“Got it.”
That thing happens—where you see someone you know out of context and it takes a second to get your bearings. And then it takes me another second to register the look of mild panic on her face. And then it takes me a few more seconds to comprehend that Kat knows this kid and that she’s probably the mom who cries when she sings ‘Here Comes the Sun’ to him. And that’s when I understand why she didn’t want to go out with me. Why she was so mysterious about it, and that’s when I know for sure that the old Nico really is broken and that I am totally, seriously fucked.
Because it doesn’t change the way I feel about her at all.
I only want to know more.
“I just showed this guy my coin trick. We’re talking about the octopus song.”
“Oh, really?”
Kat stands up straight, holding the boy’s hand, and I watch those big blue eyes as she takes the same amount of time to realize who I am and where we are and that I just met her son.
“Oh,” she says.
She looks even more busted than when she quoted those lines from my song.
I’ve never seen her during the day before.
She’s wearing tight jeans and a flowy blouse and a bunch of necklaces and rings and open-toed sandals and fuck me her toenails are cherry red like the lipstick she usually wears, and I want to give her a foot massage and make her moan. Her hair is long and hanging loose and wavy around her confused face. She doesn’t appear to be wearing any makeup and it makes her even prettier and younger-looking and fuck me I want to get her naked and take a shower with her.
None of these thoughts are appropriate considering her son is standing between us, looking back and forth as we stare at each other. But as long as she keeps her sandals on and there’s no shower around, I think I’ll be able to control myself. “Hi there,” I say.
She clears her throat. “Hello there.”
“You live around here?”
“Not really.” She places her hands on the boy’s shoulders and pulls him in closer to her legs. “We were just at The Grove. And I had a craving for these organic bars of white chocolate that I bought here once, but they don’t have them” She glances down at my shopping cart. “Stocking up on superfoods, I see.”
“A guy can only take so much coffee and pie. The Green and Black’s?”
“The what?”
“The organic white chocolate you were craving. Green and Black’s?”
“Oh yeah. That’s the brand.”
The boy keeps looking back and forth between us. “Do you know him, Mom?”
“Yeah, sorry. Nico, this is Tate. My son. Tate, this is one of my customers from the coffee shop where I work.”
“Oh, hey.” He doesn’t wave at me, the way Lucky does. He casually salutes me, with two fingers. Like a little Brad Pitt.
“Good to meet you.” Now that I’m staring at him, it’s crazy that I didn’t see the resemblance immediately. His hair is a bit lighter than hers, but he’s looking up at me with the same big blue eyes that are just a little farther apart than you’d expect them to be. And that’s what makes them a little bit out of this world.
“Wanna see another coin trick? Oh, I have another trick I can do but I need a hundred dollars!” He grins up at me, sheepishly, holding his hand out. “Can I have one hundred dollars?”
“Can I Venmo it to you?”
He sticks his lower lip out and shrugs. “Okay.”
“Tate, why don’t you go find your grandmother.”
“But you said not to go anywhere by myself.”
Kat laughs, in that way that Shane does when he realizes his kids actually listen to him. “Good point.”
“Why don’t we go find her together,” I say, inching my cart forward.
The surprised look on her face tells me that maybe Willa was right about her having a rule about musicians. What—are musicians not supposed to like grandmothers? Because I didn’t get that memo.
“You sure you aren’t busy?”
“That depends. Just how far away is she, exactly?”
She laughs again, and I want to make her laugh all day. After making her come all night. When she’s naked in my bed. “The cereal aisle, I think.”
“I was headed that way myself, actually.”
“What’s your favorite cereal?” Tate asks. “Mine’s granola.”
“Seriously?”
“No! Just kidding! It’s Lucky Charms. But my mom only lets me eat it once a year.”
“Lucky Charms are my second favorite. After Cocoa Pebbles.”
“Hmmm I have not tried that one.”
“Oh, you have to. Little crunchy chocolate pebbles that fill up your spoon, and the leftover milk is chocolatey. If you think chocolate milk is good from a glass, just wait until you drink it from a bowl. It’s the best thing ever.” I look over at Kat, who’s giving me the stink eye. “But I only have them once a year because sugar and delicious chocolate milk is bad for you. Really bad. Unless your mom thinks it’s good for you, like organic white chocolate, then it definitely is.” I wink at Tate, and then I wink at Kat.
Nailed it.
“Mom, can I try Cocoa Pebbles? Please?!”
“I’m pretty sure this store doesn’t sell them, buddy. Maybe another time.” She pats me on the shoulder. “Thanks a lot, Nico.”
“Anytime. I’ve tried pretty much every kind of cereal out there. Also, every kind of soda available in North America, Europe and Japan. And if you ever need any tips, I’m quite the taco connoisseur.”
She quirks an eyebrow at me. “Yeah. I’ll bet you are.”
6
Kat
Given a choice, I would rather act out the nightmare of running naked through the hallways of my high school when I’m late for an exam that I haven’t studied for than introduce Nico Todd to my son and my mother in a grocery store on a day when I haven’t showered.
But this is what’s happening.
