“This place is cool,” Priscilla said like a starstruck teen when I took her to Mick’s penthouse for the first time. She’d told me that Mick had told her about his dad, and what Mick had done to protect his mom, and now the pair was forever bonded.
“Oh, look. Penny’s dad uses a bike like this.” She ran toward the Peloton bike Mick loved so much.
Seeing his open floor plan, I was flooded with memories of the night we had sex against the door and then spread out naked on the couch. As my daughter strolled through, touching everything with her free hand, I wondered how many other women had been here.
Realizing my thoughts were getting away from me, I decided to busy myself in the kitchen.
“So cool,” Priscilla said to herself. “Mick must really like us to let us come in by ourselves.”
I wanted to agree, but a ridiculous niggling wouldn’t allow me to.
I sifted through the ingredients on the counter and opened the fridge, noting the glass bottles of diet orange soda. “Priss, look at these.”
“Oh, I love those. Did you tell them?”
“Rochelle may have asked what your favorite beverage was.”
“We need a Rochelle. Then you wouldn’t have to do as much.” Priscilla reached around me and grabbed a soda.
“We can’t afford a Rochelle. Although, with the promotion at work ... maybe,” I joked.
“What? That would be so cool!” Priscilla pushed herself onto the stool, leaning her casted arm on the counter like Mick had shown her a few weeks before. It made me a little sad to think her own father hadn’t taken the time to show her anything like that.
“I’m kidding. I’m not even sure what this promotion means. I have a meeting next week to figure out all the details.”
“Mom, it’s gonna be great. I’m going to have to do a new interview with you and get all the details updated. By the way, you look amazing.”
“Priss, I’m in jeans and a sweater.”
“You look good. Smiling, your hair all wavy the way I like it. And that sweater is hot.”
She grinned at me, and I felt a blush creeping up my neck, so I turned to wash my hands. Priscilla was becoming super pushy when it came to Mick.
“What’s for dinner other than the brownies?”
I’m going to make my eggplant parm, and a side pasta and roasted veggies.”
“Yum. You know I love it. Dad never ate it.”
I nodded. “That’s not why I was going to make it. It’s just quick and also gourmet-ish.”
“Mom, that article on TikTok is getting to you. Can you not sayish?”
“How about L-O-L?”
“Not that either, please,” she said firmly.
We laughed as I turned on the oven, found a sauté pan, and went about prepping the eggplants. Washed, sliced, and salted, the lengthy pieces sat for fifteen minutes drying while I filled a pot with water and set it aside. Mixing the brownies, I added my secret ingredient—broken pieces of a Ghirardelli chocolate-and-caramel bar—and found a few more kitchen tools I needed. As soon as I finished flouring and frying the eggplant, assembled the dish, and popped it in the oven, the front door opened.
“Hey, I’m here. And you wouldn’t believe what I found in New York.”
Mick walked toward the kitchen, a black duffel over his shoulder, wearing jeans and a leather jacket, his hair a mess. But somehow he still looked fresh, and not at all like he’d taken a day trip to New York.
“Hey, Mick,” Priscilla called from the stool.
“Don’t get up,” he told her.
“Hey,” I said as I walked close.
