“No. Never mind, Bell. Get your stuff.”
Jutting her bottom lip, she climbs off my lap and twirls around between the seats, teetering, hopping, almost flying off the bleachers. She gasps. “Ohhh. I know why you were talking to her.”
I grab the strap of her gym bag, haul it up to the seat below me, and unzip it. “Shoes.”
“Don’t you want to know what I know?”
I get her cardigan out along with her flats. “Nope.”
“She wants to kiss you,” Bell screams loudly enough to make everyone in the gym look over. She makes a kissy face, sticks her butt out, and wiggles. “She lo-o-o-ves you,” she sings. “She wants to ki-i-i-ss you.”
“Stop it,” I say. “I’m warning you.”
She jumps up on the bench and spins in a circle.
“Get down.”
“All the teachers and mommies want to kiss my daddy,” she croons. “He’s the most handsome, most nicest daddy—” She stumbles over her own two feet and falls onto her knees, nearly toppling over the side before I grab her.
“Goddamn it, Bell,” I shout, pulling her to her feet. “I told you to get down.”
She looks up at me silently, her eyes wide.
I’m instantly chastened by my own reprimand. I rarely yell at her, but the combination of intentionally defying me and risking her safety in the process makes me snap.
Her face crumbles, and she hiccups with her first wave of tears. “I-I’m s-sorry.”
“Ah, shit.” I run both hands through my hair, sit on the bench, and pull her onto the seat next to me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
When I put an arm around her, she turns into my chest and sobs. I have to restrain from crushing her. “I’m sorry, Bluebell. I’m not mad. I’m just—” I shake my head. “You don’t understand what you’re saying, and I’ve told you—it’s inappropriate.”
She warbles something unintelligible.
“Why do you keep talking about kissing?” I ask, pushing through my discomfort. “Are you curious about it?”
She pulls on my t-shirt a few seconds and lets go to look up into my face. “I don’t know. When I go to Sarah’s house, her mom kisses her dad. Is it bad?”
My stupid, hard heart cracks down the middle. I take her hand and close both of mine around it. “No, it’s not bad.”
She looks around a little bit, her brows furrowed. “But you get mad.”
I’m a bad parent. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. My heart hammers. Whether or not I’m ready, we’re having this conversation. “What do you want to know?”
“Why don’t you have a girlfriend to kiss? Like other dads? Don’t you want one?”
I close my eyes. What . . . the . . . fuck. She’s just a little girl. How can she possibly be thinking about this, much less worrying about it? “I’m not like other dads, Bell.”
“I know,” she says, as if it’s a fact. “Does that mean you won’t ever have someone like Sarah’s mom? Her parents are happy when they kiss.”
“Do you think I’m not—” I swallow through the lump in my throat. “Not happy?”
“I don’t know.”
“You make me so happy, Bell. Daddy is very, very happy.”
“If you do find someone to kiss, then what? Will you go somewhere else?”
I cinch my eyebrows together. “Where would I go?”
“I don’t know. You kissed my mom. She left.”
“I . . .” I look down at our hands. “I didn’t know you remembered that.”
“Not really. I don’t remember anything. Don’t be sad.”
She’s lying to protect me, something she most likely learned from me. “I’m not sad. I’m glad you remember, I just didn’t know you were thinking about all this.” I have to breathe through my mouth for a few seconds to quell the pain in my chest. “You have questions about your mom?”
“I think so, but I know she makes you sad, and I don’t want that.”
I have tried, with every fiber of my being, to shield Bell from all this. I keep it inside as much as possible, and I never talk about Shana in front of her. It’s beyond me how she’s figured this out, though it shouldn’t be, because she continues to surprise me daily. “You’re getting so goddamn smart and big. How? When?”
“I’m not big. I’m still half your size.”
I chuckle. “Yeah. What do you want for dinner?”
“Pizza,” she says so quickly, I wonder if she really does or if it’s an automatic response.
