“My mom was like that, too. I had to rely on Google for most of the finer details.”
“I guess the best we can do is make it better for our kids, if we have them. We can’t perfectly time these things.” A self-deprecating laugh. “I should know. Sometimes I think parenting is a combination of doing things the opposite of how you were raised, mixed with doing things exactly how you were raised and worrying that you’re becoming your parents.”
“Elodie clearly adores you,” I say, and he softens at that. “And your dad joke game is A-plus.”
“That’s one part of parenthood that’s come to me shockingly easily.” He leans forward, dropping his hand to my knee. “I’m really glad you were here, though. I owe you one.”
“Of course. I loved spending time with her.”
That guarded expression falls back across his face. I can tell he wants to collapse, and I wish I didn’t want to do it next to him so badly. I don’t know what his room looks like, but I bet it’s neat and organized, nothing out of place. I bet the bed is cozy. That’s all I want in this moment—to go to sleep and wake up next to him.
Even though I know I can’t.
“I should probably go call Liv. El told me she’d rather I do it, so she only has to tell one of us, though I told her there’s no way her mom won’t want to talk about it with her.”
“And I should head out. Sorry for staying this long.”
“Don’t apologize. Thank you. For staying. For all of it.” He leans in for a soft kiss, his nose bumping mine. When I reach up to drag a hand through his hair, he’s already pulled away.
Suddenly I feel like I might cry. Jesus. I should be stronger than this. I shouldn’t be wondering where I fit. They’re already a family—they’ve been one for years, and while I don’t want to think about my relationship with Russell ending, they’ll be one long after I’ve left his life. “I’ll see you at work on Monday?”
“Monday,” he says, and kisses me again, smoothing some of my hair behind one ear.
When I close the door, I try not to think about how badly I want to be on the other side of it.
24
FORECAST:
Flood watch issued as new revelations burst forth
“I FEEL LIKE the cool quarterback just asked me out,” I tell Russell Thursday evening. “And I’m the girl who no one notices until she takes her hair out of a ponytail, and then she’s suddenly beautiful.”
“I’m getting the feeling you’re more nervous about this date with our bosses than you were on our first date,” Russell says. “Which is fine, because I am, too.”
We were surprised when Torrance and Seth asked us on this double date—her treat, as a way of expressing her gratitude for my staying at the hospital with her. A few weeks ago, we’d have meticulously engineered something like this. Now the Hales are doing it all on their own.
Russell stopped by to pick me up, and I may have had ulterior motives for inviting him upstairs. Namely, wanting to properly kiss him a few times before we meet up with Torrance and Seth. He waits on the couch while I rummage around my dresser for a few accessories, insisting I don’t need any help. Miraculously, I was able to attach a jeweled tulip brooch to my black halter dress with one hand.
“It’s a different kind of nervous.” I extricate an earring from beneath my bed, a twist of wire coiled in the shape of a tornado. “And only because you’re about twelve times less frightening than she is.”
“Then I guess that’s a good thing.”
In the full-length mirror next to my dresser, I can see him watching me while I sift through one of several jewelry boxes, searching for the earring’s match. Tonight’s jacket is beautifully dapper, navy velvet with a white shirt unbuttoned at his throat.
Our schedules haven’t lined up for us to do anything more than kiss since that perfect night of our first date, and having him back here reminds me how desperate I am to get him into bed again. Or into a desk chair. Or against the kitchen counter. As long as I can touch him while he falls apart, I’m not picky.
“I’ve always loved your jackets,” I say, trying to refocus on the task at hand, pushing aside a handful of raindrop studs. It’s possible I have too many. “Have I ever mentioned that? You have great taste.”
“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “Some shirts . . . they don’t fit right, or they cling. It took me a while to figure out what I was most comfortable in, and now I love them, too.”
When I find the earring, I hold it up to Russell with a questioning look. “Would you mind?” I’m out of the sling, but I still can’t fully bend my arm, and it’ll be a few more weeks until I have enough strength in my fingers to type for longer than twenty minutes without them aching.
“I’ve had some practice.” He settles behind me, brushing some of my natural curls out of the way. His fingers graze the strap of my dress, thumb tickling my ear as I melt back against him. It would be so easy to drag him onto my bed that for a moment, I almost hate the Hales. “And I feel compelled to mention that it would be impossible not to notice you, no matter what your hair looks like.”
“It’s surreal, though, isn’t it?”
“That you experienced Torrance and Seth becoming grandparents? Yes.”
“No,” I say with a laugh, pushing gently at his chest as he secures one earring. “That after everything, they’re almost back together. The woman who threw her ex-husband’s Emmy out a window is giving him another chance. Maybe we’re done with all this scheming.”
“Are you—” Russell pauses, letting my hair fall back over my other ear. “Are you sure it’s real? That they’ve really changed?”
“I want to think anyone can. Sure, at the beginning, I wanted to do this for less than honorable reasons, but I truly want them to be happy. I want to believe they can change. Maybe I’m too naive, but . . .”
“You’re not naive. You want to believe the best about people. You want to see the good.”
I like the way he says it. That optimism, both false and genuine, has been weaponized against me before, but not now. And maybe this makes me doomed to be a sunshine person for the rest of my days, but so be it. I’ll be seventy-eight and sunny, a cool breeze and a place in the shade.
Maybe it’s that soft haze of contentment that draws out my next question. “So . . . I’m having Shabbat dinner with my mom and my brother’s family next Friday. And I was wondering if you might want to go with me? To my childhood home?”
In the mirror, I watch his face light up. “I would love that,” he says, and those four words do their best to diminish my anxiety about it.
He finishes the second earring, pressing a kiss to the back of my neck before shifting my hair back into place.
“How do I look?” I ask, meeting his eyes in the mirror.
His mouth tips into a sly smile. “If you want me to adequately answer that, then we’re going to be late.”
I turn, smoothing his slightly crooked collar as best I can. I used Torrance’s trick; my mauve lipstick won’t budge. “I don’t mind being a little late.” I hold my hand over the front of his suit pants, where he’s growing hard, tugging a groan from his throat. I wonder if he knows how fucking irresistible that sound is. That I want to find a hundred new ways to make him groan like that. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last weekend. That was . . . maybe the hottest experience of my life.”