by Jody Kaye
“Have one.”
“I—” She’s cute stumbling over her apprehension.
I hold up a hand understanding she hasn’t tried them before. “Watch.”
I set it back down on the bread plate, pretending to loosen the oyster from the liquid so she can see how it’s done. “Detach.” I hold up two fingers. “Slurp.” The oyster slides into my mouth. “Swallow.” I finish chewing, dropping the shell in an empty bowl.
“I don’t want to waste them.” She’s holding her thumbs close to her dish, almost as if she wants to give it a go, but is afraid.
“Try one. Still plenty for me.” I encourage her.
“I don’t want you going hungry.”
My chest heaves and I let out a wry breath. The humor is lost on Cece. She leaves me hungry all the damn time. “I don’t eat much for supper.” I wipe my mouth and put the napkin back in my lap, aware Cece is mimicking my exact actions to get the oyster loose. She can hate it for all I care. I’ve taught her something and brought her to a place she’s never experienced. Whatever we’ve been could peter away after our meal, yet she’s not forgetting tonight.
“Down the hatch?” Water dribbles off her chin. She holds the meat in her mouth, wincing before becoming brave enough to bite and swallow. “Oh, how can something so ew, taste so?”
“Good?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure I can do it again.” She pushes the hors d’oeuvres plate to my side of the table. “The rest are all yours.”
“Least you tried. I’m proud of you.”
“Doesn’t take much.” She snorts.
“Lotta people wouldn’t have attempted.” I eat the remaining ones while Cece dips shrimp into cocktail sauce. “Graduation?” She’d promised to tell me about it.
“It was nice. Morgan and Aidy came with Carver and Sloan. We only got four tickets and I couldn’t invite anyone else, which felt a little weird. So since Carver is Carver, I wanted to express my appreciation.”
“That was nice of you.” I can’t help wondering if she’d have included me if it was possible.
Our fingers battle for the last of the stuffed mushrooms. Mine win by default. I hold up the cap and pop it in her mouth like I’ve done it a million times. She holds her fingertips over her face, giggling as she chews. “You said you didn’t eat a lot, but at this rate, you’ll starve.”
The waiter proves her wrong, setting salad bowls over our plates.
“And New Year’s?” I prompt.
“My date passed out promptly at eight.” She remarks of Trig and Kimber’s little one, Owen, with a smile lighting up her eyes.
Is it self-deprecating to wonder if Cece’s patience with kids is part of the reason it’ll work between us?
While the suit puts me as much out of my element as she’s out of hers, I like being here with her. In the past hour, we’ve relaxed into each other’s company. I’m no longer worried she’ll make a run for the ladies’ room and climb out the window.
Dusty’s saying he doesn’t eat much might hold true if the bus boy hadn’t removed his empty salad bowl and he wasn’t still hungry. A waiter sets our entrees on the table. Everything tastes amazing, oysters included. I’m so stuffed my palm is resting on the food baby in my belly, expecting it to kick.
I’m laughing both inward and out at the charm this gruff man who puts his hands all over my body has. Despite the instances its taken for him to form a thought, Dusty has a way of engaging in conversation that makes me forget anything is amiss. Did I mention the way he fills out a suit? Or the sight of this immense man, not only knowing which fork to use, but holding itty bitty silverware? My mind has reset from grizzly bear to teddy bear
I’d thought twice while putting the finishing touches of my make-up on about what I was getting myself into. I’d picked apart the reasons behind missing a man I hardly know and considered canceling as I’d slipped on my coat. The questions got the best of me. Unsure of which answer I was more terrified of, I ran across the street to stop from chickening out. Now, there’s a gnawing in my gut that I should have let Dusty pick me up.
The more we talk, the easier talking with Dusty becomes. I like how the deep timbre of his voice when it’s soft and gentle has me squeezing my thighs together. It makes me feel less like whatever has happened between us is less because until now it’s been raw. Love’s not immune to sharp edges. Though, it’s not as if I’m ready to fall. I have work tomorrow and my food baby is as close to any I want to carry for a long time.
I dig into my plate to be polite, already tasting the yummy leftovers they’ll make reheated tomorrow. Dusty ignores that I’m eating at a snail’s pace, letting me chatter at him about the past month.