“All right, tell you what,” I say, picking up her bag and standing. “We’ll get some pizza and go home, and you can ask me all the questions you have.”
I hope, that in the time it takes to order a pizza and drive home, I’ll be able to figure out the answers to questions I’ve avoided thinking about for four years.
TWENTY-FOUR
AMELIA
When Sadie knocks on my office door, it takes me a few seconds to invite her in. I’ve been avoiding her for days as best I can in a small office where we have daily meetings. We haven’t yet been alone in the same room, but I’ve caught her staring at me a few times.
Ever since I bolted from Andrew at the flea market, I’ve wanted to reach out, explain why, and make it right. I can’t get myself to complete the call, though. I once found Reggie charming, clever, and kind—all things I consider Andrew to be. Now that I’ve seen the other side of Reggie, I’m afraid it was there all along. I just turned a blind eye to it. How do I know I’m not doing the same with Andrew?
“Come in,” I say.
Sadie closes the door behind her, brings her laptop to my desk, and turns the screen to me. “How’s this look for the IncrediBlast event next month?”
I glance over the invitation, but I find it hard to care. I used to take self-abusive joy in micromanaging, in having my stamp on every single thing that passed through this office. The truth is, it’s a goddamn invitation that people won’t decline just because the kerning’s a little tight. I look up and sigh. “The kerning’s a little tight.”
“I thought so too.”
I look at her over my glasses. “You could’ve e-mailed it to me.”
“I needed to take a walk,” she says. Her desk is thirty feet away. “How are things?”
“Things are fine.”
“I meant with Andrew. I’m not blind, Amelia. I know you’re sleeping with my brother.”
I pause, then slide my specs off completely and set them on the desk. “And? Are you upset?”
“Why would I be?”
“You know how I am about men. And he’s your family. I didn’t think you’d like it very much.”
“Admittedly, at first, I was a little shocked,” she says. “You two don’t really make a lot of sense. But then I decided I was too impressed to feel anything else about it.”
“Impressed?”
“I’ve been trying to get him interested in someone for years. That’s why I tried to force Mindy on him.”
“Right. Mindy.” I sit back in my chair. “You should’ve tried harder. She really would’ve been a good fit for him.”
She tilts her head at me. “You think?”
“She’s young, energetic, beautiful. She wants kids. Well, I’m not sure how she’d fare in Jersey, honestly, but—” I stop at the perplexed look on Sadie’s face. “Oh. I’m ending things with him.”
“I didn’t realize. Andrew’s not very forthcoming about these things.”
He wouldn’t be, if not because he’s fairly private, then because I asked him not to be. We’ve only known each other a short time, but it’s as if the harder I resisted him, the closer we became. Which might be fine for a normal couple, but we’re far from normal. We can only be dysfunctional together, since we don’t function all that well apart.
I’d forgotten that for twenty-four hours, but seeing Reggie at the flea market over the weekend brought it all barreling back to me. Andrew and I might be able to make this work, and if I were younger, it would be fu
n to try. But now I know better than to walk willingly into the lion’s den.
“I’m sorry,” Sadie says. She makes a move like she’s going to leave, and I’m surprised by my disappointment. I have no one to talk to about this, and it’s been bothering me for days.
“It’s just too complicated,” I say. “There’s avec and Bell and New Jersey and the city, and, well, maybe he thinks those are things we can work through, but how could we? He’s never going to move here, and he shouldn’t have to when he’s got Bell to think of.”
Sadie slides to the edge of her seat. “Are you telling me you and my brother have talked about these things?”
“Well, not at length—”
“And he thinks it could work?”
“I suppose. He came with me to look for a new apartment, and we talked about the future some. But that was before things were . . . over.”
Sadie’s mouth falls open. “I don’t believe it. Andrew never talks about anyone in the future tense. Not since . . . never mind.”
My cheeks redden. My urge is to downplay what I said—maybe I exaggerated. I didn’t, though. We really had an amazing weekend up until I spoiled it. “Since Shana?” I ask.
