Can’t fault a guy for being such a devoted dad.
Can’t blame him for forgetting to kiss me good-bye.
Can’t feel bad about the fact that we didn’t discuss what it means now that we’ve shagged and I have no idea if he regrets it or blames me somehow for distracting him.
Yeah, baby.
Yeah.
I’m clutching on to my heart pendant, something I haven’t done in days, when my phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s not Shane. A photo of my Grammie’s beautiful, elfin face is on the screen, and I answer the call immediately, my heart suddenly racing because she usually only texts or e-mails.
“Grammie? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. What’s wrong with you?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. I was just checking to see if your phone is working.”
“Yeah. I mean, I think so.”
“Oh good. I thought maybe you didn’t get any cell phone reception at Shane Miller’s house or something.”
Oh. It’s that kind of call. “Shit. Sorry. I haven’t called you since I came here. I’ve been so busy. I’m an asshole.”
“Well, you said it, love, not me. I did appreciate the video of Nico. Glad to see he’s still a cocky little stud muffin.”
“Yeah, no worries there.”
“And you? Should I be worried about you at all?”
“No. I’m still a cocky little stud muffin too. Why?”
“How are Shane’s children? What are they like now?”
I keep forgetting that my Grammie knew Shane better than I did for a few years, while she was out here with Nico. He probably sends her pictures or Christmas cards.
“Oh my God, they’re amazing. They’re so smart, and they both have really strong personalities. They’re beautiful. They look so much like Shane.”
“Yes. They do… And how is Shane?”
“Fine. He’s really good with his kids. He’s a great dad.”
“Mmmhmm. And how is he with you?”
“What? Fine. Nothing—how’s your foot?”
“Willa Dora Todd.”
“What?”
“Are we really going to keep pretending that I have no idea how infatuated you were with that boy after you met him?”
“Infatuated? That’s a strong word.”
“Not from the woman who was with you when you first met him. Not from the woman who was with you when you found out he was getting married. Not from your Grammie who knows everything so why you’ve ever bothered trying to hide anything from her is beyond me. You can fool your brother, you can fool your parents, you can fool yourself, but you can’t fool me. Tell me. Are you clutching on to your little gold heart pendant right now?”
I let go of my heart pendant immediately. “That was a long time ago.”
“So it’s not a big deal that you’re currently living with him?”
“Pssh. It’s a job.”
“Willa Dora Todd.”
“Dora Prunella Todd.”
She snorts. “My middle name is not Prunella, you jerk.”
“What are you getting at? I’m living with Shane Miller, yes. I’m his temporary nanny. It’s going fine. I’m getting on with my life.”
“Is that what you call it?”
“Call what?”
“Living with the boy you used to be obsessed with.”
“‘Obsessed?’ I was hardly obsessed with him. I’ve dated tons of other guys—on two continents.”
“Yes, we’re all well aware of your astonishing, unsatisfying escapades. How’s that working out for you?”
“Grammie. Are there no other pots available for you to stir today?”
“I’m just worried about you. You’re brave, but you aren’t tough. You’re so practical, but you’re prone to flights of fancy when it comes to Shane. He’s a good boy—an excellent boy—but he has a big life that’s filled with big responsibilities, and you’re a special girl who deserves a special place in a man’s life. Don’t sell yourself short just because the single daddy wants a little nanny nookie.”
“‘Nanny nookie?’ Okay, first of all, Shane is not like that, and if you think he is, then you don’t know him nearly as well as you think you do—”
“Defending him already. Wonderful.”
“And also, if you think I can’t handle a little nookie with someone just because he’s got an impressive list of credits on IMDB, then you don’t know me as well as you think you do either.”
“Oh, crap. You’ve already done the deed, haven’t you?”
“Nobody calls it doing the deed anymore.”
“How would you know? You’re about as hip as I am.”
“I love you, Grammie, but I have a lot to do today. Can I call you some other time?”
“As long as you’re still doing things for yourself, yes.”
“I am. Thank you for calling. I’m sure Nico would love to hear from you—maybe you could ask him why he hasn’t settled down with a serious girlfriend in years!”
“I’m on it. I’ve got big plans for ruffling that boy’s feathers today too, you’d better believe it. I love you. I love Shane too—just don’t lose your head or your heart over him.”
She hangs up before I can assure her that I would never.
Ugh.
Grammie. She’s just lonely. She needs more hobbies.
I don’t have this kind of relationship with my mother because she’s always been too busy with my dad and her career to worry about the complications of my inner life.
Nice try, Grammie. You don’t know everything. I am perfectly capable of enjoying a little nookie without getting hurt.
Just because I’m stomping around the house while changing the sheets on my bed and getting a change of clothes for the twins and slamming cupboard doors looking for peppermint tea, that doesn’t mean I’m mad at Shane Miller for giving me such amazing orgasms and then not letting me go with him to pick up the kids.
Just because my eyes are stinging, that doesn’t mean I’m going to give him the cold shoulder for bolting before the sweat had dried.
