
Cara nods like she’s agreeing, but her back stiffens. “That place isn’t going to appeal to our target audience. They’re younger and hipper. I’m sure we can find a better solution.”
Wow, two references to my age in the space of a minute: I have to give her credit for that passive-aggressive full body slam. Bizarre that a four-year age difference is even significant. In terms of stage of life and perspective, I suppose it is, and by tech standards, I’m practically hurtling toward middle age.
“I’ll get some time on your calendar,” I say, playing nice.
Unfortunately, I think Cara and I are beyond that now. She views me as a hindrance to her inevitable climb up the ladder. But really, I’m a nuisance at best; I don’t care enough to compete with her or try and slow her down. In fact, I’m happy to leave all that climbing to her.
* * *
It’s only as I’m driving home that I realize that I told Maria I was seeing someone and meant it. Except I’m not.
But I could be.
The last time I kissed Ryan, I left him hanging, never giving him the answer he was looking for. How could I, when I’m not sure what’s right or wrong anymore? Time to call in reinforcements.
I dial Carmen, and she picks up on the first ring.
“Yeah?” she says.
“You busy?”
“It’s almost dinner time, so you know how it is.”
Yes, the dreaded hours between five and eight, which every parent loathes. Dinner, clean up, homework help, making school lunches, bath time, bedtime struggles. Carmen does all that times three.
“Okay, so if a guy told you to make room for him in your life, what would you think?”
“I’d think he was a glutton for punishment. And how come you never call Alejandro about this stuff?”
Pots clank on the other end of the line.
“Seriously?” My younger brother fixes cars like it’s
nobody’s business, and he’d probably take a bullet for me. Plus, he gives great hugs. But a relationship genius he is not.
“Yeah, boy’s mostly dumb as a post, but we love him.”
I laugh—an inevitability when I’m talking to Carmen. “What’s for dinner, by the way? And why don’t you live closer so I can come over and eat it?”
“Because Rick looked so good in his jeans that I went and married him. Stupid love and all that.”
I see Carmen on holidays and occasions, but Sacramento’s not close enough for a drop in, and I miss that.
“Hurry up and tell me about this guy,” she says, “because Adrian just threw something at Zach and I’m going to have to jump in soon.”
I try to give her a quick overview of Ryan, but I end up doing a lot of sighing and gesturing, while she’s on the other end stirring something on the stove. She lets me have my drama and then cuts down the center of it.
“So what’s the problem? You like him. Go for it. It’s been, what, two years since the divorce? Maybe it’s time Diego knows that you’re moving on and that you and his dad aren’t getting back together. Because you know he’s probably hoping that happens.”
“God, I didn’t even consider that. Thanks for giving me something else to feel bad about. But I don’t want to bring a man into Diego’s life when it’s just temporary.”
“Way to aim high.” Multiple voices are shouting behind her.
“He’s twenty-four. He doesn’t need an insta-family. He’s got years of sowing his oats ahead of him.”
“Maybe he’s sowed enough already. Or maybe he only wants to sow your oats.”
“Maybe.”
The voices behind Carmen get louder. “Would it be so terrible if I let these kids fight to the death? Thin the herd a little? Just go with your heart this time, E. He sounds nice. And on a practical note, he’s on a six-month lease, so if things don’t work out, don’t renew his lease.”
Kind yet merciless, my sis. “Thanks, girl.”
She’s already yelling at one of the boys as she ends the call.
As I pull into the driveway, I try not to fixate on the memory of Ryan telling me I deserve happiness. But it’s no use.
Like magic, he appears from the side walkway just as I’m walking to the front door. Heading for class, probably. He nods tersely, probably because he put it all on the line the other night and I’ve said nothing since. I can tell he thinks I’m going to say no; he has a bit of a rejection complex.
That this creature hasn’t been snapped up by someone and chained to her bed is beyond belief. I’ve never before met a guy who’s so equally sturdy and kind. Even Marco, who was sweet when we first married, always had an edge to him. And yet, Ryan’s staring at me like I’m going to pull his heart out and stomp on it in the driveway.
He gives me a little wave and keeps walking.
“Hey,” I call out.
He turns around but keeps walking, backward. “Yeah?”
“Diego’s with Marco this weekend. What are you doing Saturday night?”
He stops walking. “I was g-going to hang out with a friend.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, I was going to invite you over for dinner, but . . .”
“Is this a one-time-only offer?”
“No. I was hoping this could be the first of many.”
He drops his messenger bag and takes five huge strides to get to me. He puts one hand on the back of my neck and brings me to him. I go. Boy, do I go. His kiss is firm and decisive, and he tastes good, like cinnamon. I lick at him like I’m lapping up cream.
He pulls away, his breathing heavy. “Dinner it is, then.”
“Six o’clock. And just dinner.” I sound like a schoolmarm. “So we can talk and figure things out.”
His eyes widen in innocence, but his smile is naughty. “Anything you want, Eva.”
Which makes me purr the whole night and into the week.
Chapter 13: Ryan
No work today. No school. No way to stop fixating on dinner with Eva tonight. Just dinner, as she told me in no uncertain terms. Fine by me.
Eva’s taking a chance on us, and I can’t afford to blow it because I’m guessing her chances are about as rare as a double rainbow.
