“Do you want me to wait in the car?” I ask.
Russell’s brow furrows. “No, of course not. You can come inside.”
A bit gingerly, I step over the threshold, like maybe Russell’s hiding even more secrets inside. The house is cozy, warm tones and plush rugs, bright-colored vintage artwork on the walls along with framed photos of Elodie as a baby, as a kid, as the preteen she is now. And of course, some sports memorabilia: a black-and-white team photo, a framed jersey with the name of a player I don’t recognize.
“It’s a great house,” I say as I spot a wood fireplace in the living room.
“It was a bit of a fixer-upper.” He leans against the wall next to a photo of toddler Elodie clutching a stuffed cow and grinning at the camera. “But the fixing is all wrapped up, at least for now. There are a few more things I’d like to do to it, but it’s tough to find the time. No one told me that when you get a house, your weekends are spent primarily fixing up the house.”
“Do not get him started on the house,” Elodie warns. “He’ll never stop.”
“If I recall, you were a pretty big fan of the loft we built in your room.”
Elodie mimes zipping her lips. “What? I love the house? Say anything you want about the house?”
My mind is working overtime to process this. This is Russell Barringer, father. Homeowner. Wearer of excellent jackets. Maybe I wasn’t getting to know him that well after all.
When Russell’s phone lights up in his hand, he doesn’t even let it complete its first ring. “She’s here,” he says to Elodie. “You have everything you need?”
“Let’s see, hair dye, DIY tattoo kit, fake ID . . . check, check, and check.” If I didn’t already know she was a theater kid, her killer straight face confirms it. “Don’t have too much fun.”
“That’s my line.” He pulls her in for a hug, and oh—oh no. Something terrible is happening to my heart.
The wind chimes sing, and a white woman with a brunette pixie cut and long wool coat appears, pushing open the door.
“Elodie?” she says, stepping inside. “You ready?” Then her gaze lands on me, her face splitting into a grin. “Hi! You must be Ari Abrams.” She extends her hand. “I feel like I know you already! I watch you every morning.”
“Oh—thank you?” I phrase it like a question because this scene feels straight out of a sitcom. This is Elodie’s mother. And she’s . . . excited to meet me? I’m getting too many mystery pieces of Russell all at once.
“Sorry, I’m Liv. Ahhh, I’m a little starstruck!” She laughs, running a hand through her short hair. “I know, I know, Russ is on TV, too, but we’ve known each other forever. So this is like . . . meeting a local celebrity.”
“I definitely don’t feel like a celebrity when I’m microwaving frozen ravioli in my 450-square-foot studio apartment,” I say, and it’s meant to be a way to break the tension, but it only comes out sounding pathetic.
Either oblivious to the awkwardness or all too aware of it, Elodie says, “I forgot my retainer!” and turns to rush upstairs.
Russell has become a statue next to me. “Liv, Ari. Ari, Liv. Though, uh, I guess you two kind of already covered that.”
Liv touches his arm in this familiar way that reminds me she’s not just Elodie’s mother: she’s Russell’s ex, from who knows how long ago.
Someone’s knocking at the door. Again. And again, they don’t wait for anyone to answer it.
“What’s taking so long?” asks a tall, trim guy with salt-and-pepper hair and one of those down vests all men over the age of thirty in Seattle own. I think I got Alex the same one for his birthday. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Russell’s gaze flicks from me to this new stranger. He looks as though he might self-destruct. “This is Perry,” he says, seizing the opportunity to preempt the introductions this time around. “Liv’s husband and Elodie’s stepdad.” He glances behind Perry. “And is that Clementine I see back there?”
Perry grins. “She just dozed off. I couldn’t bring myself to wake her.” He holds out his hand for me to shake before turning back to Russell. I take it Clementine is a baby. “The Kraken is looking solid this year. Think they have a chance at the playoffs?”
“Hope so.” Russell scrapes a hand across his chin, no longer making eye contact with any of us. “Well. Since I didn’t intend on hosting a party today . . .”
Liv gazes around at our motley crew. “Oh my. I fear we’ve overwhelmed poor Ari. I’m so sorry. We’re a bit overly friendly in this family.”
“As long as a Saint Bernard doesn’t barge in here next or anything,” I joke.
“Don’t worry, we left him in the car!” she says, and I’m not sure whether she’s kidding.
“Found it!” Elodie calls, bounding down the steps. When she lands with a soft thump, she surveys us like we’re a mildly interesting TV show Netflix has asked if she’s still watching. “Why are you all just standing here?”
“Great question.” Russell ruffles a hand through her hair and slides up one strap of her backpack that’s fallen down. “We’re on a schedule, too. Enjoy your weekend, I love you, don’t forget to actually wear that retainer.”
Elodie pats the front of her backpack. “I’m sure you’ll barely have time to miss me.”
* * *
? ? ?
THE FIRST FIFTEEN minutes of our drive are silent, except for a few seconds when the audiobook I was listening to starts up, and I have to smack the power button because I’m fairly certain my romance novel was heading toward a sex scene.
“So, um. That was a little . . .” I fiddle with the wrapper of one of three strawberry fruit leathers I brought on the trip, none of which sound appetizing.
“Awkward?” he supplies, then forces a laugh. “Just a bit.”
“Liv is your ex-wife?”
“We were never married, actually.” He stares out the window. “I wasn’t trying to keep them a secret or anything. It’s . . . complicated.”
But he doesn’t elaborate on precisely how it’s complicated, and I’m not about to probe him for answers. I’m not sure where I would start. So . . . okay then. That’s that.
It’s only when we hit Everett traffic that he turns to me, as though we’ve left all that weirdness in Seattle.
“I booked a massage for Seth this evening, only he won’t know it’s really a couple’s massage,” Russell says. “He’s always complaining about his back, and especially after a long drive, it seemed like just the thing.”
“Perfect. And I signed all of us up for zip-lining tomorrow.” If reality TV has taught me anything, there’s nothing like an adrenaline rush to bring two people together. “Aside from that, I’m going to try to get closer to Torrance. Get to know her better. We know Seth’s side of the story, but we won’t have the full picture until we hear hers.”
“Are we—do you think we’re still doing the right thing here?”