by Lily Kate
“If you don’t like it, that’s fine,” she says hurriedly. “We can return it and get something else.”
“No, this is great.” I nudge my daughter. “Isn’t it?”
“It’s not tickets to Six Flags,” Charli says, looking at the doll. “I sort of wished for tickets to Six Flags.”
Jocelyn’s face is strained, and I can tell she feels horrible. Which makes me feel like the worst parent ever.
“Charli, come here a minute.” I grab her hand, excuse ourselves from the table, and bring her out front into the sunlight.
She’s dragging her feet, her head hanging when we stop walking.
“What was that about?” I kneel down before her. “Where did all of your manners go? We talked about this, Charli. She brought you a present. You shouldn’t complain when someone gives you a gift.”
“But I don’t like Barbies!”
“How is she supposed to know that? She’s never met you before.”
“I wanted tickets to Six Flags.”
“Well, we’re not going to Six Flags to ride rollercoasters this summer if you keep acting like this.” My heart aches to threaten this since it’s what she’s been looking forward to all year. “If you don’t like a present, you just say thank you and move on. You know that, honey.”
“How come Jocelyn is bringing me presents anyway?” Charli asks. “People only bring me presents when they take you away from me.”
“What?”
“That one time the girl brought me a teddy bear. Then you went away for the whole night and missed reading to me.”
I blink, surprised to know she remembers the one night I went out with Tricia. We’d met at some event a year or so back, and I’d liked her enough to ask her out for a drink. Turns out, we hadn’t been compatible, and it’d been a horrible date. Even so, I hadn’t gotten home until after Charli’s bedtime.
“The other time that girl brought me a book. You disappeared all night again.”
Angela.
I’d gone on two dates in the last year, and neither of them had worked out. But I was starting to see a pattern, and suddenly, it was hard to stay upset with Charli.
“Listen, that was different,” I tell Charli. “When those ladies brought you presents, it was because we were going out on a date. This is business—it’s for work. I’m not going to go away for the night.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” I rest a hand against her cheek and tilt her gaze up to meet mine. “Jocelyn is just trying to be nice for work. She’s going to help me with hockey, that’s all.”
“It’s not a date?”
I grit my teeth. “It’s not a date.”
“Oh, okay.” She leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “Sorry, daddy.”
“It’s okay, but I’m going to need you to apologize to Jocelyn.”
Charli grabs my hand and pulls me inside. I can’t help the churning sensation in my stomach, a mix of emotions stealing my appetite. This never happens. I’m hungry all the time. But somehow, the mix of feeling as if I’d let Charli down while simultaneously banishing any hopes for a relationship with Jocelyn is enough to do the trick.
Not that I should be thinking about relationships; I shouldn’t. This is business, I remind myself, and it’s a good thing Charli’s jolted me back to reality.
When we make it back to the table, Charli’s back to her usual charming self. “I’m sorry,” Charli tells Jocelyn, resting a hand on her knee. “I like my Barbie, even though I don’t play with them much.”
“Do you want to know a secret?” Jocelyn leans forward. “I never played with Barbies, either. A friend helped me pick this out.”
“Really?” Charli moves around to her seat and climbs up to the table as Monica brings the soda bottles and French Dip sandwiches over.
“Really.” She shakes her head. “So if you want to exchange it for something else, go ahead.”
“Like a soccer ball?”
“Or a baseball.”
“Basketball?”
“Whatever you want.” Jocelyn smiles. “I’m glad we’ve got this sorted out.”
Monica rests the plates on the table and grins. “Can I get y’all anything else?”
“My dad’s not on a date,” Charli says, picking up her sandwich to dunk in the au jus. “Don’t worry, this is just business, Monica.”
Jocelyn straightens, the smile on her face one of forced confusion. “Of course. We’re hoping to be business partners.”
“That’s great!” Monica turns to Jocelyn. “Because Duke’s retiring?”