“You’d think I’d have more time on my hands now. A few nights I’ve passed out as soon as my head has hit the pillow and others I’ve brought home charts to finish for the next day. The newness of it hasn’t smoothed out quick enough for me to go apartment hunting. I’ve wanted to see a few. Holly had a lead for me too. But the places I’m interested in get gobbled up before I can call.”
“Didn’t know you were moving out?” he asks.
I’ve caught onto his speech patterns and inflection. Dusty drops I’s whenever possible. The more syllables, the more likely he is to make tiny pauses since it’s harder to form the word. It’s becoming less noticeable and more of a quirk he has—like Northerners who add or drop an R in a word where it doesn’t belong.
“I can’t live at the mill forever.”
“Sloan.”
“Ha-ha! You’re right. That’s different. She humanizes Carver.”
“He was plenty human before Sloan came along. Carver doesn’t want anyone the wiser.”
“Still, not everyone can date a Mister Moneybags.”
Dusty places both elbows on the table and leans in. “Sure about that, Cees?”
My mouth makes a little “o” and I recognize my mistake. Shit. I’m no good at this. My brother isn’t the type to throw around his cash and, while we’re at the classiest restaurant I’ve ever eaten at, I wasn’t under the impression this was normal for anyone.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I’m kidding, Celine. Carver’s got us beat…And I’m more likely to go to Wafflehaus like you suggested.”
“Why?”
“Because breakfast is the most important meal of the day…Even if you have it for dinner.”
Covering my nose, I snort, and Dusty’s serious expression changes to a wide grin. “I like Wafflehaus. I like greasy spoons.”
“Keeping it in mind.” Dusty lifts his fork as his cell phone chimes. Like a gentleman, he makes an apology to me, answering, “Hey, everything okay?” His brow furrows as he listens. He looks at his watch and then at me. “Can it wait a half an hour?” He sighs. “Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Plumbing emergency at Sweet Caroline’s?” The dancers have an uncanny ability to forget the signs on the toilet stall doors and flush things they know better than to send into the old pipes.
“Six-year-old with a loose tooth.”
Dusty’s reply shocks me. It’s funny what your brain filters out as important. Holly mentioned in passing Dusty was a father. Where I come from, those situations include a crazy ex. Since Dusty and I weren’t more than fuck buddies, there’s been no reason not to avoid that kind of drama. I guess it’s admirable Dusty’s willing to drop everything.
“Sorry about this. Soon as it’s out, we can go downtown. Get dessert to make up for the rushed meal.”
“It’s okay.” I clutch a to-go box in my lap as we drive across town.
We arrive at a home in an older Brighton neighborhood with a big yard. It’s low-slung and painted dark with chocolate trim. There are towering pine trees in the yard. The driveway has been re-paved and all the flower beds tended to. Bigger bushes have inches of pine straw mulch at the base. It’s easy to come by when the trees shed their needles. There’s a basket of pansies hung from the wall of a slab-style front
porch so new the white variety tab sticks over the rim of the green bucket. Two white wicker chairs with faded blue patterned cushions rest underneath.
He introduces me to an older woman who opens the door before we can ring the bell and kisses her cheek. “Renata this is Cece.”
She looks at the way we’re dressed and gasps. “Oh gawd, Dust. When you broke your daddy/daughter night with Sylvie, I didn’t know you had an actual date.”
“Cece just graduated. I was taking her out to celebrate.”
“College?” she asks, shaking my hand.
“PA school. I started at a medical practice recently.”
“How wonderful for you. My Beth wanted to be a nurse.” Renata crosses herself and looks up. I’m not sure how to respond, so it’s fortunate we’re interrupted.
“Daddy! I have a loose tooth!”
“Grandma said. Which one?” Dusty crouches down in front of the small girl and tucks his finger in her mouth where she’s pointed. “I dunno. May take a crowbar to get out.”
“Daadddeee.”
“I’ve got a monkey wrench in the truck. Or we could tie a string around it, attach it to a knob, and slam the door.”
“Be sewious.” She places a hand on her waist, cinching in her pink princess nightgown, and juts out her hip.
