Dumbfounded, I stand there watching the three of them walk down my driveway.
“You okay, Joner?”
I snap out of it. “Yeah. No. I don’t know.” We start back toward the house. “Remember that former professor I told you I hooked up with at Strip Tease? That’s her.”
Joaquín whips around to steal another look. “Really? Dude, you are punching up—and I don’t just mean in the age bracket. Ella es bonitaaaa.”
“Yo sé.”
“Think you’ll hook up again?”
Side by side we climb the stone porch stairs, and I clap him on the shoulder, grinning like a man with fate on his side. “That’s a sure bet.”
Chapter 5
A Controlled Life
Renée
Iusher the girls into our backyard, out of sight of the last person I expected to be our new neighbor, and the last person I wanted to run into.
“Mom, can we play restaurant?”
All I can do is nod in response, too in shock by what just happened. My girls leave for their tiny outdoor kitchen—a child’s size table with a bucket sink next to the smallest garden bed ever, but it’s the only one I could fit in this yard.
I busy myself with dishes inside and listen to the girls play in the backyard.
I should have listened to the blaring voice of reason that warned me hooking up with my former student, no matter how attractive he is, was a supremely stupid idea. Curiosity and desire spiked as I watched him dance that night. I had no intention of hooking up with him, but once my plans fell through, and my sister, Amber, discovered who he was, there was no stopping our inevitable end. As much as I would like to deny it, I had an incredible time. I wanted more of him, but I needed a clean break, and nothing was going to prevent that.
As the girls prepare their “restaurant,” Delta patiently shows her younger sister how to pick just the weeds from the garden. Lo listens and follows along. Not for the first time, I imagine what Lo might say back to her older sister. Delta is nine, and Lo is seven, but for the past two years—ever since their father died—Lo hasn’t spoken aword.
Not a day goes by that I don’t ache to hear her voice.
Her father—my late husband—is another story. Missing him isn’t something I struggle with. Not in the least.
The back slider opens, and Delta’s bubbly voice fills the kitchen. “—and his name is Jonah, and he’s going to come over and see my new bike!”
“Is he?” Amber says with a smile. She’s still in her country club uniform, and judging by the polo and khaki shorts, I’d guess she worked the drink cart on the golf course today.
A few loose strands of her strawberry-blonde hair fall down her freckled neck from her high bun. I had a similar build before kids—short, slimmer, cute as a button, if I say so myself. Now, at thirty-eight, with two kids, a job, and bills piling up, staying in shape isn’t a high priority, or even doable anymore. And that’s fine. My body has served me well, and she’s beautiful, stretch marks and all.
Amber has been living with us ever since Greg died, and I don’t think I could survive without her. Flighty as she is, she’s the most loyal person I know. She will cancel plans at the drop of a hat, but if it involves me or my daughters, she’s locked in and confirmed. If it’s anyone else, she doesn’t care if she bails; it’s no sweat off her back.
When Amber came back into my life, it was at a time we both needed each other. She had been in and out of drug rehab and was financially cut off from our parents. The day I called and asked for her help, after nearly a decade of not speaking, she made a plan—a commitment—to get clean for herself and for us.
I’m so thankful, and so proud of her.
My sister grins at me. “You met the new neighbor? What’s he look like? He must be loaded to buy that place. I wonder if he’s a member of the country club.”
Before I can warn her in some adult-coded way, Delta’s chirping. “He’s a man, and he has long hair like yours, AuntAmber. And he said he likes cookies, so Lo and I are gonna make him more. Do you wanna help us bake cookies in our restaurant?”
“I do. You know I’m always offering my help in the kitchen at work, but our pastry chef, Pierre, is still mad at me for losing my Band-Aid in the big mixer of chocolate mousse. Can you believe that? One stupid Band-Aid. My finger wasn’t even bleeding anymore. I don’t know what he’s so upset about. It’s like the kiss we shared after the staff wine tasting last year means nothing to him. But can I be honest with you? If he wanted to kiss me again, I’d let him. I like his little mustache.”
“You kissed a boy?”
“No, a very temperamental man who plays with chocolate all day. Now go outside and get your kitchen in order. I’m gonna change and talk to your mom for a minute, and then I’ll join you.”
“Okay!” The girls leave us without another thought and race to their restaurant.
