My hands hover over my keyboard, heart pounding. When I say yes, this will be real. I push back feelings about Ellis, about his enthusiastic and awed touch when we slept together. His face when I told him my mom died on my eighth birthday.
This is my future opening up for me, like Mar said. I type quickly:
Do it, then.
Another pause, and I wonder if I was being a bit too much. But he responds:
Dinner this weekend?
I’m babysitting my friends’ kids all weekend. Maybe Sunday night?
Or I can help?
It’s very sweet but I’m not sure that’s a great idea.
Very unromantic first date. Let’s keep to Sunday?
Sure. Should I steer us or do you have a spot you want to try?
There is just something so incredibly nice about a man who just makes a plan and follows through.
I love all food. You pick.
Okay. Will send you details EOD. Looking forward to it.
I heart the message and leave it at that.
24
The weather is perfect that weekend, so I take Ozzie and Mica to Echo Park Lake to ride the swan paddleboats. The sky is a pale blue, the clouds are gauzy, and the lake and surrounding park are filled with couples and families enjoying the day. The small man-made lake gleams dark blue, and a breeze kicks up the mist off the giant fountain set into the middle of it all.
We’re in line, both of the kids eating paletas like they’ve never had sugar before—Ozzie’s strawberry one staining her mouth red already. I’m slowly working on my mango one dipped in Tajín, enjoying the warm sun mixed with the cool breeze. I always relish the days leading up to our endless summer, making the most of lightweight jackets and closed-toe shoes before I have to wear linen for months.
“I don’t want to wear a hat,” Ozzie complains in her little lavender bucket hat embroidered with a sloth.
She makes a move to take it off with a grubby, red-stained hand, but I grasp it just in time. “Hey, hey, your mom will never let me near you again if you come back with a sunburn on your perfect little nose,” I say as I bop it for good measure. She giggles. The routine for leaving Marcella’s house is insane. Everyone slathers onsunscreen over every inch of their skin no matter what the activity, and no one leaves the house without grabbing a hat. I don’t think kids today have had the sun touch their uncovered skin since birth.
Mica jumps from foot to foot. “Can I be the one to pedal?” The sugar’s hitting this one hard.
“You can definitely beoneof them,” I say diplomatically. “It takes two to party.”
“Will Mama and Daddy be sad they couldn’t pedal?” Ozzie asks, dark brown eyes big and imploring.
“No, they will be quite happy for us.”Mama and Daddy are currently day-drinking their way through the central coast.Just then, a plop of Tajín lands on my white jeans somehow. “Oh, crap.” When I bend over to wipe it off, a small dog comes bounding at me—salt-and-pepper fur with floppy black ears, lolling tongue, and trailing leash—and literally licks it off my leg. “What is even—!”
“Pickle!”
The dog looks behind itself with a naughty little wiggle. When I look up to see the dog’s owner, I almost fall over.
It’s Ellis. He’s running toward us, a pretty girl keeping up with him. His eyes are on the dog, and he doesn’t realize I’m there until he’s gotten ahold of the dog’s leash.
My insides churn at the sight of him. It’s like being dropped into a roller coaster seeing him this way. He looks so good—the breeze ruffling that head of hair, his black sunglasses perched on the strong bridge of his nose. When his head tilts toward me, all the angles of his face feel like a physical attack.
“Cass?” He’s shocked when he notices me.
I try and hide my utter devastation at his mere presence. “Is this your dog?”
“Yeah.” He reaches down and scoops the wriggly gray-and-white fluff in his arms. “Sorry, Pickle’s new. Still trying to train him.”