Sadie widens her eyes. “You know about Shana?”
“Yes,” I say. “A fair amount, actually.”
She blinks a few times, looking around my office as she seems to collect her thoughts. I can’t seem to read her shock. Is she upset? Happy? “So why’s it over?” she asks.
“I don’t have to tell you how screwed up I am after Reggie. You already know. Andrew and I ran into him while we were together, and it reminded me of everything I’d been through this year. Andrew got the brunt of it. Just for being there.”
“But he didn’t leave,” she states.
“No, but is that the kind of woman you want with your brother? One who’s too emotionally scarred to operate with any normalcy?”
Understandably, she stays quiet.
I sigh. “I care about him, but maybe I was too rash thinking I could get involved with someone so different from me. He has tattoos and a motorcycle and his garage. And I—I’m probably too stuffy for him. We just don’t click, you know?”
“But do you click?” she asks, arching an eyebrow. “Like when you’re together?”
My face heats. There’s only one possible answer to that question. “Yes.”
“That’s not enough, though,” she says.
I can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement. I hesitate. “Bell.” Just her name says it all. “Out of everything, she’s the most important thing to consider. I mean, what if we try this, and down the line, it’s time to move in together, but I won’t go to Jersey and he won’t come here. Then what? We’ve put her through all that for nothing. Just to have another parental figure ripped out of her life.”
Sadie laces her hands in her lap, unusually quiet.
“You understand, don’t you?” I ask. “Would you have gone out with Nathan if he’d been your complete opposite in every way?”
“Probably not.”
“Thank you,” I say. “If you could just explain that to your brother. I’m not sure how he’ll take it. He seems to think we have a shot.”
“Okay,” she says. “I will.”
I realize then I was bracing myself for resistance, though I’m not sure why. All along I’ve suspected she wouldn’t want us together. But she hasn’t actually spent time around us while we weren’t hiding our relationship. She doesn’t realize how good we are even though we aren’t supposed to be. “You’ll convince him for me?” I ask.
“I see your points.” She taps a finger on the arm of her chair. “You’re all wrong for each other. What are you going to do—go to Jersey?”
“Exactly,” I say, but for whatever reason, her agreeing with me has weakened my resolve, and the word comes out wavering. “I mean, some people commute, I know. But back and forth, that’s an extra two hours I don’t have.”
“I totally get it. That was one of my concerns moving to Brooklyn. I’ve gotten used to a slightly longer commute. It can be nice to have some extra time to relax to and from work. But that’s not the point.”
“No,” I agree, “that isn’t the point.”
“You are so not the mom type,” she continues. “You’d have to take Bell to gymnastics, probably even her competitions as she gets older. And help her with homework or girl problems that Andrew won’t understand, like her first crush or how to use a tampon. Stuff I thought I would do.” She nods, as if she’s adding more to the list in her head. “You might have to do, like, bake sales for her school. Then again, Andrew is a really good baker, so maybe not.”
In just a few seconds, I’ve been forced out of my office and into some alternate reality. The shift in topic is so quick, I’m suddenly in a kitchen in New Jersey, Bell’s schoolbooks spread out on the kitchen table as Andrew makes cookies. The kitchen is warm—why? From the oven? Or the people?
It’s so not my life. It doesn’t sound like a bad life . . . it just isn’t mine. Couldn’t be mine. Could it? Can I see myself at that table, helping Bell with homework, sneaking glances at big, strong, tattooed Andrew as he bakes?
“Right,” I say, but it comes out as a whisper.
“Andrew needs someone who can make him happy.” She watches me closely, as if waiting for me to say something. “Someone that makes him smile and laugh. Other than Bell.”
“I agree,” I say. “I mean, he does when we’re together, smile, and laugh, but I can tell it’s not how he is all the time.”
She thins her lips, nodding. “He’s got a tough exterior—it’s hard to break through. That was why I was surprised he told you about Shana.”