I text Jim so he’ll come over for some Xbox time. He walks in twenty minutes later looking like he slept in his clothes, his shaggy, thick Italian hair sticking up in clumps.
“Nice look.”
He scowls and drops onto my couch with a thud. “Fuck you, dude, it’s Saturday morning.”
Jim is a killer real estate agent for a reason. He’s the most outgoing, shoot-the-breeze person I know. He’s completely unflappable because he loves being around people, but cares very little about what they think of him. So this bad mood he’s in is rare.
He grabs a controller and we start playing a new Star Wars game. I wonder if Diego would like to play it with me.
Oh, Diego. That kid . . .
Wednesday during tutoring, he told me about the time he and Marco went camping together and his dad got bitten by so many mosquitoes he looked like he had mumps. It made me feel weird to hear about the two of them doing all those father/son things that are so important to a boy.
The love Diego has for Marco is palpable and strong. If I hang out with Diego more, will he think I’m trying to take Marco’s place? On the other hand, can’t there be room in his life for more people that care about him? Because I do like that kid. He grows on you, with his serious face and tell - it - like - it - is manner.
Jim dies again in the game, and I notice the controller shaking in his hands.
“What’s up with you?”
“I’m trying to quit smoking.”
“How’s that g-going?”
“How does it look like it’s going? It’s fuckin’ hell.”
“Why now?”
He shrugs. “Katie asked me to. Seemed like a good time.”
He bites on a nail that’s already bitten down to the quick.
I get up and scour my drawers for some gum. “Here.” I hand him the whole pack.
He takes two pieces and shoves them in his mouth. “Thanks.”
I feel for the guy. The irony of all this is that Jim started smoking our senior year of high school to impress a girl.
Yet another glance at my phone confirms that I have eight hours until I see Eva. Obviously, I have my own monkey on my back.
I press start and we jump back into the game. “So, Katie . . .”
His character, a bounty hunter, shoots at the ground under me. “Yeah, Katie.”
“Am I going to m-meet her soon?” Jim’s going out of his comfort zone for this woman, so she must be a big deal. There’s a lot of that going around these days.
He hits pause and turns to me. “I think you are, man. I think you are.” It’s the closest he’s come to a smile since he got here.
Someone knocks on the door—loudly and insistently—so I jump up to answer.
Jude looks as surprised to be standing in my doorway as I am to see him. He’s holding a plant with a red bow on it, which he thrusts out toward me.
“A housewarming present,” he says.
“Thanks. And thank Lizzie.”
As much as I want to enjoy the moment, I’m painfully aware that Eva’s sitting in her house, twenty feet away. The same Eva I haven’t explained to Jude.
I usher him into the studio.
“Hey, man.” Jude flops down on the couch.
Jim hands him the other controller. “Hey, how’s it going?”
I busy myself with finding a spot near the window for the plant.
“You should probably water that,” Jude says as he jumps into my spot in the game.
What if Eva comes over here? Or Diego, for that matter? What if Jim mentions her? I’d like for Jude to hear about Eva from me.
I perch on the edge of a chair and watch Jim and Jude play. “What are you and Lizzie up t-to today?”
“We’re going to Castle Rock t
o hike.”
“That p-place fills up. You better get an early s-start.”
“Nah, I got time. We can go whenever. I want the grand tour,” he says, pointing to the loft.
“Didn’t you see it when Jeff l-lived here?”
Jude turns to looks at me. “Only once, for like thirty seconds. You hiding a body upstairs, or what?”
“Dude, I’m amazing,” Jim says to the TV after he launches a surprise a micro-grenade at Jude, decimating his health.
“Fuck!” says Jude in disgust. “Oh wait, there’s a combo I can do here. “I need to look it up on my phone. Hold on.” He pats his pockets and scans the coffee table looking for his phone. “I left it in the car. Ry, gimme yours.”
“What?”
He holds his hand out. “Your phone.”
I have no good reason not to other than I might have evidence of Eva on it, and that will lead to all kinds of questions.
“Uh, hold on.” I try to be nonchalant, but I’m fumbling with my phone trying to see if there are any texts from Eva open.
“Uh, my battery is really l-low,” I say to stall.
The game is paused again and they’re both looking at me impatiently.
“I’m just gonna look something up real quick.”
Finally, Jim tosses Jude his phone.
“Thanks,” we both say to Jim.
They play a while longer, and I stay quiet.
Jude finally looks over at me, picking up on my silence. “Sorry it’s taken me this long to get over here.”
Great. He thinks I’m mad he hasn’t been around, and he’s being contrite—a biannual occurrence for Jude.
I stand up, deciding to let it ride. If I’m found out, I’m found out.
“Come on. I’ll take you up the l-ladder.”
* * *
By a quarter to five, Jim and Jude are long gone, and the nerves start kicking in. What if Eva and I end up hurting Diego? What if her ex-husband buries me alive in an unmarked grave?
But then it’s six, and Eva’s opening the back door to let me in, and she’s wearing this dress—white and soft and flowy with little straps. She’s miles of contrasting velvet skin and sleek hair and full hips—and that gauzy dress. It tricks me into thinking I should be able to see through it, but I can’t. I try, but I can’t.
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