by Emma Nichols
He mulls my comment over while I jump back on the treadmill. This time I make sure to turn the volume up on my music.
At some point in my thirty minute run, Troy leaves.
When I’m finished I head upstairs to shower and get ready.
Foolishly I glance at my phone. I didn’t give Milo my number, but I was hoping he somehow magically obtained it.
I’m stepping into flip flops when I see something I missed earlier.
A note, left on the nightstand.
The dreams… the fantasies…
They were nothing compared to the real thing.
I’ll see you at the BBQ.
I have a surprise.
I hope you like it.
A handwritten note. So much better than a text.
My stretched grin is hurting the corners of my lips. Running my fingers over them, I remember Milo’s lips pressed to mine. He kept them on me constantly. If they weren’t on my lips, they were…well, everywhere else.
My hesitation about today is mostly gone. Nothing could make it go away completely.
But Milo’s note does good things to my heart.
I’m happy when I leave the hotel.
The only thing standing between me and Milo is a stop at the grocery store.
This barbecue is BYOB, and bring an item to share and something to grill.
I’m guessing if Milo didn’t listen about the cocktail attire or name tag, he probably doesn’t know about the food and beverage situation at the lake today.
I lay my foot on the gas, anxious to be finished with the store and on my way to Milo.
I’m going to have to thank Bindi for forcing me to come this weekend.
Then again, telling Bindi all those dirty details may have been all the thank you she needs.
6
Milo
“Late night,” Mama’s voice, rough like loose gravel, comes up from behind me. She’s slow-going with her oxygen tank, but eventually she makes it to the table and sits down beside me.
I get up and grab a coffee cup from beside the old machine, pouring a cup for her and one for myself. The bitter liquid scalds the tip of my tongue as I take a small sip.
“Here you go,” I say, setting the cup down in front of her.
“Thank you, son.” She wraps her bony hands around the cup and lifts it to her face, breathing in the scent before drinking.
I can’t remember a time when she didn’t smell her first cup of morning coffee before drinking it. My mama is a good person. When I was young she put notes in my lunchbox. Read books to me. When I was a teenager she’d try to make conversation, but I stayed mostly silent. Her only real fault was her habit.
How many packs a day? She sat on the back porch before work, smoking one after the other. She returned to the same spot after dinner each night.
Her COPD is bad. She needs the oxygen to breathe, and even then she still has coughing fits. I’ve asked her to move to Armonk, to stay with me and Sydney, but she’s stubborn. Linwood is my home, she insists.
“So,” Mama says, bringing the cup back down and setting it on the table, “you want to tell me where you were until the witching hour?”
One of my fingers traces the rim of the coffee cup while my brain mulls over what happened with Aurora last night.
When I think of her, I see more than just her beautiful body. Her lively, bright eyes come to mind first, followed by her quick wit. Her smiles tear at my heart until it’s edges are frayed.
I scratched the Aurora Callaway itch, but it turns out it was far more than an itch. It’s like I rolled around in poison ivy. There’s no amount of scratching that can relieve what I feel. And that’s a problem.
“I was with someone from the reunion.” I’m being vague on purpose. Mama knows who Aurora is.
She sends me a derisive look over the rim of her raised cup. “I already knew that. I also know who you were with. Just askin’ to see if you’d tell me. You never would tell me about her before.”
I feel bad.
“There wasn’t a point to talking about her, Ma. She never looked my way.”
“Her loss.”
I laugh. “And mine.”
“She looked your way last night.”
That she did. Those wide eyes stared up at me, and I thought I would combust on the spot.
“Yep,” I say. It’s one simple word, but it carries so much weight.
“What does she think of Sydney?”
Gaze on my bare feet, I confess. It wasn’t a lie, not outright anyway. Maybe a lie by omission. It’s not like we covered that topic and I kept the information to myself, but I also didn’t share the most important person in my whole world.
