Page 2 of Every Time We Touch

“Extremely happy,” Juan, wiggling his eyebrows, is quick to say.

“Ugh.” Austin makes the exact barf sound I want to make as well.

“That’s not a question for us to answer,” Heather says, to my dismay. We usually agree on everything, despite our lives being so different. She has two young kids and a husband. “Only Dad knows that.”

The bell rings and the energy shifts. Mom gets up to open the door to her ex-husband. Their marriage was hardly a textbook one, but they’ve remained close, hence him introducing us to Clancy at her house—maybe he considers it neutral territory.

I take a few deep breaths. I can be against this relationship all I want, but he’s still my dad and, in the end, my opinion won’t matter all that much. I hear footsteps as they approach, accompanied by upbeat chatter.

My father walks in, hand in hand with a woman whose pictures on the internet don’t do her justice whatsoever. Her complexion is a soft golden-brown that catches the light in all the right ways, her body sculpted by years of dancing, her shoulders deliciously broad.

Hot damn.

“Kids,” Dad says. “Please, meet Clancy. Be nice to her. No funny business, please.” This is also my dad, of course. The parent who could defuse an argument between his children with just a few choice words and a targeted look. He was never overly strict, but he oozes a sort of charming kindness that’s impossible to ignore. Eric St James is, very simply, a warm, decent guy down to his bones. It’s hard to hold anything against him. And it was even harder to watch him fall apart after his second wife left him.

The advantage of having three siblings who are all in relationships is that it makes it easy to hide in the small crowd gathered at my mother’s table. Austin pulls out the chair next to his for Clancy. Lauren pours her some coffee while her husband can barely keep his eyes from popping out of their sockets. Juan does his Juan-thing that wins everyone over in a matter of seconds—we’ve had many discussions about it at this very table but none of us can quite explain what it is he does exactly; only conclude that it works.

Then, we’re all sitting around the table, chattering away as if it’s any other Sunday, which, in my view, it’s decidedly not. I’m clearly outnumbered by my siblings when it comes to feeling resentful about this situation. My dad sits there beaming as though he’s just won the lottery instead of having separated from a woman he loved for twenty years. I would too, if that breathtaking person was my new girlfriend. With those high cheekbones and that sharp jawline, she should be intimidating, but Clancy Estevez is all warmth and gregariousness. She’s striking and pleasant—that becomes clear after only fifteen minutes at the table with us.

How am I going to hate her now?

Chapter 2

Clancy

If it had been up to me, I wouldn’t be here right now, meeting Eric’s children, two of whom are the same age as me. I told him it was too soon, but he said nothing’s too soon when you’re seventy and I didn’t really have a counterargument for that.

We’ve only been seeing each other for two months, but I’m just going with the flow. It hardly takes a degree in psychology to see how happy it makes him to bring me here. I get it. He’s still fragile from his divorce and wants to flaunt me—craves that boost to his ego.

The St James kids are lovely. The vibe is a bit unhinged because there are so many of them, talking over each other while also tending to three adorable grandkids. And then there’s Nora Levine—a legend for my generation. When Eric and I just started dating and he told me his first wife was in a relationship with Nora, my interest in him increased. For some reason that can never be fully explained—unless you’re writing an essay about celebrity culture in the nineties—it made me want to see him again even more. Not that I needed much persuading because Eric St James is quite a catch. Discovering on our second date that we share a fondness for old French movies was an unexpected bonus.

The only one who has a somewhat persistent scowl on her face is Jennifer—or is it Heather? They’re not identical twins but Eric has three daughters and this situation is rather stressful—no matter how much of a go-with-the-flow girl I am. But I’m a dancer and a teacher, which makes me skilled at being engaging as well as charming in tense situations.

“How long has this been going on?” Jennifer—I think—asks, pointing at me then at Eric as though questioning the freshness of a food item on the table.

“Jen, come on,” the sister who looks the most like her says.

“What?” Jennifer says. “It’s a totally fair question when a parent brings home a new significant other.”

“It’s fine,” Eric says. “It’s been what?” He curls an arm around my shoulders. “Three amazing months now?”

I lean into him, smiling. “Two,” I correct him.

“Didn’t we meet at Stella and Kate Flack’s house once?” Nora asks.

We sure did, although ‘meet’ might be too big a word for the couple of words I exchanged with Nora that evening. But this is LA and that’s what ‘meeting someone’ means here. “Yes. That’s right⁠—”

“Where was I?” Mimi, the ex-wife and mother of Eric’s kids, cuts me off. She looks at me through squinted eyes, as though she might remember me from somewhere.

“Probably working, babe,” Nora says.

I don’t take offense at being interrupted. It’s how the people at this table talk to each other—and express affection.

“And you’re a dancer?” Jennifer again.

“She has her own dance school—” Eric tries to say, only to be rebuffed by all four of his kids at once for not letting me speak for myself.

“Sorry.” Eric holds up his hands. “Can you imagine what it was like to raise these four?” There’s nothing but warmth in his voice. I know today is important to him, although I can’t predict what might happen if his kids—or even just one of them—were to disapprove of me.