"What's in this special food of his?" I ask, as she nuzzles what I'm guessing is going to be a million-dollar mutt.
"Raw food."
"Uh...isn't all dog food raw?"
She does that teen gasp of exasperation thing. I think she's better at that than virtually any kid I've ever seen.
"No. It's been processed and cooked and filled with corn. Dogs are descended from wolves. They need raw meat."
"And you special order raw meat from some farm in Vermont?"
She just stares at me.
"And I'm fine to do that, but in the meantime, maybe we can just drop by the store and get him some hamburger."
She huffs in disgust. "It's better than dog food, I guess."
Sighing, I pick up my car keys from the counter. "Let's go, then. We need to get him fed before we go to dinner."
She lifts her little chin, the one that looks just like my mother's, and stalks out of the kitchen toward the front door.
It's going to be a very long month.
Ninety minutes later, Blanco has eaten his weight in ground beef—organic, because Sara insisted—and crashed out on the new sofa. I lock up the house and Sara and I set off toward Carly's.
"We're not taking the car?" she asks.
"It's just a few blocks," I answer.
"Yeah, but how many big streets do you have to cross?"
I laugh gently. "None. The only big street in Grove City is the highway on the east edge of town. The west edge is all Mississippi River, and the rest is streets you can walk, and people you can talk to. My friends and I used to walk everywhere before we got driver's licenses."
"And you lived in this neighborhood?"
The sun set a half hour ago, and the humid air has cooled some. Sara is wearing some sort of sweater that has short sleeves and is very fuzzy, along with a pair of jeans that are too tight, in my opinion, and end somewhere between her knees and her ankles.
"I did," I tell her. "Grandma and Grandpa's house was about six blocks that direction." I point the opposite direction from downtown. "I'll show it to you tomorrow, when it's daylight."
She doesn't respond for a moment, and I think I've lost her again, but then she asks another question.
"Were you bored? It seems really boring here."
I chuckle. "Aren't all teenagers bored?"
She does her teenager huffing thing. "I live in L.A. There are beaches and Rodeo Drive and movie stars on every corner. It's impossible to be bored there."
I walk in silence for a while, because it breaks my heart that a kid of mine thinks L.A. is the cure for boredom. It's the most boring city I've ever been to. Nothing that inauthentic can be interesting.
"You're telling me you've never sat around with your friends on a Saturday afternoon and complained about how bored you are?"
We make the turn onto Carly's block and I see her house up ahead, all lit up like a beacon of hope.
Sara's voice is slightly less antagonistic when she responds. "Maybe sometimes."
And then we're at Carly's and I hear a teen boy's voice shouting, "Come on in!" after I ring the doorbell. I haven't even had a moment to think about the fact that I'm now going to meet her kid. I'm curious, more than anything, but there's also this small part of me that's suddenly reminded she has a life—here in Grove City—and some man who I've never seen lived it with her. She had his baby, slept in his bed, was there when he came home at night.
If I'm being brutally honest, it sends a spike of jealousy through me, and then I think, who in their right mind would give up a woman like her? But that's followed in quick measure by my own gratitude that he did. Even if I never get to touch Carly again, one night with her was worth a lifetime of gratitude.
I slowly open the door and call out, "Carly? We're here!"
I can hear music playing and the living room ahead of us is lit up with candles and stained-glass lamps. I usher Sara in, and start to walk into the foyer, when all of the sudden I hear a hacking-hissing sound. Expecting to see a cat, I look down, ready to reassure it we're harmless, when all of the sudden, a huge snake of some sort hisses again and lunges at me.
"Ahh fuck!" I shout, shoving Sara behind me and pinning her between me and the door. She lets out a shriek, and the creature—which I can now see is an enormous lizard, not a snake—puffs up and makes more of the weird rasping noises, his evil reptilian eyes glaring at me in disdain. He's got to be five feet long and weigh as much as a good-sized dog. His head is huge, his eyes shifty, and his teeth sharp.