“Don’t be upset,” Mama’s voice, in all it’s crackled roughness, soothes. “Woman usually love children.”
I look at her warily.
“Well, except Sydney’s mother.” She snorts in disgust.
Mama won’t call my ex-girlfriend, Sydney’s mother, by her name. Not anymore, at least. Not since she slipped out in the dark of night and left me with a three-month old baby. I handled it well, all things considered. When Brea was pregnant I read all the books about how to take care of a baby, so I was more than game to change Sydney’s diapers and rock her to sleep. Those books didn’t prepare me for single parenting, or for Sydney’s screams as she refused her new food. Obviously I couldn’t replicate breast milk, and Sydney hated formula. I held her, paced with her, rocked her, and drove her around. Frustrated, I eventually cried with her. She was finally so hungry she gave in, and gobbled the bottle I’d tried to give her many times before.
When Brea called two weeks later to tell me she was sorry, I told her to stay the fuck away from us. She hung up and that was that. Sydney and I were on our own.
“I think Aurora will be fine with it, Ma. Besides, it doesn’t matter.” With two fingers I pinch the top of my nose. “It’s not like Aurora and I are a thing now.”
“She’s single.” Ma looks proud of herself for knowing this piece of information.
“And how would you know that?”
“Her uncle is my doctor. The one here in town, I mean. Not my specialist.” She sips her coffee. “He was making a joke about how her daddy hasn't had to pay for a third wedding. More like a joking complaint, if you ask me.” She slides her eyes over to me. “Maybe that’s gonna change.”
“Ma—” I start, but Sydney shuffles into the room, rubbing one eye with a fist. Her pink hippo is tucked securely in the crook of her arm.
“Hey, sugar pea,” Mama says.
Sydney comes straight for me and climbs onto my lap. The conversation moves from Aurora and onto Sydney’s dream.
Shaking my head, I get up to make everyone breakfast. Aurora and I had our fun last night, but there’s no telling what it will be like today at the lake.
* * *
“Daddy, have you been here before?” Sydney kicks the back of my seat as she talks.
We round the corner and catch our first glimpse of the shimmering water. “To the lake? Yeah, I have.” Not that I was ever invited to come here in high school. The cool kids, Aurora included, all went to the lake. Not me. I stayed home and played video games.
“What will we do here?”
“Play. Eat. Swim. Explore. Does that sound fun?”
“Yeah!” She squeals and kicks my seat again.
“I have a friend I want you to meet,” I say it casually, but my insides feel anything but casual.
“Like Joe?”
I smile. Joe is my best friend from the military. He lives nearby and visits on Sunday’s.
“Sort of. Her name is Aurora.”
I don’t say thing else, and Sydney is quiet until we park and I help her out. “It’s pretty,” she says, pointing at the water. “I like it better without all the tall buildings.”
I laugh. She’s referring to New York City and the rivers that surround it.
“I like this one more, too.” Especially today.
/> Swinging Sydney’s little hand, we walk toward the big hand-painted sign welcoming Linwood Class of ’08. It’s hanging from the front of a pavilion. Under the cover of the structure are long picnic tables, many of them strewn with food and drinks.
A quiet groan escapes my lips. Was I supposed to bring something? I should have read over more than just the few lines of the email I received after registering to attend.
“Hi,” someone chirps from behind.
I turn to the voice.
Squinting, my mind races to place this person. I recognize her…sort of.
“Sasha,” she says, pointing back at herself. “Sasha Monroe.”
“Yes. Right.” I fumble for words that make this less embarrassing. “I knew that, but I appreciate the help.”
She grins, tipping her head so her red hair falls to her elbow. “You’re going to have to help me, too.” She winks.
Sydney’s hand tightens around mine.
“Milo Andrews. This is my daughter, Sydney.”
“I’m four,” Sydney pipes up.
“That’s nice,” Sasha replies, not looking at her. “I’m on a soap opera now. I went to LA after graduation. It worked out for me.”