Jocelyn again looks confused, and I’m stuck realizing that it must look like I tell Monica an awful lot. For some reason, I don’t want Jocelyn to get the wrong idea that Monica and I are anything more than food-provider and food-eater, but there’s no time now to set the record straight.
“That’s right,” Jocelyn says, sending a meaningful glance my way. “Boxer’s on the market for a new agent, and I’m hoping he’ll choose me.”
Chapter 15
Jocelyn
After lunch, Charli begs for a trip to the park. Boxer gives me an apologetic look, but I quickly agree to accompany them, begging a moment alone to update Lindsay with my schedule. Boxer and Charli race ahead, and I pull out my phone to dial Lindsay’s number.
“How did it go?” Lindsay asks when she picks up. “Even your hello sounds... defeated.”
“I struck out. Big time. I need help.”
“Where are you?”
“We’re headed to a park.”
“Okay, that sounds like things are going well,” Lindsay says. “If Boxer and Baby Boxer wanted to leave right after lunch, they would have.”
“She hated the Barbie.”
“Who hates Barbie?”
“Charli.”
Lindsay swears under her breath. “Tomboy, huh?”
“Yep.”
“I should’ve guessed. Sorry, boss. For whatever it’s worth, though, it’s the thought that counts.”
“It’s not the thought that counts, this is business,” I tell her. “I have to win over Boxer. I’m not doing a wonderful job of it.”
“Look, forget about the Barbie. I guarantee Charli has already let it go. Have some fun at the park, and all will be forgotten!”
I sigh. “I don’t do well with kids.”
“You’ll do fine. You were a kid once, you know. It’s not like you don’t have some experience with it.”
“Fine.”
“If you need rescuing, just... send an SOS message, and I’ll call you with an urgent request.”
“You’re the best.”
“Good luck! And, boss?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve never seen you so on edge. Just relax. You’re the best there is, and if Boxer can’t see that, it’s his loss.”
I’m grinning as I say goodbye to Lindsay, even if I know she’s just blowing sunshine up my ass. I remind myself to see if I can finagle some extra budget for her bonus this year. She’s paid well, but she should be paid more. She’s a staple in my life.
“All good, boss?” Boxer’s grinning as he sidles over toward me. “Sorry to keep you from work. We could’ve dropped you off if you wanted.”
“Oh, you’re not keeping me. I was just updating my assistant on the change in plans.” I tuck my phone into my pocket. “I’m all yours, now. Where’s Charli?”
He gestures toward the swing set in the middle of the playground. Charli’s already made a friend, a boy of about her age, and they’re currently in a battle to see who can fly the furthest off the swing.
“Doesn’t that make you nervous?” I cringe. “I can’t watch. She’s going to break something.”
“You get used to it.” Boxer laughs, stopping before a bench. “She’s tough. If I tell her not to do something, that just makes it worse.”
He waves an arm toward the bench, and together we sit. The air is filled with shrieks from the swing set competition and there’s a certain
peacefulness to the moment despite the chaotic background chatter.
“I’m really sorry about Charli,” he says, turning to face me. “She—”
“I should’ve asked about the Barbie before bringing some silly gift. It’s my fault.”
“Your fault? That was the most thoughtful thing you could’ve done. She’s just... it makes her nervous.”
“Barbies?” I watch Boxer, but he doesn’t answer immediately.
“No,” he says finally. “The last few times a woman brought her a gift, it was because I’d asked them out on a date. I’ve gone on two dates this year, and both times I missed reading to Charli before bed. She was worried I wouldn’t be there tonight for her.”
“Oh, poor thing,” I say, meaning it. “I’m sorry, if I’d known—”
“Don’t worry,” he adds quickly. “I explained to her that this is business, and business is different than personal.”
“Of course.”
He closes his eyes, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “I mean, it’s personal, getting to know you, but—”
“I get it. For the record, Charli has nothing to worry about. I wouldn’t dream of stealing you away from Rapunzel.”
