He gives a delighted “Ooh.”
“And Gigi and her husband just took off on another trip to Italy.”
“Can I stow away in their bags, please?”
“You and me both,” I say as I close my eyes and relax into the sensation of strong fingers lathering shampoo in my hair. “I want to go to Tuscany.”
“Then you should go, love. What’s stopping you?”
A laugh bursts from my chest. “Oh, you know, responsibilities and all that.”
“Someday you’ll go to Tuscany.”
“Someday,” I say wistfully.
“And what about Jessica?” His voice rises with hopefulness as we resume our catch-up. “Will she be needing my services?”
I cross my fingers, hopeful that one of my closest friends has finally found the one. Opening my eyes, I answer, “She’s been in London the last year for work. I hope she’s met some fabulous Englishman, and he’ll whisk her away to his estate or castle.” When we’ve had the chance to catch up, being an ocean apart, Jessica’s hinted that there might be someone special, but she hasn’t spilled the details yet.
“Jessica would look amazing as a lady of the manor. Maybe her man will be a castle-owning earl or a baron or a Windsor.”
“Pretty sure if he were a Windsor, we could arrest her for robbing the cradle. But yes, it would be just like her to score a prince and a fabulous palace.”
“Isn’t that what we all want?”
“Or just to look as good at our weddings as Kate and Meghan did.”
He hums his approval. “I still can’t decide who was prettier.”
“Don’t try to pick. Both were beautiful in their own unique way.” I sigh happily, picturing my happy place: a royal wedding. I’ve only rewatched Meghan and Harry’s five times. “In any case, Jessica texted me the other night that she’s coming back to New York soon, but she won’t give me a date.”
I grab my phone from my pocket and show him her texts.
Jessica: Witch! I’m going to be back in NYC soon, soon, soon.
Piper: When, when, when?
Jessica: I’ll tell you the second I know! But I promise you’ll be seeing my smiling face before too long.
Piper: You’re so cruel to leave me so long without you.
Jessica: I am, but life is good, and I can’t wait to catch up with you on everything. I miss you terribly.
Piper: I miss you madly, awfully, and also desperately.
Jessica: But if you had to pick one adverb to define your missing, which would it be?
Piper: Abjectly.
Jessica: Good one!
“See what I have to deal with?”
“She’s a double witch.”
“Try triple. But I love her, even when she’s stirring her cauldron and not sharing her newts.”
“And I love her hair. I want to do her hair for her wedding.”
I shoot him a smile. “I want to braid her hair at, like, every sleepover from now till the end of time. So, I feel you.”
He chuckles. “Please tell me you don’t have sleepovers anymore.”
“Not with girlfriends.”
“Does that mean there’s a boyfriend sharing a pillow? And you haven’t told me?” He bats my shoulder with an admonishing elbow before he returns to washing.
I scoff. “Please. Obviously, there’s no one.”
He arches a brow as he rinses the shampoo. “Are you sure? You’ve tried to keep secrets from me in the past. Are you keeping them again?”
I swallow roughly, trying to avoid thoughts of secrets—the ones I keep and the ones I’ve shared. “Never from you.”
“You better not.”
“I swear there’s no one. Besides, I’m focused on my sister and my brides and everything I need to get done.”
He hums as he works in the conditioner. “You say that, but someday you’ll walk down the aisle and let me do your hair.”
I flash him the biggest grin. “Please. You’ll do more than my hair. You’ll be my man of honor.”
“Ah, you always know the way to my heart.” He plants a kiss on my cheek. “And what’s the latest with Pukezilla?” He nearly always asks me about her, since there’s nearly always something to say.
“She’s getting married again. Third in ten years.” Tania didn’t hire me for any of her weddings. No surprise there. But Jessica kept me updated, since Jessica knows everything.
“Seems like it was only yesterday when she was begging me to do her hair for her first.”
“And you wisely refused.”
“A stylist must have standards. Yak once in my salon, shame on you. Yak twice, shame on me.”
“Rules to live by.”
“And how is Sasha doing on number two?”
“Good. Let’s hope it sticks this time.”
In the end, Sasha’s marriage self-destructed, just like Zach predicted. The wedding fortune-teller was off by a full month, though, so I took some solace in the fact that Sasha and Robert hung on for all of 396 days.
But Zach was right about everything else. Sasha had a hankering for the best man, and now she’s married to him. She loved my work and hired me for that wedding too. Second time’s a charm, I hope.
Zach’s been accurate about a few other weddings too, as he plays his swami of doom game. I still hate him for it, even though lately it’s become harder to do.
I’ve tried, trust me. Especially since I now share office space with him on the same floor of the most adorable brownstone in Gramercy Park. That came about thanks to a fabulous deal our mutual friend Steven offered us on real estate a few years ago. Charlie, Zach, and I jumped all over that opportunity, and we have the same business address, though Charlie’s rarely around.