“That’s nice,” I deadpan.
Behind Sasha I see a head of blond hair. Long legs in denim cut-offs, a white tank top with red bikini straps peeking out.
She has a thing for red.
And I have a thing for her. It’s undeniable, even if it is sheer stupidity.
Lifting a hand, I wave at Aurora to get her attention. Her arms are loaded down with two paper grocery bags, but she returns my smile. Her eyes dip lower, to Sydney, to her little hand wrapped in mine, and her smile vanishes. She gulps, her eyes scrunch as if she’s in pain.
After a few seconds of this, she straightens her shoulders. Someone comes up and taps her on the elbow, pointing to a place for Aurora to deposit everything she has brought. Clearly Aurora read the email.
Sasha, who I presume looked back to see who stole my attention, clears her throat. “Oh, right. You and Aurora Callaway. I forgot about your PDA last night. Are you two a thing?” She’s trying to be nonchalant, but I don’t think any acting class in the world could teach her how to cover up how jealous she looks and sounds.
“It was nice seeing you, Sasha.” I step around her, pulling Sydney along with me. “Excuse me.”
Maybe Sasha responds. I don’t know, and I don’t care.
I feel myself steeling for Aurora’s response to Sydney. To be fair, I am springing this on her. But Sydney is a child. My child. She isn’t an inconvenience, or a barrier to a good time.
Aurora’s back is to me. She’s unpacking the bags, her movements stiff. Her back muscles, visible on either side of her white tank top, are tense.
Well, okay.
Maybe we are a one-and-done situation.
If Aurora doesn’t like the idea of a child, then it’s for the best. But I’m going to find out if that’s what’s happening. I can’t make assumptions, not when it comes to something as important as this.
“Aurora?”
She stills, and slowly turns around.
7
Aurora
He’s behind me.
With her.
His deep voice has said my name, caressed it. With the lift at the end of my name, his tone has requested I turn.
He has no idea what he’s doing to me.
How could he?
My knees turned to jelly when I walked in and saw him. Looking past the mountain of red hair I can only assume belonged to Sasha Monroe, I saw the cherubic face of a child who looks like Milo. With her little hand buried in his. She was glued to his side, as if Sasha frightened her somehow.
“Aurora?” Milo says my name again.
A deep breath fills my lungs, and I turn around.
“Milo, hi,” I say, taking in his face. I don’t feel embarrassed about last night. We did what felt good, what felt right, and that’s all there is to it. Despite all that, my cheeks are warming. Maybe it’s the note he left me, and the feeling of pleasure that it brought me. Physical pleasure is one thing, but emotional pleasure? That’s a whole other animal.
Milo watches me, gauging my reaction to the child beside him. “This is Sydney. My daughter.”
Even though it hurts, the pain like a knife slicing through my stitched-together heart, I bend down and look the child in her eyes.
“Hello.” I smile. “I’m Aurora.”
“Hi,” the melodic, high-pitched voice snakes around my throat, constricting my ability to breathe. It has been three years since I gave birth to a little girl with blue lips, but the pain doesn’t subside. It dulls, and I do my best to avoid situations like this, but it will never go away.
“I like your name,” Sydney says, eyes big. “It’s like Sleeping Beauty.”
Even though I want to cry, I grin at her. “Yep, but do you want to know who’s my favorite princess?”
“Who?”
“Belle. She’s intelligent. She loves to read. And she stands up to bullies.”
“Like that nasty Gaston!”
I wrinkle my nose. “That’s right. I don’t like bullies.”
“Me neither,” she intones, her voice serious. She leans forward, like she’s sharing a secret. “There’s a boy in my class who’s mean. He threw sand at me.”
“What?” Milo’s angry voice drops down to us.
“Have you tried telling the teacher?” I ask.
She nods solemnly. “He lied and said it wasn’t him.”