I can feel Sara clinging to my shoulders, her nails cutting into my skin through my shirt. "Okay, hon," I tell Sara. "It's okay. Can you feel behind you for the doorknob?"
She makes a whimpering sound but I think it means yes.
"Just turn it slowly, and while I shield you, ease out the door then close it behind you."
"But what about you?" she asks in a tiny voice.
"I'll be fine. I'm sure it's a pet, as soon as Carly comes, she'll take it away."
Sara nods and I can feel her wiggling around behind me, trying to find the doorknob. The creature hisses again and takes a menacing step forward.
"Hey there, buddy," I say to it in my most soothing voice. "We're not going to hurt you. In fact, we were thinking we could go to the pet store and get some of whatever it is you eat. Mice? Crickets? Maybe the blood of newborn babies? Whatever it is, we can get it for you. I know a guy. And hey, I'm rich. Price is no object. In fact—"
I find myself really warming to the subject now, plus, I hear the click of the latch as Sara begins to open the door and make her way to freedom. "Maybe you'd like to have your own place? I could get you a condo downtown, right above the pet store. We can outfit it with black lights and lots of rodents. Or maybe you'd like a girl lizard? I know a lot of them." I lower my voice conspiratorially, "Dude, I can hook you up."
I feel the air from outside against my back, and with one last look at the creature, I reach behind me and shove Sara out the door. "Go!" I shout as she breaks free, pulling the door shut behind her. Then, I turn back just as the bastard with the shifty eyes leaps into the air and lands on me.
"Chuck!" I hear the teen boy from earlier say. "Bad iguana!"
I grimace as he appears from the living room and carefully unhooks Chuck's long, sharp claws from my jeans, and in some places my skin, before holding him under one arm and chastising him.
"How many times have we told you, 'check to see if they're invited before you attack’." The kid looks up at me with a smirk. "Sorry. I didn't realize he'd broken out of his gate." He points to the top of the nearby staircase and I see a child gate that's swung open.
I narrow my gaze as I bend down and brush off my jeans. "Yeah. I'm sure."
The kid laughs. "I'll go put him away. Be right back. Oh! I'm Quinn, by the way."
I put out my hand and he gives it a firm shake. "Ross."
"Yeah, I kind of figured," he answers sarcastically. In spite of his sass, he's a good-looking kid, with Carly's eyes and lighter hair—all floppy and long on top, like all the boys these days.
"Mom's in the kitchen. Go on in." He points in the general direction of the living room.
I watch for a moment as he walks upstairs with the iguana, then I open the front door. Sara launches herself into my arms, and for a moment all I can do is stand there, dumbfounded. She hasn't voluntarily hugged me in years. I feel my throat grow a little thick with emotion as I remember when she used to sit on my lap or hold my hand as a tiny child, back before she realized dads were supposed to be more than an occasional ride to Disneyland.
I pat her back and make soothing noises. "Everything's fine. His name is Chuck and he's an iguana. Normally lives upstairs, I think."
She just shakes her head against my shoulder for a moment more before pulling back. "It's disgusting and I won't eat in the same house with it," she declares.
So much for tender reunions.
"Hi there," I hear Carly say behind me. "I'm so sorry, I didn't
hear you come in."
I turn as Sara immediately steps as far away from me as she can without leaving the house. Carly moves around us to shut the front door, and looks at me with concern.
"We met Chuck," I tell her with a brow raised, because like hell that iguana got loose on accident.
Carly's jaw hardens just a touch. "Ah. I see." Then she plasters on a smile. "Don't worry, Sara," she says, putting an arm around Sara's shoulders, "Chuck will stay upstairs the rest of the night. In his cage," she adds much more loudly, aiming her voice up the stairs.
"Yes, ma'am," Quinn shouts back.
At that point, I have to chuckle. He's obviously not a bad kid, and I'm guessing his little show of aggression was to make sure I don't get too comfortable with his mother. I get it. He's doing his job protecting her.