I shift in my seat. “Yes, well. We didn’t mean for the conversation to go that way, but it did.”
“So, what’re your plans tonight?” she asks.
My fantasy fizzes and fades. The warmth recedes with it. There’s work to be done. There’s always work to be done, no matter if we’re busy or not. Normally, I don’t think too hard about that, but now, the thought depresses me. “Nothing,” I say. “I’ll probably stay here.”
“Nathan wants to try this new restaurant in Meatpacking.” She shrugs. “I’m not really into Indian right now, but he’s been bending over backward to make sure I’m comfortable.”
“That’s, um, sweet,” I say.
She nods. “I know you don’t really like him, but he’s been amazing.”
“It’s possible that I . . .” It’s hard for me to admit when I’m wrong. I start again. “It’s possible I don’t know the full story. According to Andrew.”
She smiles a little. “You don’t. But you don’t really have to like Nate,” she says. “It’s not like you ever spend time together. You’re just my boss.”
It’s a bit harsh for Sadie, who’s generally pretty even-keeled, not one to make a scene or go out of her way to make her opinion known. Maybe that’s why it stings a little. I had almost been part of their unit, the three of them, but that’s gone now. Sadie knows it too, yet by the smug look on her face, it’s as if she’s rubbing it in.
In fact, this whole conversation, she’s been putting ideas in my head, like Andrew as a sexy baker, and then tearing them down.
Of course. Sadie knows me well. She understands that pushing Andrew on me would’ve scared me off. I narrow my eyes. “Sadie?”
She stands quickly. “I should get back to work.”
I gasp. “You’re using reverse psychology on me.”
“Do you honestly think I’m that calculating?”
“Yes.”
She laughs. “All right, fine. Yes, I tricked you, but my intentions are good, Amelia. Andrew’s held everyone at arm’s length so long. If he smiles and laughs with you, if he opens up to you—that’s rare. Don’t take that away from him, and by him, I mean me, because I want my brother to have what Nathan and I do.”
I may be surprised by her approval, but she looks completely at
ease about it. “What about everything else?” I ask. “All the reasons not to?”
“I can tell that you like him. And that he likes you. It makes no sense and it’s a miracle. Don’t throw that away.” She absentmindedly touches her growing belly. “I love Bell with all my heart, but you have my approval. Even if it doesn’t work out, I think it’s really important for her to see her dad happy right now.”
Me, make Andrew happy? But I do, don’t I? It’s been a while since I’ve done that for anyone. Reggie had to find someone else for it. Andrew isn’t Reggie, though. I know that deep down. Andrew’s more important to me than I’ve allowed myself to believe. Maybe Bell too.
Is that enough reason to put us all at risk of getting hurt? Since day one, I’ve tried to protect us from the long-term. We could be together for a night. For three nights. Hell, if I had a month left to live, I’d enjoy him every day of it and as much as possible. Does that really mean anything, though?
As soon as the question forms in my mind, I know the answer. It actually does mean something.
Maybe it means a lot.
TWENTY-FIVE
ANDREW
There’s still an hour until butts out, and even though I rarely partake like the chimneys I work with, today, I come up from a tricky engine feeling particularly agitated. I’ve been at it all morning. I’ve tried everything I can think of to get it to work. All the guys have taken a look. The only option left is to call in Burt. Burt knows everything there is to know about automobiles, and that’s why his hourly rates are astronomical. I end up eating the cost since it’s not the customers’ problem I can’t do my job.
I wipe my hands on a rag and throw it at the car. “Fucking piece-of-shit lemon,” I say. “Someone get me a cigarette.”
“Only got one left,” Pico answers, closest to me.
“So? I gave you a job when you were homeless and had never seen the inside of a car.”
“I lived with my mom,” he says defensively. “And I’d worked at Bob’s Motors for months before you finally hired me.”
“Whatever. If someone doesn’t put a cigarette in my hand in five seconds, it’ll be butts out permanently. Don’t fucking test me right now.”
The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue Book 2) Page 26