As Adrien rinses conditioner from my hair, I do my best to shove thoughts of Zach and his frustratingly spot-on wedding predictions from my head.
But it’s tough. I do wish more unions lasted. I wish that half of my work didn’t flame out, or worse, go up in a five-alarm fire a few years after the I do’s. Or in my mom’s case, a few months after each one.
“It’s an occupational hazard,” I muse, thinking out loud.
Adrien moves me to the chair and begins snipping my hair. “What is, love?”
“That so many marriages fail.”
He sighs knowingly. “So many do, like, oh, say, my first. But so many don’t too.”
I shoot him a sympathetic look. “Your first husband didn’t deserve you.”
“That is definitely true.”
“But even so, I just wish that most lasted.”
“Of course, but what can you do? Don’t let it get you down. I try not to let the end of mine ruin my outlook. Look at it as a good thing at the end of the day. A marriage might fail, but then the bride and groom often try again with someone new. It is a universal condition that we humans keep reaching for the brass ring of love.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true. Most do want to take another ride on the merry-go-round of love.”
“Love and beauty. They make the world go around.”
But there’s something else, too, that makes us keep moving forward.
Family. That tie can make us go, go, go.
When I’m finished with my cut, looking suitably pleasant as always, I say goodbye and head to my next appointment, a meeting with a stationery shop, the final item on today’s nearly finished to-do list.
As I walk down the block, my phone brays.
My sister’s ringtone.
My pulse quickens.
Please let it be good news.
I answer. “Hey, Paige.”
She greets me with tears.
4
Zach
While Lucy brushes her teeth at bedtime, I find an unread text from my buddy Charlie.
Charlie: Basketball tomorrow? The courts near you?
I glance at the date. Shoot. He sent this two days ago. On Tuesday.
Zach: Sorry, man. Missed the message. Hope you found someone else w
ho abused you thoroughly on the court, beat your ego into a bloody pulp.
Charlie responds immediately. He’s good at that, unlike me evidently. But in my defense, Lucy downloaded some game to my phone, and I can’t find anything on it anymore. Between all the filters and trivia games and list keepers, it’s a miracle I can locate my email most days.
Charlie: No. I found some ten-year-olds. Schooled them.
Zach: You lie. Even grade-schoolers kick your ass on the court.
Charlie: Why do I bother inviting you to do anything anymore? I swear, I see your kids more than I see you. But I don’t squander my time with them. When I took Henry to the bookstore the other day, I showed him all the money and investing guides that could open up worlds to him. Never too early to start indoctrination. But where were you as I taught my godson the finer points of becoming a tech genius?
Zach: I believe I was taking my daughter to her gymnastics class. Thanks again for training him on how to be the Zuck at age seven. You’re a world-class godparent.
Charlie: Please. Call me Godfather.
Zach: I will only call you Godfather in person so I can say it with an accent. In any case, I’ll check my calendar and find time for basketball soon.
Charlie: Gee, thanks. Appreciate you checking the calendar. Maybe in November you can fit your old friend Charlie in.
Zach: Fine. We’ll go tomorrow at lunch. But I will destroy you.
Charlie: Excellent.
Zach: It’s amazing how you can be so damn good at so many things and suck at basketball. And yet you always want to keep playing. You’re a glutton for punishment.
Charlie: That I am. Also, my sister said to tell you she has a friend she wants to set you up with.
Zach: And in other news, how’s work?
Charlie: Message received. The hunt is on for the next great start-up. And I’m working on a group dinner soon. Would be great if you could come.
Zach: Let me know the date and I’ll see about a sitter. But if the dinner is just a ruse for meeting your sister’s friend, I will know.
Charlie: And would that be so bad?
Zach: Yes. I don’t want to be set up.
Charlie: Got it, but you should know ALL OUR FEMALE FRIENDS are salivating for the chance to set you up.
Zach: Then they should get drool bibs.
I set down the phone as Lucy finishes, then I check on Henry. He’s curled up with his dinosaur blanket, so Lucy and I settle in to read a book in her room. When I finish the Goosebumps story—a brilliant performance by me, costarring all my character voices—I tap the cover. “Do you think it’s ironic that you hate snakes, but love being scared by ventriloquist dolls coming to life? Those are super creepy. Way worse than snakes, in my opinion.”
She snuggles deeper into her pillow. “But see, that’s your opinion. I have a different one.”
“And you contend ventriloquist dolls aren’t creepy?”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “They’re creepy awesome.”
“And the creatures who shall not be named are not creepy awesome?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. They’re creepy gross. Creepy gross is unacceptable.”
I set the book on her shelf. “It’s confirmed. You’re definitely my child. There’s nothing you won’t argue about.”
“It’s not an argument. It’s a discussion.”
I kiss her forehead. “And you keep making my point.”
“Fine. But it’s your fault,” she says, laughing.
I laugh too. “I accept the blame. Now go to sleep.”