Carly gently, but firmly leads Sara toward the kitchen, talking to her as a distraction. I follow behind, taking note of how she's decorated the place. It has the exact look I've been imagining for my new bungalow—vintage without being dated, comfortable, homey, but not messy.
It makes something inside me ache with want. This house, her, Sara. It's as though there's been this emptiness inside me I didn't even realize, and suddenly it's filled. I blink away the sensation before stepping into the kitchen and watching the life I could have had.
16
Carly
"Do you think she'll ever cook pasta again?" Ross asks as we stand on the back deck and watch the kids inside playing some game on Quinn's iPad.
"Well, at least she can say she's done it once," I answer, leaning back against the railing next to him. He picks up the nearby bottle of wine and tops me off.
"I've been a really crappy father," he says softly. "I don't think Christine has done terrible, but she's a wealthy Hollywood single mom with a really intense job, it's not that surprising she's never cooked a dinner to show Sara how it's done." He pauses to take a sip of his own wine. "I should have been there. I could have helped show her a different world."
"You are now," I console. "She's not grown yet, and you're going to show her all sorts of things this month, and whenever you're able to spend time with her from now on."
He doesn't answer, just stands there, watching the kids through the window, his gaze thoughtful.
"Why'd you get divorced?" he asks out of the blue.
I chuckle. "God. Why does anyone get divorced?"
He shrugs. "In my case, it was because I'd never had any intention of being married in the first place."
It's a good reminder to me that he's not the guy you keep. He's just a diversion. He clearly doesn't want to be more than that.
"I think in our case, it was that we were just going through the motions, you know? We met, we dated, we liked each other well enough. We were the age when people like us get married and have kids. So we did all that. We went through the motions until one day, I woke up and realized that I'd never loved him, and I don't think he ever loved me."
His brow furrows in thought. "You decided you wanted something more or...?"
I consider that for a moment. "I decided that if I was going to have to compromise with someone every day until I die, I want it to be more than just tolerable. I'm fine on my own. I have a nice life. If I ever try commitment with anyone again, it has to be because I'm passionate about them, about what we can be for one another, not because they're serving as a prop in some preconceived idea of what my life ought to be."
His gaze darkens then, and my breath catches in my throat. "You're telling me it was never passionate with him? Like it was with us the other night?"
I swallow, my gaze darting between the kids through the window and Ross's intense stare.
"Um..." I lick my lips self-consciously and Ross's gaze tracks the movement. Everything inside me gets hot and my skin prickles.
"It wasn't," he murmurs. "I know it wasn't because I've never had a night like that with anyone else."
He doesn't touch me, our kids are one thin pane of glass away, but he might as well. His gaze caresses me like his hands would, and I nearly moan as I struggle not to sway into him.
"I find that really hard to believe," I answer, taking a long gulp of my wine to distract me from his intensity. "I mean, how many women must you have slept with?"
He sighs. "Slept with? Not that many."
And then my desire morphs to irritation. I've seen photos of Ross with all sorts of models and actresses over the years. It shouldn't bother me. It never did before, but now, for some reason, it does.
"Sorry. Had sex with," I snipe.
"Carly." His voice is gravelly in the darkness of my backyard, and I know I'll never be able to forget the way my insides feel when he says my name like that. "I can't change the life I've led, but I'll never lie to you. There have been fewer women than most people seem to assume, and hardly any that meant anything. I'm telling you, what happened between us the other night was..."
He clears his throat as he searches for the word.
"I know," I finally admit, though it kills me to.
"You didn't have that with Quinn's father." It's a statement now, not a question.
"No."
"Don't settle for anything less again," he tells me, as he pushes off the deck railing and walks back inside my house.
I take a moment alone in the night air. I have to regain control of my thoughts and my heartbeat. Why? I wonder. Why now? Why him?