He smiles, relief evident on his face. “As for the Barbie thing... she’s an odd duck. There’s no way you could’ve guessed that one.”
“I don’t think she’s odd at all! I like her, a lot. Even if I’m not great with kids.”
“You do just fine.”
I shrug, watching as the kids leave the swings waving in the breeze to dig a trench in the sand. Once again, I’m hit by the peacefulness of the moment, the warmth of the sun on my face, which is why his next question comes out of the blue, catching me off guard.
“Why’d you meet with Duke?”
A chill spirals through me as I look up to find Boxer waiting for my answer. “Duke?”
“We talk,” he says in explanation. “He mentioned he had lunch with you at Dougie’s.”
“Yes, we did.” I clear my throat. “I wanted to pick his brain about the agent business.”
Boxer leans back, his arm coming up and over my shoulders. We’re sitting far enough apart where it doesn’t feel romantic, but still... I can’t help the race of my heart as his fingers brush inadvertently against my shoulder.
“I’m impressed,” he says finally. “He doesn’t like most people.”
“Oh?”
He grins, giving a bewildered shake of his head. “Seems he liked you just fine.”
Chapter 16
Jocelyn
“I take it by your message that things went superb?” Lindsay asks.
After Charli had worn herself out at the park, Boxer dropped me back at my office building. Instead of heading inside, I made my way to my car.
“Things were going well. I didn’t want to leave.” I respond as I buckle my seatbelt.
“Dare I say you sound... excited?”
“I think the playground went great! We got to talk. Boxer is really sweet, and—”
“Hold on.” Silence covers the line as Lindsay works through something in her brain. “You counted this lunch as a date. You enjoyed yourself. You sound happy, yet no business deal has been signed.”
“But—”
“You love Boxer!”
“What?!”
“You have a crush on him!”
“No, absolutely not.”
“All the signs are there,” she says. “He’s calling your cell phone—you never give out that number unless you’re really serious about someone as a client. You give them my number but never yours. You wore extra makeup today—yes, I noticed. You wore your nice black dress with an extra button undone at the top.”
My fingers fly near my throat and button it back up. “That’s not true.”
“It is too. Don’t you pretend it’s not true because you’re buttoning it up right now.”
I drop my hand, exasperated. She’s too psychic for my taste. “I’m taking a break,” I tell her. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Flowers?”
“Yes,” I say. “Please hold my calls.”
~~
The gravesite is deserted, as it always is. Hidden out of the way from the glamour and glitter of Los Angeles, I pull onto an abandoned road on the outskirts of town.
The cemetery itself is clean, well-maintained, and I wave to the man at the front gates as I pull through. He nods back, just as he always does. We never speak, and I don’t know his name, but we’ve been through this same routine for years.
I park, thinking not for the first time that this might be the only place I don’t have to feed a meter in the entire LA metro area. Climbing from the car, I gather the bouquet of roses I bought at the nearby farmer’s market and hug it close to my chest.
“Hey, there, mom,” I murmur, strolling over to the two headstones placed next to one another. “Hi, dad.”
I kneel, clearing away some of the dirt and grime from the top of the headstone. Joseph and Prudence Jones have the same date of death, though my father was born five years before my mother. Five extra years of life.
Both of their lives ended when their car spiraled off the road during a storm and crashed. My mother died on impact, my dad one day later. At the time, despite the shock, I’d prayed for him to recover. Bargained with God, pleaded with the angels, but none of it had worked.
In retrospect, maybe it had all happened for a reason. I’d been only seven at the time, but what I could remember of their relationship shimmered in golden memories, dusted by years of happiness. Mornings filled with laughter and cups of hot chocolate, evenings drenched in moonlight as the three of us huddled under blankets in our backyard and watched for shooting stars.