“I will.” She stretches across her bed, reaching for a notebook. The front cover says “Dream a Big Dream” in a curly silver font. Lucy loves notebooks and has written more letters to herself than she can count. “But first, I want to show you something,” she says with a mixture of worry and excitement.
“A new letter?”
She shakes her head and bounces a little nervously on her mattress. “It’s a list.”
That makes sense. She doesn’t show me her letters. Lists? Yes. Letters? No. She doesn’t offer, and I don’t ask. They’re personal.
I rub my palms together. “All right, little list-maker. What have we got on this one?” I place the back of my hand against my forehead like I can read her fortune. “Wait. Don’t tell me. It’s a list of favorite cupcake bakeries that you want me to take you to.”
Laughing, she shakes her head. “I did that last week. I showed you that one!”
“And I took you to Sunshine Bakery.”
“And the strawberry shortcake cupcake was so good.”
“It was delish.” I furrow my brow. “So then, is this a list of names for the dog you want to adopt someday?”
“You saw that too. And you agreed that Pedro was a good name.”
“Pedro is an awesome name for a someday dog.”
She takes a deep breath. “This is a new list.”
I hold up a hand to stave her off one more time. “I’ve got it. It’s a list of everything that’s as creepy awesome as a ventriloquist doll?”
She shakes her head once more, giggling, then pats the notebook proudly. “This list is all the things Mom wanted me to do this summer.”
It’s a punch in the gut, the mention of Anna. It’s been a few years, but now and then Lucy says something about her mom that knocks me to my knees. “This summer specifically?” I ask, swallowing roughly, trying to figure out how to tackle whatever this is. Have I missed some preteen milestone?
“No.” She shakes her head as if I’m the child. "Any summer. When I was ready. And, well, now I'm ready.”
“Okay. And how did you come up with the list?”
Lucy smiles brightly. Too brightly. “I worked on it with her.”
My heart squeezes. “When did you work on it?” Lists are Lucy’s thing, and a recent one. Lists weren’t Anna’s thing at all.
Lucy looks at the stars on her ceiling, swallowing. “A while ago.”
I take a beat. Take a breath too. “Before? You worked on it with her before?”
“Yes.” Her voice wobbles a bit. “Well, we talked about it. I only wrote it down just now. I was finally ready to.”
My throat tightens. Not for Anna, but for this girl, who’s had to make sense of the insensible. “Do you want to show it to me?”
She nods, her pitch rising with excitement. “I do. Do you want to see it?”
“Heck yeah,” I say, with more gusto than I feel. Besides, I do want to know what’s on her list. Because I want to know what’s on my daughter’s mind.
Slowly, she flips through the pages, and as she does, I brace myself, hoping this list will be of the cupcake shop variety, rather than the latest bullet I don’t know how to deflect. Too many surprise barrages I don’t have the armor to withstand: periods and mama bears and memories that sneak up on me.
Lucy finds the page and shows me. I read her pristine handwriting.
Things I Want to Do This Summer:
Swim with turtles
Go to London
Eat a sundae with all the flavors and extra toppings
Share something that’s hard to share
Snorkel
Stay up past midnight
Turns out, I’ve braced myself for something that didn’t hurt at all. It’s not the first time. Not only is it painless, it makes me smile. I can see Lucy doing all these things, having a blast, moving on, letting go.
I hand it back to her. “That sounds like an excellent summer.”
A smile spreads across her face. “You like my list?”
“Love it.”
“Can we do it?”
I read the list again then look at the clock. “It’s nearly ten, and it’s a school night. But I promise some night this summer you can stay up past midnight.”
“What about everything else?”
I point to her list. “Is there something you’ve been wanting to share?”
She shrugs, a shy look in her eyes. “Maybe. Someday.”
I arch a brow. “Is this something I need to know?”
“No. It’s just a letter. I’ll show you soon. When it’s right.”
“A letter, huh?” I keep my voice neutral, even though part of me wants to see the letter this second. But I want her to do this on her terms. “There’s no rush on my part. You can share when you’re ready.”
“I will. I promise. I’ve had one for a while that I want to show you.” She takes a beat. “But we can do the rest of my list?”
I stare at her quizzically, making sure this list comes from her heart. That these are things that truly matter to her and not simply a whim. “You really want to do all this?”
She nods vigorously. “I do.”
“Let me think about it.”
Lucy smacks her forehead. “Oh, wait. There’s one more thing.”
She grabs the notebook and adds an item, then shows me her addition.
Master mini golf
“That’s something you think your mom wanted you to do?”
She smiles impishly. “No. That’s just something I want to do.”
Kids. They zig, then they zag. “What’s with the sudden interest in mini golf?”
She rolls her eyes. “Piper, silly.”
“Piper?” I ask, incredulously.
“Yes. When I saw her in the office the other day, she said she would teach me. Did you know she used to play competitively?”
Never Have I Ever Page 4