“Well, well.” Louise looks him up and down while shaking his hand. “What dark hair and long eyelashes you have, Mr. Nico.”
“Thank you?”
“My daughter never introduces me to her male friends! This is such a rare pleasure for me.” My mother sounds like she’s on Downton Abbey, all of a sudden. If Downton Abbey was set in New Jersey.
“It’s a pleasure to see where she got those beautiful eyes from.” He offers that line so casually and with just the right amount of sincerity.
My mother hasn’t looked this confused and excited since she unwrapped the Hitachi Magic Wand at Christmas. “Oh well I—we just got lucky in that department—I don’t want to take credit for that hah! But I did teach her how to cook and she has great posture because I always reminded her to—"
“Okay, my friend and I are gonna head on over to…somewhere else, for a minute. Catch up with you guys in a bit.” I muss up Tate’s hair, widen my eyes at Lou, and put my hand on Nico’s back. I can feel lithe muscles flexing beneath his shirt. I’ve tried so hard, for so long, to keep myself from touching him at the coffee shop, and now I can’t seem to stop. My hands must suspect that this will be the last time I’ll ever see him, so they’re taking what they can get. He’ll find another coffee place that’s open late and have no trouble bingeing on tacos that have never been through labor.
Although, I have to give him credit for not running away yet.
And it is awfully weird that Tate would choose him of all people to walk up to. My son is friendly, but I usually find him chatting up strange ladies.
“See ya, Nico!” Tate calls out.
“See you later, Tate. Louise.” He grins and says nothing to me until we turn the corner to another aisle.
Actually, he’s still saying nothing and it’s driving me nuts. There’s so much I’ve wanted to say to him because I am so in love with his new single, but I have to explain Tate first. He stops and reaches for a bottle of countertop spray, carefully inspects the ingredients, while biting his lower lip, then places it back on
the counter. And then he continues pushing his cart and staying silent.
“You come here often?”
“Not much lately,” he answers. “You?”
“Only when I’m in the area.”
“Ah.” He stops to pick up a bottle of laundry detergent, reads the label, and then puts it back on the shelf.
“Do you actually need any household products, or are you just a connoisseur of them as well?”
“I’m just waiting for you to tell me about your son, Kat. He’s a cool kid.”
I sigh. “What would you like to know?”
“Whatever you want to tell me—which I’m assuming is very little, since you obviously didn’t want me to know about him.”
“No, it’s not that… I mean, I don’t talk about him with any of my customers. I tend to compartmentalize my life. I don’t know if it’s a good or a bad thing, but it works for me.”
He nods. “Okay. I get that.”
“But he is cool. He’s great.” I’ll just give him the basics, since he doesn’t seem freaked out. “He’s six. I was twenty-one when I had him. We live with my mom. I work the late shift so I can take him to school and pick him up and spend as much of his waking hours with him as possible.” I stop to pick up a roll of paper towels and absentmindedly cradle it in my arms, like a baby.
“When do you sleep?”
“When I get home from work. And then I take a nap when Tate’s at school.”
“That’s some dedication. My schedule’s like that when I’m recording an album, I guess. Steal sleep when you can. As long as you get enough of it.”
“I do.” I sort of love how concerned he is about my sleep schedule. “I’ve always been kind of a night owl anyway. And this way I can run errands and have appointments during the day. I’ve tried working lunch shifts, and this way is better.”
“Makes sense.”
“Anyway, his father lives in another state. Always has. He pays child support, and I email him pictures and stuff, but he only sees Tate in person if he happens to be in LA for work. And that’s only about once a year. That we know of.”
“You never married?”
“Nope. We never really dated. He was just a fling. But it’s cool. Tate’s okay with it, that’s what matters.”
“Sure.”
“I mean, getting pregnant was a curveball, because it all happened right after I finished the film program at USC, and I was… Well, I was doing that work hard-play hard thing, but having Tate changed my life. Obviously. For the better. And I’m just… I guess I’m just protective of him. Or not of him, so much as who I am because of him. If that makes sense.”
Sweet Jesus, shut up, mouth!
This is more than I’ve ever told any man on a date and here we are, standing in the middle of Erewhon in front of a display of environmentally friendly toilet paper.
“I think I know what you mean,” Nico says, gripping the handle of the shopping cart and looking down at his hands. “If another person brings out the best in you, you feel obligated to preserve that part of yourself for them…” He looks away, quickly. “I’d imagine.”
He runs his fingers through his hair, and I notice that he has a few faded sentences written on the palm of his hand in black ink.
Without thinking, I reach for his hand and read it. “Find yourself without a notebook?”
I never felt lost exactly
Traveled a long way on my own
“Yeah. I was driving and talking on speakerphone, so I pulled over. I didn’t want to lose those lines.”
Never felt at home though either
But you’re right in my comfort zone
“I love that.” When I glance back up at him, he’s looking at me, meaningfully. Surely, he doesn’t mean for me to think that those words have anything to do with me. “I wanted to tell you—I love your new single. ‘Sleeper Hit?’”