I told him the truth—I have a good life. And while Ali often worries about me being single, I don't. I've had my career, my friends, Quinn. And while there's always been a part of me that hoped I'd meet someone inspiring enough to have a relationship with, I haven't really believed it would ever happen. Since David and I split, I've assumed I'm one of those people who just won't have that classic once-in-a-lifetime love.
I guess I'm a pretty practical person, because I've been okay with that. I have love in my life—lots of it—so I didn't think I was missing all that much. But the longer Ross is here, the more I'm around him, the harder it is to ignore the yearning inside, the yearning I didn't even know was there a week ago.
If I were younger, I'd throw myself down on my bed and cry, but honestly, who has time for that? Instead, I take a deep breath, put on my mom in control face, and head back inside. But I also make a promise to myself. I won't let this go any further. It's time to lock Ross Macalester and our one night together away for good. He's not the man for me, and if I fall, I'm not sure I'll ever get back up.
"He's actually an okay guy," Quinn tells me, as he shovels a forkful of pancake into his mouth the next morning.
"I told you we were friends from high school, I'm not sure why you were so convinced he'd be a jerk," I respond, pulling the coffee cup out from under the Keurig and adding a generous amount of half and half. I can't help side-eyeing the low-fat vegan creamer I bought last week when I swore I was going to start eating better.
"I don't know, he's like this huge rockstar, I figured he'd be entitled and drunk or something."
I have to laugh, because Ross probably has spent some time being entitled and drunk, but he seems to really want to leave all that behind. At least, right now he does. Who knows once he's back on tour with his band?
"Well, you definitely weren't star struck. I mean, one of the most famous rockstars on the planet ate dinner at your house and you didn't even bat an eye. In fact—" I turn to pin him with my best mom glare, "—unless I've completely lost my parental radar, you sicced Chuck on him as some sort of initiation."
He has the good sense to look chagrined. "I plead the fifth."
"Quinn. Why?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. I guess 'cause I thought he'd be entitled and drunk? I mean, I'm sort of like the guy here—the man—whatever. I'm supposed to watch out for you and the house and stuff."
I try to decide if that's adorable or offensive, and settle on somewhere in between. "Number one, you may be the male here, but I'm the adult, and in case you hadn't noticed, I've been taki
ng care of you and the house for sixteen years." He rolls his eyes. "And number two..." Then, I realize I don't have a number two, so I have to improvise. "I can see I need to have more male friends over so you can learn to be a better-mannered host."
"You don't have any male friends," Quinn says with satisfaction. "Unless you count Dex, and he only comes over with Aunt Ali."
I sit down at the table and take a good long look at Quinn. All these years, it's been just the two of us. I introduced Ross as an old high school friend, but did Quinn pick up that it's been something more? Is that a good thing? A bad thing? I mean, I always thought it was better that I wasn't bringing home dates and having men in our lives. He has an involved father, I figured he was covered in that arena. But maybe I've made it seem like I'm too one-dimensional. A mom and nothing else.
"I actually do have male friends," I tell him as he gnaws on a slice of bacon. "At work. I guess I just don't invite a lot of work friends over."
"Whatever," he mumbles. "Next time, I won't let Chuck loose, okay? I see the error of my ways and all that. Can we be done with this? I'm supposed to hang out with Jake today, I need to get going."
He stands and walks to the sink, where he rinses his plate but doesn't put it in the dishwasher because no matter how often I threaten him with various punishments, he never puts his stuff directly into the washer.
"Quinn." He halts on his way to the stairs up to his room. "I've never wanted to be one of those moms who has the boyfriends coming and going constantly. I've been just fine on my own all these years. Your dad was a great parenting partner, and I have Ali and you and my job and other friends. I've been happy. But that doesn't mean I'll never date. You're going to college after next year. Some day, when you come home, there might be a man here."
"Do we have to talk about this?" he asks, agony written all over his face.
"I'm just sayin'."
"Okay. I get it." He starts to walk out, but pauses, looking back at me over his shoulder. "Is the rockstar going to be the first boyfriend?"
Encore: A Standalone Rockstar Novel Page 9