Just because my heart starts racing and my stomach drops as soon as I hear the garage door open, that doesn’t mean I’m falling in love with him and am completely, utterly fucked.
I take a deep breath, check my reflection in the hall mirror like an idiot, briefly consider changing out of my sweat pants and T-shirt like an even bigger idiot, then go to the door to the garage so I can help him bring the kids in.
He’s picking Summer up out of her car seat. I go to the other door to help Lucky out of his, when Shane scoops Summer up into his arms—totally unlike the way he did that to me earlier. She is frowning and sucking her thumb—something I’ve never seen her do before. Lucky looks like a proud soldier who’s returning from the war, battle-weary but refusing to show his emotional scars.
“Hey, buddy. How you feeling?”
“Okay.”
“Yeah?” I lift him out of his car seat. He usually insists on getting out all by himself. “Your tummy still feel funny?”
“Yeah.”
I carry him inside, following behind Shane, who’s carrying Summer.
“Thanks,” Shane says, I assume to me. “We decided we’re gonna watch movies for the rest of the day. Want to join us?”
“Sure,” I answer, looking at Lucky. “For a while, anyway.”
As Shane carries Summer through the hallway past the kitchen, she removes her thumb from her mouth to say, “Snacks!”
“No more food for a while, kiddo. Willa’s gonna make us peppermint tea, though, right?”
“Comin’ up.”
Summer tries to climb over her dad’s shoulder, pointing at the kitchen door. “Cheese. I want cheese!”
“Later, Summer,” Shane says firmly. “We’ll have a late lunch. Later.”
Summer growls at him.
At least I’m not the only female in this house who’s frustrated with him right now.
We set the kids do
wn on the sofa in the family room.
“I’ll go get their pajamas to change into,” Shane says. “They smell barftastic.”
“I got ’em.” I go back out to the hall to grab the pajamas I’d left on the table.
“Thanks,” Shane says as I hand him Summer’s PJs, sounding so grateful it hurts.
“Welcome.” I haven’t made eye contact with him yet. I’m dying to look into his eyes, but I can’t. “What are we going to watch first?” I ask Lucky as I help him change his clothes.
“Mary Poppins,” the twins answer at the same time.
“Oh.”
I can see Shane in my peripheral vision, watching me and shrugging. “They both wanted to watch it.”
“Cool. I haven’t seen that one since I was little.”
“She’s a nanny,” Summer explains. “Like you.”
Not that much like me. Ms. Poppins never boned the dad while the kids were out.
“She’s a much better singer than I am.”
“I like how you sound,” she says.
“I like how you sound too,” says Shane.
I finally look over at him, knitting my brows together.
“When you sing for Summer.” He grins.
I frown at him. Don’t you dare grin at me while saying playfully flirtatious things with your handsome face.
The light fades from his eyes, and he looks down at Summer. He picks up her dirty laundry, holds out his hand for me to place Lucky’s clothes in it. When I do, he just nods and disappears downstairs to the laundry room, I suppose.
When Shane starts the movie, he sits on the couch, up against the corner. Summer puts a pillow on his lap and lays her head on it. I cover her with a fuzzy blanket and then cover Lucky with one and take a seat in the armchair. When I look back at Lucky, he’s got Puss in Boots face, blinking his big eyes and pouting at me.
“You want me to sit with you?” I whisper.
“You don’t have to,” he whines.
“I would love to.” I settle into the other corner of the couch with a pillow on my lap, so he can lay his sweet little head on it.
I can feel Shane looking over at me every few minutes, but I keep my eyes fixed on the TV screen.
About twenty minutes into the movie, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and try to pull it out without disturbing Lucky.
There’s a text from Shane.
I glance over at him, rolling my eyes. He’s holding his phone in one hand but pretending to be totally engrossed in the movie.
SHANE: Hi. I’m really sorry I left in such a hurry. I had an amazing time with you. Wish it could have lasted longer.
I hold on to the heart pendant of my necklace and type out a response without looking at him.
ME: I forgot to make peppermint tea.
ME: Did Summer used to suck her thumb? Is she regressing?
He waits one whole second before subtly checking his phone. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him typing something. I wait an entire minute before checking my phone after it vibrates.
SHANE: Yes. It still happens sometimes. She’ll be fine. Probably.
SHANE: Your tits look amazing in that T-shirt.
SHANE: And mad. They look like they’re mad at me. I get it. I deserve it. I just don’t want you to think that I was mad at you. I was mad at myself.
I reply immediately.
ME: Yeah. You’re a good guy. I get it. It won’t happen again.
SHANE: I didn’t mean I was mad at myself for what we did.
ME: I know what you meant, Shane. I know you have responsibilities. I’m glad you take them seriously. But if you can’t be with me like that wholeheartedly, without guilt or whatever it is you struggle with, then I don’t want to be with you like that.
ME: I have to focus on my own shit anyway. So if you don’t need me all day tomorrow, I’d like to take a few hours off to go to a perfume supply store.
He exhales sharply. Like I just knocked the wind out of him. Finally, he looks over at me. I meet his gaze. His jaw is clenched. His eyes are sad. He nods and looks at the screen.