“I am. This is very serious. Came as soon as I heard, so I didn’t miss it.”
Sylvie cocks her chin, looking over her father’s shoulder. “Who are you?”
“Celine Wescott.” I dip down, mimicking Dusty’s posture, to hold out my hand.
“Sylvie Rhys Alston.”
“Sylvie—”
“Sylvie Rhys Yates,” she mutters, giving me a last name that’s not the same as Dusty’s. Her lips pinch like she’s sucked a lemon, but her attitude changes on a dime. “I have a loose tooth!” She pokes toward her mouth. It’s the first time I notice a hairline silver scar running to her columella, where the septal cartilage for her nose is.
“How exciting!” I gush the same way when my patients tell me something important.
“You’re pretty.” She touches the lace on my dress.
“Thank you.” I turn the same color as the fabric. “So are you.”
My heart is melting. Sylvie has fine honeyed-chestnut hair and huge blue eyes. From the sassy way she interacts with her dad to how outgoing and polite she is meeting someone new, everything about her is adorable.
“So…what’re we doing about the tooth?” Dusty prompts.
“Nothing. I wanted you to see,” she states, matter of fact.
I rise from the carpet. A nagging sensation overtakes my quads. If I don’t start working out again soon, being out of shape will make it harder to keep my balance.
“Sylvie’s been wiggling it so much, it’s a wonder it didn’t fall out before you got here.” Renata supplies.
She’s standing near a couch that’s a lot newer than the cushions outside. The living room is a mix of old and new. Thin gold-framed school pictures dot the walls. The aging girl in them looks a lot like Sylvie. On a side table is a family snapshot of Dusty and the woman from the pictures. She holds a baby with pigtails in her lap. While Renata’s been nothing less than welcoming, I feel like I’m intruding on something sacred.
“Give you a buck if you pull it.” Dusty offers.
“What if the Tooth Fairy doesn’t come?” Sylvie’s lower lip trembles.
“Because I paid you?
She nods slowly. Her big blue eyes widen with fear.
Dusty bats a hand at her. “Down payment. It might impress the Tooth Fairy. She may be short on teeth.”
“The Tooth Fairy might run out of teeth?” Sylvie becomes concerned.
“Your choice, Peanut.” Dusty looks again at his watch and me. This time his expression is different. Almost as if he’s torn between wanting to be in two places at once. He doesn’t want to miss this. The level of sweetness is enough to make your tooth ache. “I can’t stick around long. Miss Celine needs a ride home.”
I’m not sure who has a bigger frown, Sylvie or me. I hadn’t realized the night was ending so soon.
“Will you help me?”
“Sure, but no crying.”
Dusty hefts his daughter up, pretending to let out a groan about how big the light-as-a-feather tyke is getting and brings her to the bathroom. I hear wood scraping across the linoleum and Dusty tells her to get up on a stool so she can look in the mirror afterward.
Renata comes to stand by my side. “She’s a tough cookie, but I’ll warn you Sylvie will turn on the waterworks when he tucks her into bed. She and Dusty are real close. Don’t you worry or feel bad, though, her daddy’s smart enough to know she’s putting on a show. He’s strict with my granddaughter, but lays the world at her feet, that man.”
“DID YOU GET IT!” I hear Sylvie shout a moment later.
“I got it.”
“It’s small.” She sounds disappointed.
“Nah, it’s the right size for what the Tooth Fairy needs.”
The wood scrapes across the floor again and they emerge into the hallway. Sylvie is over Dusty’s shoulder superhero-style with her arms stretched wide. She pulls them in so they can enter the room across the hall, and I notice she’s clutching a green bill in her hand.
“The Tooth Fairy will still come?” Questions a small voice.
Renata and I keep eavesdropping. Sylvie’s grandma is incredibly hospitable, but the cuteness overload between daddy and daughter is what eases the discomfort of not knowing what to say to Renata. It must be odd for me to be here as Dusty’s date and not her daughter, Beth. It’s bizarre enough for me since I knew nothing about Dusty’s personal life until tonight.
Dusty and Sylvie’s voices have fallen to a murmur in her bedroom.
