I walk to the bathroom, turning on the faucet and going to the bathroom before coming back out and washing my face. I twist my hair in the back and pin it up with a clip before I walk into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee machine and stopping in my tracks when I see the white note right next to the machine. I take a step toward it like there is a land mine ready to explode. Once I get to the counter, I pick up the note and try not to smile down at it.
Victoria-
Had a meeting early this morning. Sorry to sneak out.
I cleaned up the ice cream, but I didn’t want to wake you.
You might want to clean it again.
Z
I turn now and look out the big glass window at the blue sky with the sun shining down. I shake my head, a small smile now playing on my lips, and place the paper back down on the counter. I go over and make my coffee when the phone rings, and I rush to my bedroom to get it, seeing it’s my father FaceTiming me. “Good morning,” I say once his face comes onto the screen.
“Good afternoon,” he replies and I look back over my shoulder at the clock on the stove and see it’s almost fucking noon. “Did you just get up?”
“I actually did,” I admit, walking to the fridge to grab the milk. Going over to the milk frothing machine, I pour some in before pressing the button. “I guess I was more tired than I thought I was.”
“You are pushing yourself too much at work.” My father’s voice is filled with worry.
“Every single time I talk to you, you are at your desk.” His eyebrows pinch together.
“Who are you talking to, Manning?” I hear my mother come into the room and then her face is next to his and she smiles at me. “Hey, sweetheart.” My parents met unconventionally one night when my mother went to her best friend’s bachelorette party and my father was there. They locked eyes and had a one-night thing. There was just a little problem, besides my mother sneaking out on him and not telling him her name, my dad was in a loveless marriage and had been trying to divorce his wife for years. She refused to give him a divorce and used Jaxon as a pawn against him.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, pouring the milk in my cup and heading out to the balcony to have my coffee.
“You look tired, honey,” she observes, and I laugh.
“Is that your way of saying, ‘honey, you look like shit’?” I sit down on the outside couch, curling my feet under me, taking a sip of my coffee.
“No.” She laughs.
“You could never look like shit,” my father interjects and then looks at my mother. “You look exactly like your mother, and she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” She looks at him.
“Should I hang up now so you guys can make out, or do you think you can relax whatever it is you are telling each other via your eyeballs?” They laugh and he leans in and kisses her and then moves his head to her ear and whispers something to her. “My own eyeballs are going to need bleaching.” I point to my eyes, which makes them laugh even more. He puts his arm around her and pulls her to him, kissing her head. “Did you guys call me to do this?” I ask them.
“I called to check up on you,” my father replies. “We’re going to be coming down to visit soon.”
“Shocking,” I reply, taking a sip of my coffee as I listen to the water crash onto the shore, “since you were here, what was it, two weeks ago.”
“Our grandchild is there,” my mother snaps and I roll my eyes. Even though Jaxon isn’t her biological child, she calls him her son and treats him like it too. Their bond is sometimes stronger than my bond with her.
“And your children,” I mention of Jaxon and me. “Are you bringing my sister with you?” I ask them and they shrug. “Last time you guys came here without her, you kept getting notifications from the Ring cam that showed she had a rager.”
“It was not a rager,” my father defends her, “it was a quaint get-together.”
I snort, laughing at him. “There were fifty people, and some of them were boys,” I whisper out the last word and he glares at me.
“Stop goading your father.” My mother looks at him as he bites down and his jaw gets tight. “She’s a good kid.”
“I was a good kid.” I point to myself and they both snort and my father even pffts.
“You were a spoiled brat,” he retorts, and my mouth opens. “You literally put a padlock on your door when you moved out of here to go live in LA and still haven’t given us the code for it.” I did, in fact, have the best bedroom anyone could have asked for. I even had a sitting room, and I will be holding onto it until they pry it from my cold dead hands, and even then I would probably come back and haunt whoever was in that room.
“That is my private, personal space and I don’t want anyone going in there,” I defend myself. “It’s my room. What are you going to do with it?”
“I’ve always wanted a glam room,” my mother says and now I’m the one pffting out. “I could start to put on makeup and do the whole glam thing.” She glares at me. “Anyway, we’re coming down and we are going to have Sunday dinner, so don’t make any plans.”
“I literally work and then come home,” I tell them. “I have the saddest social life of all time. My best friend is a one-year-old kid that still pees his pants.” I laugh and take another sip of my coffee. “Now thanks for making me depressed on a Sunday. I’m going to let you go and then go take a workout class.” I blow kisses to the phone and then hang up on them. I look out into the horizon at the calmness of the water far beyond, and then marvel at how it rolls up and hits the shore.
