He looks surprised. “It was a good day,” he says.
I try to force a smile instead of getting emotional; there’s no point in being desperately grateful that he stuck around for an afternoon if he’s not planning to do it again. “Well, for the record, I thought your Wicked Witch of the West was brilliant.”
“I believe that’s known in theater circles as getting mixed reviews.”
I look out the window. If he is deciding between getting back together with a cute blonde dancer or an overworked single mother, I can’t blame him for choosing the simpler option.
He glances at me. “You can rely on people, you know,” he says gently.
“Thank you.” My voice is so quiet that I am not sure he hears me.
Ollie’s god-tierparking skills are still in effect when he arrives on my street and finds an available space thirty feet from our front door.
Hannah is still asleep—or feigning it, more likely—so I pick her up while Ollie grabs our cooler. Hannah blinks herself awake on my shoulder, then squeezes her eyes shut, ready to hitch a ride by pretending she’s still out cold. Ollie offers to take her, but I shake my head. I get a vision in my head of some future where I could just hand her off to him and think it was the most natural thing in the world, and the thought feels dangerous. Don’t get addicted to that idea, I tell myself firmly. You’re an addict; don’t get drunk on a fantasy of happiness. You know where that leads.
As we approach the building, I notice a motorcycle parked right outside my building in the usual no-parking zone. I stop walking entirely when I see who is leaning against it, looking at his cell phone. Hannah senses my tension and sits up.
“What’s wrong?” Ollie asks, but Hannah is already sliding herself out of my arms.
“Daddy!” she calls, running forward.
Nick glances up and then throws his arms out to Hannah. “Baby!” he calls. He is wearing another one of his ‘bad boy rebel’ outfits: signature cowboy boots, tight black t-shirt stretchedacross his chest, dark jeans. He looks stupidly handsome; that’s one reason he’s gotten away with so much over the years.
Ollie lingers behind as I step forward.
“Hey, Nick.” My arms fold across my chest out of habit.
“Laur,” he says, his eyes flickering to Ollie and then back again, “sorry to drop in like this. I was staying with a friend in Philly when I got the news that I booked the tour with The Big Lie. I borrowed his bike to drive up and tell you.”
I know the band—it is the same one that hired him as a replacement guitarist during Hannah’s April break. They are a successful rock band, their sound a pop/alt-rock hybrid somewhere between the All-American Rejects and The Strokes, and much more mainstream than anything Nick has booked before. Their lead guitarist made the tabloids a couple of months ago when he went to rehab, and Nick filled in for a couple of shows.
“That’s great news,” I say kindly, because it is, and I’m not going to deny Nick this victory. I can sense Ollie’s tension as he stands nearby.
“I’m officially part of the band, too,” Nick goes on. “Not second guitar, not filling in… I’m lead guitar player for the next few months while they see what’s happening with Theo.”
“Congratulations. That’s fantastic, Nick.”
Hannah eyes him curiously. “Will you be in New York?” Hannah knows how to cut to the chase.
“Well,” he shrugs, “we have a couple of dates here, yeah. I won’t be around much this summer, but I can take you on tour with me for a while if your mom is okay with it.” He looks at me. “We can get a nanny for her or something, if you have work.”
A nanny? That means Nick will be making real money. Nick glances again at Ollie, who finally steps forward.
“Nick Marceau,” Nick says, putting out his hand. Of course he’s going to mention his last name, because it is still my last name.
“Oliver MacCormack.”
Nick shakes his hand, his eyes drifting to me again, an unspoken question there.
“I’ll just say good-bye to Ollie,” I say, letting Hannah continue to pepper her father with questions.
Ollie and I step a few feet away and he politely hands me the cooler. Part of me thinks I can read Ollie’s mind perfectly: the irony, the awareness that Nick is handsome, the fact that Nick has finally ‘hit it big’ and decided to show up immediately.
“Is this where I tellyounot to worry?” I ask, trying to sound teasing.
He smiles flatly and leans forward slightly. “You don’t owe me anything,” he says quietly.
That’s the exact wrong thing for him to be thinking, but I can’t come up with a way to convince him of that in front of my ex-husband. “Thank you for today. It was nice.”