The truth is, I’ve been irrationally jealous of whoever he wrote that song about. He must have loved her so much—it’s about how he couldn’t sleep until he met her. Until she was in his bed.
He grins. “You heard it?”
“Yeah, I mean, I opened up my Spotify app and there was a notification that you had a new single. It’s a beautiful song. My favorite of yours now, actually. I love the strings in the bridge.”
“That’s really good to hear, thank you.”
I’m not going to ask him who it’s about. Even though the documentarian in me is dying to know how it’s possible he could write something so lovely for a woman that he is clearly not spending his nights with anymore.
“How, umm… Who’d you write that song about?”
Fuck you, mouth.
He scratches at the stubble under his lip before answering. “It’s actually about my sister and my best friend.”
It is astonishing, the way my entire body relaxes as soon as I hear this.
“He’s my brother-in-law now—Shane. He had insomnia for a long time, but when my sister went to live with him—to be his nanny—he was finally able to sleep. As long as she was at home with him.”
The rims of my eyes are stinging. “Wow. That’s…”
“Yeah. That’s what inspired me to write the song. It was originally in the third person, like I was telling a story. That’s how I sang it at their wedding last year. And I loved it, the song meant a lot to me because it was about two people who mean a lot to me. But it didn’t feel like my song. So I rewrote it in the first person and tried it out at a few Hotel Café shows and people really responded to it. I asked Shane and Willa if they were okay with me recording it and they were all for it. And it’s doing better, as a single, than I’d expected.”
“I’m not surprised. It’s a dreamy, gorgeous song. It’s really romantic.”
“Kat,” he says, barely a question, but that’s the end of the sentence.
“Yeah?”
“Short for Katherine?”
“Yes.”
“Does anyone ever call you that?”
“My mother. When she’s about to criticize me.”
“Can I call you Katherine?”
I slide my hands into the back pockets of my jeans and shrug. I don’t know why it feels like such a big deal to give this guy my number, but it does.
He laughs. “I’m not asking for your number again. I mean can I call you Katherine instead of Kat? Without the criticism. I like that name. No offense, but you seem like more of a three-syllable kind of girl to me.”
Oh.
“Oh. Sure. Go for it. I mean, most men can’t handle all of my syllables.”
What the fuck does that even mean?
“I think I can handle them, Katherine. I can handle whatever you’re willing to let me handle.”
Everything. All of me. Dear God just take it, right here in Aisle Nine.
Or—shit. My family is right around the corner. What is it about this guy that makes me forget who I am and want to get naked in the middle of a parking lot or a grocery store?
I mean. If he just wants to have sex with me a couple of times—what’s the harm in that? I’m a big girl. I can compartmentalize. I can squeeze him into my orgasm compartment for a little while.
Now that I’m actually considering this, I don’t picture his naked body hovering over me—I picture my Google calendar. How am I going to fit this into my schedule? How much less sleep would I be getting? Will I have time to get drilled by Nico and still get my son’s Tin Man costume done in time for his school play? How much extra coffee will I have to drink in order to stay awake longer, and will it give me diarrhea? Will the diarrhea make me feel less sexy or will the water weight loss be an added bonus?
Single Mom Thoughts.
I’m just about to tell him my number when I hear his phone vibrating in his back pocket.
His expression completely changes. “Shit. What time is it?” Before I can check my watch, he’s on his phone, pacing away from me. “Yeah. Hi. You’re there already? I am so sorry, man—I’m on my way.
Twenty minutes. I’ll be there—don’t leave.” He slides his phone back into his jeans and turns to me. “I completely forgot about my interview while I was talking to you. I have to get to Santa Monica in twenty minutes, I’m sorry to rush off like this. Say goodbye to Tate and Louise for me.” He stares at his shopping cart like he doesn’t know what to do with it. “I don’t have time to buy this stuff.”
He’s so flustered all of a sudden, I’m feeling maternal. “I can take it to customer service for you, don’t worry about it. Go—drive safe.”
“Yeah? Thank you.” He starts walking backwards, away from me. “So—you’ve got my number? I’ll try to come by The 101, but I’m pretty busy.” He turns and jogs away from me.
“Okay bye,” I mutter.
And he’s gone.
Off to Santa Monica.
Off to his pretty busy life.
I stare down at the items in his abandoned cart. Cold-pressed green juice. Goji berry powder. Frozen açai packs. Raw organic sauerkraut. He made some healthy choices. I wonder if he actually eats this stuff.
“Hey Mom, where’d Nico go? I want to show him another coin trick.”
“You make the King of Clubs disappear already?”
“He forgot about an interview. He had to run off.”
“He’s not coming back? He was cool, Mom. Is he coming back?”
“I don’t know, buddy.” This time I really don’t know.
Even if he does show up at The 101 again—who am I kidding? I can’t have a no-strings fling with a customer who can set my panties on fire with one look and has already met my kid.
On the bright side—more sleep, less diarrhea.
But also…less Nico.
KAT’S VIDEO DIARY – May
KAT: Okay! Another half an hour of Mario Party and then it’s time for bed, alright buddy?
Charmer Page 5
