I pour the last of the wine into my glass. “It was Dad.”
“He’s canceling again,” she says.
I try to put my hand on her back, but she wriggles away. “I’m sorry, sweetie. He’s going to call you later and talk about it. But you and I can still go to the show tomorrow, if you’re up for it.”
“Mm-hmm.” Emme picks up her spoon and looks down into her bowl, pushing the remnants of her chili around in a swirling pattern. I always think she looks like a baby at this angle, all cheek and lash. I wish I could gather her up in my arms. I would, if she didn’t clearly want some space, if I wasn’t afraid of embarrassing her in front of Gracie.
From across the table, I catch Reid sink back in his chair and cross his arms over his chest like he’s holding something in. I lift my shoulders at him:This is how it goes.To which he tilts his head and huffs a laugh under his breath:Jerk.
“Which show were you planning to see?” Reid directs this question at Emme, but she gives no indication of responding. She’s stewing, separating the corn kernels from the kidney beans inside her bowl.
“& Juliet,” I say.
“Supposed to be great, I hear.” Reid glances over at Gracie. Her cards are still fanned, and she’s observing this exchange like a tennis match. “Why don’t Gracie and I see if we can get tickets, tag along? I haven’t taken her to a Broadway show yet. It’s a gross oversight in her New York education.”
“Musicals make me want to die,” Gracie responds. Reid shoots her a look. She puts her cards down and sighs. “But I am here to collect new experiences, so I would be willing to sacrifice myself. For the plot.”
I like this idea—of course I like this idea—and I know Reid has the best intentions in proposing it. But I’m notconfident that Emme will feel the same. She tries to take her disappointment in stride, but from the way she’s shutting down, I know she’s struggling to bounce back.
And even if she says she likes him, Reid is not going to take the edge off her dad bailing on her.
“Em?” I ask her as gently as I can, not wanting my own feelings to interfere.
Emme drops her spoon in her bowl. “I don’t know. I don’t think I want to go anymore.”
When she finally looks at me, there’s a pleading in her eyes—she wants me to take her out of this situation. I’ve pushed her too far.
“That’s OK,” I say. Then, to Reid, “We’ll let you and Gracie have your time together tomorrow. We’ve taken up way too much of it already.”
His single parent’s sixth sense activated, Reid nods, then looks at his watch and reminds Gracie that they’re getting up early tomorrow to hit the Met when it opens, before the crowds flood in.
The mood is notably subdued as we clean up, but Emme, allergic to dead air, makes a heroic effort at small talk.
Before they leave, Emme shows Gracie to the bathroom, leaving Reid and me alone in the kitchen. I head over to the sink to soak the soup pot. He comes up behind me and pulls my hair over one shoulder, grazing a light kiss over my neck.
“I think I pushed a boundary there,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
The sensation of him behind me, the insistence of his touch, the gentleness with which he handles me... it’ssuddenly too overwhelming, heightening the warring desires within me. I want him, but I worry that the wanting threatens the fragile equilibrium I’ve established for my life, for Emme’s.
I step to the side, subtly extricating myself from his hold, though it pains me to leave his orbit. Gracefully, he takes another step in the other direction, creating more space between us.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “This stuff with her dad... it’s complicated. For me and for her. She puts him on a pedestal, but then he turns around and does things like this. It’s hard for her to square who he is in her head with who he is.” I shake my head, becoming more and more agitated. “I’ve been trying to protect Emme, but I’m worried that it’s done more harm than good. I don’t want her to be delusional about people, believing the best in everyone, then being burned when they show their true colors.”
Reid is quiet for a beat. “I’m really trying not to have opinions about your ex right now.”
There’s something... not quite distant in his voice, but hard. Assertive. Clearly, he’s been sitting on these feelings, calculating whether to share them or keep stewing.
“But you do,” I say.
“Of course I do. The guy consistently disappoints his kid, and you’re the one who has to clean up the mess.” He shakes his head, then leans against the island, closer to me. “I’m sorry. I might be overstepping here. Again. I just... our girls have been through some tough stuff.”
I feel my stress levels ratcheting up in response to theway he says this, so plainly, the pressure valve in me threatening to break. And then it does, before I can recalibrate it. “Reid, I can’t do this. Play house with you.” It comes out angrier than I’d expected. “We’re the parents, and this kind of thing—we’re making their lives harder.” As soon as the words escape my mouth, I wish I could stuff them back in. I hadn’t meant for them to sound like an assault on Reid’s own judgments. But from the way his expression collapses and his arms fold protectively over his chest, I know he feels the sting.
“I’m sorry,” I say, scrambling to salvage what I can. “That came out worse than I meant it. I just meant...”
“No, Lil. I think you meant exactly what you said.” Reid’s voice is quiet now, but there’s steel underneath it. He straightens, putting more distance between us. “Maybe it’s for the best that things aren’t going to work out tomorrow.”
The tenderness from moments before has evaporated, replaced by something raw, edged with hurt.
