I nod. She’s not the only one.
“Not about the carjacking, but about your father. He was so…”
“Brave?”
“Yes. Absolutely. But that wasn’t the word I was searching for.” She pauses. “Determined. Reassuring. When he looked at me, Iknewwe were going to be okay. Iknew.” She wipes her tears. “And we were. Except”—she sniffles—“Hewasn’t.”
She’s full-on crying now. I should do what Hudson did for me, you know, hug her but I can’t. Instead, I step a little closer and say, “It’s okay, Sonia. It’s not your fault. My dad loved his job. He’d do the exact same thing again if he had the chance. He was just that kind of man.” Those words are all true. I’ve been in situations like this over the last year, where the person I am speaking with knew my father and are still gutted by what happened. It seems to be my job to reassure them. Strange that. I don’t mind, to be honest. It’s the least I can do to make sure people know the kind of man he was. It’s no lie. He would do what he did that day over and over again if it meant saving that little family.
Oh, dear. Her sobs are getting louder; people are starting to notice.
“What did you say to her?” Mrs. Adler sounds disgusted.
Her shadow, Monica, is right there with her hands on her tiny hips, adding, “It seems you cause a scene wherever you go. You need to leave.”
“For the love of God, Monica. This is none of your business.” Sonia wipes her face with her palm. “Willa is my guest. If you can’t play nice, perhapsyoushould leave.”
There’s a collective gasp in the room. Apparently, no one talks to Monica Fitzgerald that way.
And right at that moment. Sonia Andreesen just became my best friend. Well, my other best friend.
There’s a flurry of movement from our right. An older gentleman approaches. “No, Monica, Sonia didn’t mean anything by that.” He chuckles nervously. “Right, Sonia?”
She shakes her head. “I meant it.”
And there’s that gasp again.
“Well, I never.” Monica’s heads snaps back and her nose juts into air as she stomps off.
Even though I liked what Sonia said, I feel like I’m the one causing a problem. That’s not what this is supposed to be about. “I should go.”
“No.” Sonia frowns. “I want you to meet the girls.”
“Why don’t we plan something more informal?” I gesture for the exit with my thumb. “We need to head out.” Setting my daiquiri on a nearby table, I then grab Bonnie by the hand. “Give me a call sometime, Sonia.”
“I will.”
* * *
When my phonechimes on the El on the way home from the birthday party, I blink at the name on the screen. Hudson.
Hudson:I’m sorry about Monica and my mother.
I could say several things here. Like “You should be,” but I frown at that response. Instead, I go with.
Me:Not your fault.
Hudson:I’ve had it with both of them.
He’s not the only one. I don’t respond to his text though. I mean, what would I say?
Hudson:They’re out of hand.
Hudson:I miss you. Is that weird?
We’ve known each other a total of about two-point-five days. Hell, less than that if you consider the number of actual hours we’ve been together, but oddly, I miss him too. And no, it’s not because he’s rich and insanely gorgeous. It’s something else, it’s more personal and intangible. I feel comfortable around him. I’m not self-conscious when he puts his arm around me or takes my hand. I especially liked the kiss even if it was a simple kind of kiss. So, yeah. I get what he’s saying.
Me: Yes, It’s weird, you weirdo.