“Don’t goooooo!” She wails as I see Dusty fill the threshold.
“Cue the cryin’.” Renata laughs.
Dusty reminds Sylvie I need to go home. Heaviness settles in the pit of my stomach. I’m the reason she’s upset her dad is leaving.
“I want to say goodbye,” Sylvie huffs. I imagine her arms crossing over the princess nightie.
“If your Daddy says ‘yes’ are you going to cut the crocodile tears?” Still standing next to me, Renata puts her foot down.
Sylvie must’ve agreed since Dusty motions for me.
“Goodnight,” I say, popping my head into the room.
“Bye. It was nice to meet you.”
“It was very nice to meet you too, Sylvie Rhys.” This gets me a front-row seat for her wide grin missing the top tooth.
Dusty ushers me out after telling Sylvie how much he loves her. He expects she’ll be sleeping when he gets home. There won’t be anything under her pillow tomorrow otherwise, and he doesn’t want her disappointed. Renata switches places with him, waving us off so we’ll go before Sylvie is the wiser.
“Thanks.” I appreciate Cece being a good sport. Doubtless, many women are thrilled to have a date interrupted by a kindergartner and Cece hesitated to accept my invitation to begin with.
“It wasn’t a big deal. She’s sweet. Like her dad.” I catch her smile in the streetlight as we enter the dessert bar. “Must run in the family.”
A member of the waitstaff seats us at a small cafe table and we both order hot liqueured drinks as they list the specialties. It’s a cramped venue and the way the table’s situated, we’re surrounded. Cees is so close we’re practically in each other’s lap. When the barista leaves to get our desserts, I’m cautious of my elbows and moving too fast so I don’t inadvertently elbow a server with a tray full of drinks.
“Sylvie’s not mine,” I confide. “Knew I loved her before she was born, though. Beth’s husband, Ben, was stationed at Fort Bragg down in Fayetteville. He died in Iraq while she was pregnant. Beth was a friend. We started dating months afterward. Beth was farther along in her pregnancy. Best day of my life being there when Sylvie took her first breath. Until losing Beth, the worst moments were being helpless wh
en people looked sideways at Sylvie.”
Cece hardly flinches. The compassion as she says, “Meaning her cleft lip” is as conversational as me responding, “You noticed her scar.” It doesn’t phase her in the least.
I’ve spent a lifetime learning to compartmentalize the way others view me. First, it was my size. Now it’s my speech. But defending someone you love, especially when it’s your kid, is a different ballgame. You wanna build them up so they’re strong enough to deal with those emotions. You want to turn the other cheek and say it doesn’t get under your skin. But most of all, you want to throat-punch anyone who looks at them sideways.
“Beth cr-reated her with someone else, but I’ve always considered Sylvie my child. When she came roaring into the world, I’d already decided to protect my daughter.” I was there when the nurses wheeled her into all of her surgeries and on bended knee until she was out of recovery. “It made Beth’s death worse. We were never married. I have no rights to our beautiful little girl.”
“How did Beth die?” She hesitates to ask. Cece seems as fearful of my answer as I am to recount it in such a public place. Yet, the tinkling of dessert forks, glasses, and the loud crowd surrounding us add a layer of anonymity. I can get through telling her, and if my eyes water, then it’s not in front of anyone who knows me besides Cece.
I scrub a hand over my lower jaw. “We were on I-40 coming back from a concert. Teens were tossing rocks from the overpass. Experimenting to see if they bounce off of windshields… Newsflash: they don’t. A ten-pound shattered the glass. Hit Beth in the chest. I lost control of the car and we hit a cement pylon.”
“Oh, Dusty, How awful! I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.” What else do you say to the sentiment? I explain to Celine my biggest regret is not marrying Beth when I had the chance, so my daughter doesn’t have to live with her grandmother.
“Renata won’t sign over guardianship?”
“She would. Ben’s mom is still alive. He was Mrs. Yates’s only child. Sylvie is her last connection to him.” Sylvie’s too young to have already lost this much. I won’t drag it through the courts to get my way. “Ben’s mother is battling stage four cancer. Our time will come. Besides, I’m still the one tucking Sylvie in most nights.”