We’d never seen a shooting star, I think, removing the now-dried flowers from the vase. The city was too bright for shooting stars, too polluted with light. We were going to go camping for my next birthday, but it hadn’t happened. That birthday had been spent in a foster home, and I don’t even remember how we celebrated. Or if we celebrated.
I blink, standing as I look down at the graves. I’d wished for years things hadn’t worked out like this, but wishing hadn’t gotten me anywhere. Neither had crying, and neither had hoping. Which is why I didn’t do any of that anymore.
The only thing that ever made a difference was hard work. If I filled enough hours in my day, I wasn’t plagued by the what-if’s and what could’ve beens. Falling asleep on the couch, exhausted, spares me the torturous hours spent remembering all that isn’t meant to be.
I miss them still, but I don’t cry any more. Not often, at least, and I don’t waste my breath on wishes. If I’ve learned anything in this world, it’s that life deals you a hand of cards, and sometimes that hand is pretty crappy. The only thing worse than a crappy hand of cards is giving up on the game, and I’d decided long ago that I wasn’t giving up on the game.
“There’s a guy,” I tell them, my closest confidants. I don’t stop to think whether it’s pathetic the only people I tell everything to are long dead. “His name is Boxer, and I’m not sure what to do about him.”
Of course they don’t respond, but speaking aloud makes something feel real. Them? Maybe. Or maybe it’s my way of working through problems, and this is the only place peaceful enough to speak from my heart. I don’t know.
“He’s a really nice guy,” I tell them. “I want him on my roster, but... ugh. I don’t know. I just can’t stop thinking about him.”
There. I’ve admitted it. Though I’ve only voiced it to my parents, gone nearly two decades, it’s something. Lindsay’s right. I like Boxer. I like him a lot—which is a huge problem.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say, still talking to air, to the whispers of a past life. “I’m a business woman. If I start mixing business and pleasure, I have the potential to lose everything. My clients, my reputation, my sole source of income.”
A breeze ruffles the grass, but I’m too distracted to shiver. It’s a cool
January day, the sun that had shone so merrily at the park is now hidden behind the clouds.
“It’s not an option for me to look for something personal with Boxer. He made it plenty clear over lunch today that we have a strict business-only relationship.” I cross my arms, unable to ignore the larger gust of wind, and hug my body for warmth. “He’s got a daughter, and from the way he speaks about Charli, he’s not looking to introduce a new woman into his life—to their life, and their family. I’d be chiseling my way into a place I don’t belong.”
I pace back and forth, lost in the imagination of what that might look like. A life with Boxer, with Charli. A life as a mother, with one child at least, and the potential for more. It’s a future I haven’t much considered for myself. And frankly, I don’t know why I’m wasting time envisioning it now—I learned long ago that wishing doesn’t do much good.
I rest a hand against my mother’s name. “I think I’m going insane, mom. All of these nights eating Lean Cuisine by myself—maybe Lindsay’s right. I’m imagining a life with a man who doesn’t even like me. At least, not in any sort of real way. How sad is that?”
She doesn’t answer, but there’s a melancholy note to the air. It’s depressing, difficult to breathe. “I’m trying to sign him on as a client, but it doesn’t feel right. He’s not... he’s not out for money. I want him because he’ll get scooped up for big endorsements, and we’ll both make loads of cash. I’m using him, and it’s not fair.”
I can almost hear her asking why. Why I need him as a client at all. Lindsay’s voice pops into my head, too, echoing the sentiment. You don’t need the money, why not ask him on a date?
“Because!” I stand up and unfold my arms from across my chest. “If he says no, then I’ll lose him as a client and as a friend. If I have him as a client, at the very least I can make sure he’s taken care of, and Charli, too. That’s more than Andy will do.”
I’m breathing heavily, my chest heaving as I sort through my options. Business or pleasure, neither or both. The latter two options are just not going to work for me. The second option is too risky. Which leaves me with only one option—the same route I’ve been on since the beginning.