Happy now, Grammie?
I leave the room when they Skype with Margo, but I do overhear some of the conversation, and at least she doesn’t give Shane a hard time for overfeeding the twins.
We watch TV for the rest of the day, until the kids’ bedtime, eating in front of the TV. Twice. Which is less awkward than having to face each other at the kitchen table.
I have to sing the chorus of “Let It Go” from Frozen three times to get Summer to brush her teeth.
The twins want to sleep in bed with their dad tonight, and he lets them. So I don’t have to read to them. I kiss them good night. I say good night to Shane as I pass him in the hall.
“Willa,” he says.
I turn back to look at him. “What?”
He looks like he’s about to say something important. Something that I need to hear. Something that will change everything. And then his eyes flick to the floor.
“Good night.”
He disappears into his bedroom.
I disappear into mine.
I disappear into familiar scents and the drive to create something new and beautiful. Something transformative that will last. Something that I need to smell. Something that will change everything.
SHANE MILLER SLEEP DIARY – Sunday, morning
Went to bed at: 7:30 pm
How long it took you to fall asleep: Few hours.
How many times you woke up in the middle of the night: Five or six?
How refreshing your overall sleep was: Not.
Number of caffeinated beverages you consumed throughout the day: One.
Number of alcoholic beverages you consumed throughout the day: Fuck my life.
How much time you spent exercising: Depends on what counts as exercising.
Your stress level before bedtime, on a scale from 1 to 5: I don’t know how to answer that.
Your major cause of stress: Being a dickhead.
WILLA TODD SCENT DIARY, Monday morning
Just went for a walk on the bluffs to clear my head and my nose. Ocean air. Hint of eucalyptus leaves. I spent all Saturday and Sunday night, once the kids went to bed, in my room. Mixing at this desk.
Shane is at an appointment. He’s been so grumpy since Saturday afternoon. We’ve barely spoken directly to each other since he brought the kids home. But when I came home this morning from dropping off the kids, I found a few sprigs of lavender at the foot of my bed. I think he cut them from the front yard. He didn’t even realize he had lavender growing there before I pointed it out to him. I fucking hate that he’s so sweet. And hot. He’s impossible to stay mad at. Even when he’s a grumpy dickhead.
I wish I could just roll this new perfume oil on his pulse points to alter his mood. But that would be weird. But if I could, it would take him on a little journey down memory lane. My memory. Of us.
Top notes include sweet pea. It opens up youthful and girly, optimistic and not at all sexy.
Middle notes include the suggestion of sweet and spicy freesia created with natural white verbena essential oil and the clean, soothing, alluring scent of lavender of course. I wonder if I should tell Shane about its aphrodisiac qualities. So many benefits in the bedroom…
Base notes—amber and sandalwood for an unexpectedly sexy drydown, with a hint of seaweed for a marine note and vanilla because it’s childlike and reminds me of the kids.
It’s odd and it shouldn’t work together, but it totally does. To me, anyway.
Blended in a fractionated coconut oil, it is unassuming and surprising, comforting and stimulating. I have the perfect name for it, and I think I’ve finally found the perfect combination to give it long-lasting wear.
If it were a color, it would be peach, hot pink, red, violet, deep blue. The colors of a fleeting Pacific Palisades sunset over the eternal ocean.
I’ve designed and ordered the labels. Once they are delivered, I can open up my Etsy store and try
to convince some local boutiques to sell a few bottles of this new scent and the ones I’ve been working on for years. I’ll be on my way.
17
Shane
I have no idea if Dr. Gavin Shaw is actually a good physician or not, but he’s oddly paternal and has a really cool Scottish accent. Since I take very little advantage of the SAG-AFTRA Health Plan myself, that was a good enough reason to select him as my primary care physician.
When I came to see him about the insomnia after I got back from Maine, he brought up the possibility of sending me to a sleep clinic if things didn’t improve. Obviously, that’s not going to happen, but back then I was willing to try anything. Back then, Nico’s little sister was just a faint, quirky memory. Back then, all kinds of thoughts about all kinds of things kept me awake at night. Now, all other thoughts have fallen away when I’m in bed and all that’s left is Willa.
“Well, yer thyroid test results came back normal, yer blood pressure is excellent today, and ya look jes’ great, Shane Miller, much better than the last time, eh?”
“Better, yes. Things got worse and then a lot better, and now it’s… I don’t know what it is now.”
“All right, well,” he says, flicking at his beard while reading my sleep diary entries, “let’s have a look here… Uh-huh… Mmhmm… Exercise. Hah! Indeed… Mmhmm… ‘Relief.’ Interestin’, innit?… Lavender, you say? Essential oils. Great. Fantastic stuff.”
“You think that stuff works?”
“Aye. I think anythin’ works if it works, right?”
“Sure.”
“Read a book. Have a pint. Smoke a wee bit of skunk—what have you… Guilt? Not so much. Guilt never works for anyone. Fuck guilt.”
Sleeper Page 13
