“What do you mean, Ava?” I ask in my most soothingI carevoice.
“She’s been keeping secrets for years, for my whole life,” she tells me. “You say you know her… well, you can tell her I know all about her secrets.”
“What secrets?” I ask, although I know exactly what she’s alluding to. I just want her to say the words out loud.
“She has no clue what I’m going through,” she says, full of emotion. “I love my dad more than anyone in the fucking world. He’s my whole life, and he’s not even…” Her words trail off again. “I’m in an impossible situation. I want to talk to him, but I don’t want to hurt him. And I can’t bear to talk to my mom because once she tells me, it will all be real.”
“What will be real, Ava?”
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Mischa, but I gotta go. I don’t even know you.”
“No, you don’t.”
She grabs her bag and her bottle of iced tea.
“Thank you for speaking to me, Ava. I appreciate it.”
“No problem,.” she says, and she’s off and out the door. A group of young kids enter as she leaves and before I know it, she’s out of view.
She knows. She knows Joel is not her biological father. I have no clue how she knows, but she does.
Joel needs to know. And so does Renee.
35
Idon’t finish my iced tea. I hurry to catch another bus, heading north, not too far. The bus is packed and I’m sandwiched between an elderly woman and a young guy playing a video game on his phone. Yes, I’m thirty-six and taking the bus. I sigh.
Usually, not driving is not a big deal, but my obsession has brought me farther from home lately and I’ve felt the inconvenience more than ever. When I finally exit the bus, along with a few others, I stare up at the blue sky for a second or two in appreciation.
I’ve been here three times now. I’m not planning to try on or buy anything today. No pretenses — I’m here for one reason and one reason only — to speak with Renee. The door chimes as I enter. Grant is at the counter, going over some papers. There appears to be only one other customer in the store. Renee is nowhere in sight.
Grant glances up from his papers. His smile is playful. “How are you?”
I wonder if he greets every woman who steps into the store like this. I’m sure he does — it must be part of the whole sales strategy. His smile is infectious. I’ve not uttered a single word to him, yet I can tell he’s a charmer. I see what Renee sees in him. But he’s no match for Joel in my opinion. The one thing he has that Joel doesn’t is the element of taboo. He’s not part of the day-to-day monotony; school lunches, grocery shopping, laundry, all that comes with child rearing. There’s nothing sexy about that. As co-parents, we cannot give all our energy to our spouses — they must settle for a fraction of our attention. And a lover will give you their undivided attention and adoration. When you’re with them, there are no bills, no garbage pickups, and no disputes over child-rearing. It’s all fun and games. How is Joel meant to compete with that? And there’s the thrill of doing something naughty and secretive, the excitement of possibly getting caught. Some women get wet for that shit.
“Can I help you?” he asks. I glance down and peruse his clothes — the man is stylish; short-sleeved button shirt and pressed pants.
“Yes, you can actually. I’m looking for Renee. Is she around?”
He smiles. “She sure is. She’s downstairs taking some photos for our social media.” He reaches for his phone. “I’ll shoot her a text.”
“Thank you.” I turn from him — I have no desire to engage in small talk with this Casanova. I run my fingers over the rack of short sleeved tops. A few catch my eye but I’m not here to shop today. As soon as I hear the click of Renee’s heels, I turn to see her expression, wide eyed, brows a straight line — she’s not particularly happy to see me.
“Hi, Renee,” I offer cheerfully. “How are you today?”
Her smile is forced. “I’m fine. And you?”
I get right to it. “I thought we could talk. Is there somewhere private here?”
She arches her perfectly shaped brow, intrigued. “Sure, follow me.”
I trail her down the stairs to the bottom level. There are racks and boxes of clothing, a small photography studio set up, an office area, and a loveseat in the corner.
She turns her head to the pretty floral dress and white sandals set up on the floor. There is a bouquet of fake lilies artfully positioned. “I was just in the middle of shooting some stuff for social media,” she tells me. “It really helps with the sales.”
“Yes, I’ve seen your Instagram. It’s awesome.”
She smiles as she motions me to the loveseat, a comfy looking contemporary sofa for two. A vision of her and Grant sprawled across it, naked, flashes before my eyes. He’s entering her from behind, and her long blonde hair falls over the arm of the sofa. I don’t know why such images creep up in my head sometimes — they both disturb and arouse me.