I know what I’d tell my own daughter to do. My approach to bullies was always to face them head on. Bullies don’t like tasting their own medicine.
I look up at Milo. “Can I give her some advice?”
He nods, his lips turned into a semi-grin.
“The next time he throws sand at you, you throw it back. But don’t just toss some at him.” I pretend to pick up sand with two fingers and give a silly little throw. “You do this.” I make a scoop with my hand, as though I have a handful. “And then you throw it at him. Make sure you get some in his mouth. I bet you he’ll never mess with you again.”
She smiles. “Okay.”
I stand, meeting Milo’s gaze. “Was that okay to say to her? That’s what I would tell my daughter if someone was messing with her.”
He smirks. “I honestly thought you were going to tell her to punch him.”
I laugh. “Maybe I’ll wait until she’s in second grade to tell her something like that.”
My eyes widen as I realize what I’ve said.
I purse my lips together and wait.
Any second now Milo is going to grab Sydney’s hand and run.
Go! Run from the crazy lady who just talked long-term after one night together.
He stays put.
And he looks happy.
“How many people were you planning to feed with all that food?” He peers around me to the array of items on the table.
Shrugging, I tell him “I figured you hadn’t read the instructions for today.”
He grins, sheepish. “You figured right.”
Sydney tugs on his arm and he looks down. “Can we go play in the water?”
Milo looks at me, eyebrows raised. “You up for it? I see you dressed appropriately.” His eyes slide down to my neck, where the straps of my bikini top are tied.
My breath accelerates. How can that one innocuous statement have my internal fire raging?
The worst part? It stays like that all day.
It’s probably a good thing because it distracts from the pain, hitting me like bullets every time Sydney does…well, anything. She shrieks and jumps off the dock into Milo’s arms and ouch. She sat on my lap on the beach blanket when it was time to rest and holy fuck it was an excruciating pain. Milo had questions in his eyes, but I shook my head at him. Not now.
It was good to see everyone with their families, even if it’s a painful reminder of what I don’t have. When the aft
ernoon is over I’m ready for it to be.
“I’m tired,” Sydney declares as we pack up the wet towels and food.
I smile at her. “I’m ready for a nap, too.”
I’m exhausted from the sun, but more than that has depleted me of energy. The constant flip-flopping of pain versus happiness has taken it’s toll on me.
Sydney is a lovely child. Bright, precocious, and joyful. I don’t know where her mother is. Questions can be asked later tonight, if at all. I’m curious to know, but it’s not my business. And whatever we’re doing here, a night of passion and playful day at the lake, will end tomorrow at noon with the conclusion of the reunion. Milo and I have a definitive ending. The thought tugs at my already mutilated nerves.
Slinging my bag over one shoulder, we head out from under the pavilion. I say good-bye to various people. Milo only nods his head when they say bye to him.
“You could use your voice, you know.” I jostle his ribs with my elbow.
He grunts like a caveman and I giggle. My mangled heart skips a beat when he slides a hand in mine. Sydney is on his other side, he’s holding her hand, too, and I see us as though I’m walking behind the three of us.
What a pretty picture we make.
In this moment, anyway.
Milo stops at a big white truck. “This is us,” he says, dropping my hand and lifting a yawning Sydney into his arms. Her head drops onto his shoulder and doesn’t come back up.
“This is your truck?” Had I assumed he flew here? That he was staying at his mom’s because he flew here and needed someone to take care of Sydney this weekend? I’ve been avoiding asking Milo too many personal questions because I didn’t want verbal confirmation that this weekend was ending tomorrow. But if he drove here…?
Milo pulls open a door and gently sets Sydney’s sleeping form into her car seat. He straps her in and turns back to me.
I may be exhausted, but watching Milo be a loving father has awakened a very specific part of me.
He steps away from the truck and I step into him.
“You’re going tonight, right?” He brushes back the hair pushed into my face by the breeze.
