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“How are you?” Shey asks. “How’s Eva? You sounded pretty upset earlier.”
I sigh as I watch Eva dance along the water’s edge. “She wants to be popular. She wants to be part of the in crowd, and it’s not a very nice little clique.”
“It never is.”
“And right now, nothing I know, nothing I suggest, seems to help. Right now, being me seems to make everything worse.”
Shey grimaces. “The life of a mother.”
“But we’ve never had these problems before. My daughter once liked me.”
“She loves you, Marta.”
“She was screaming at me today, screaming at the top of her lungs.”
“She’s growing up.”
“She’s nine.”
“That’s what I mean. We’re entering the preteen years, and you have a girl. It’s only going to get harder.”
“You’re not making me feel any better.”
“I don’t think you will. Not until she turns twenty-five.”
“You’re just feeling smug because you have three boys.”
“I’m feeling smug because they’re with their dad.” Shey stretches her arms above her head and sighs deeply, appreciatively. “God, it’s a beautiful night. You’re here and I don’t have to work. This is my idea of heaven.”
“You’re not missing your guys?”
Shey shoots me a look as if to say I’m crazy. “I love it when they all go. Get those stinky boy germs out of the house and indulge in all the girlie things I want to do. Bubble baths. Pedicures. Chick flicks on DirecTV.”
I lean back on the grass, consider Eva, who has sunk to her knees to begin scooping sand and pebbles into a little mound.
With her long black hair swirling with the wind and her long smooth child arms trailing along the sand, my own heart catches, overcome by love, love, love.
Stop the clock, I think, freeze everything right now. I want to remember this—this second, this moment—forever. I want to remember how lucky I was, how lucky I am.
And I want Eva safe, I don’t want her to struggle, and I don’t want to worry about her so much.
Shey shoots me a speculative side glance. “That’s a pretty heavy sigh.”
Had I even sighed? I didn’t realize. “Was it this hard when we were in school?” I ask, making a little face.
“Probably. You just didn’t happen to notice because you were the one making all the girls’ lives miserable.”
“I wasn’t.”
Shey rolls her eyes. “Did you or did you not live with your middle finger raised, your own little American flag flipping everyone off?”
I laugh softly. She’s right. I did. I couldn’t help it. I could skate, ski, and snowboard better than most guys, and no girl could come close to doing what I could do. I took ridiculous chances, lived dangerously, pushing the ex in extreme. And if any girl dared to make a snide remark, I was pretty damn comfortable giving her a smack-down.
Shey drains her water and puts the plastic cap back on the empty bottle. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m starving. How about we go find some dinner?”
Eva falls asleep in the car on the way home from the restaurant. We ended up having nearly an hour wait for our table, and service was slow, which meant we didn’t even eat until close to ten-thirty.
Back at the lake cabin, Shey parks the car and I try to wake my zonked-out girl. She doesn’t even stir. I end up scooping her up and carry her into the bedroom she’s sharing with me.
Shey pulls back the cover while I lay Eva on the exposed bottom sheet. After covering her, I lightly kiss the top of her head and smooth the cover once more over her shoulder.
“You better keep her grounded,” Shey whispers as we tiptoe out. “Because she’s going to be a knockout later.”
“You say that because you’re her godmother.”
“I say that because I own a modeling agency and have worked with Tyra Banks for four seasons on America’s Next Top Model.”
We wander into the cabin’s kitchen, where Shey uncorks a wine bottle and fills our glasses. “And she’s got you for a mom,” she adds. “You’re not exactly hard on the eyes, if you know what I mean.”
“Looks might get you a good table at a Manhattan hot spot, but they don’t guarantee happiness.”
“Touché.” Wine in hand, Shey goes into the small rustic living room, drops onto the couch, and stretches out her long legs, then runs a hand through her thick, shoulder-length, strawberry blond hair. “I could get work for you two, you know. I get lots of calls for mother-daughter teams on the West Coast—”
“No.”
“You used to model.”
“For one blink of an eye, and I hated it.”
“You were amazing.”
“I still hated it.”
“Let Eva model and she’ll be very popular.”
“Now I hate you.” I make a hideous face at her. “That’s such a sellout, and I will not sell out.”
“That’s right. Take the hard, high road. That’s so much more satisfying,” Shey mocks me, her eyebrows arched, eyes lit with mischief.
I lift my wineglass, salute her. “Life’s about the journey, not the destination.”
“That’s because you haven’t picked a very fun destination.”
“Feck off.”
She just laughs her throaty laugh.
I love Shey. I love her humor, her spirit, her feistiness. And I love most of all that she refuses to let me take myself too seriously. Every time I get up on my soapbox, she just cheerfully knocks me off.
Damn Gaelic fairy.
Drinks like a fish, eats like a linebacker, and is as tall and delicate as a prima ballerina.
I’d have to hate her if she weren’t so wonderful.
Wineglass in hand, I join her in the living room. “You took the only good place to sit, you know.”
She pats the saggy cushion next to her. “Come sit next to me, baby.”
“Don’t try anything.”
“You wish.”
I laugh and sink into the saggy cushions. It feels good to
just sit and relax.
I sip my wine and tilt my head back, and the wine’s warm and feels so good in my mouth, throat, going down. It’s a big robust red and perfect for a night like this. “You’ve always had excellent taste in wine.”
“John educated me,” she says, referring to her husband of thirteen years. Shey and John met on a shoot and they’ve been together ever since. “He said I can’t skate through life on my good looks alone.”
“Thank God for that. Otherwise you’d be useless. Over five feet eleven and bonier than hell.”
Shey’s laugh is low and husky. It’s one of my favorite sounds in the world, and I open my mouth to tell her how damn glad I am to see her, how much I needed this time together, but that lump is back, the one that makes me doubt myself.
It’s been tough moving back to Seattle.
Leaving New York, leaving her, leaving everything that was good and comfortable, has really thrown a curveball into my confidence.
I’ve begun to feel more like Loser Mom instead of Super Mom.
I’d planned on being a single parent, but there are times—days—when I’m just so bewildered by all that isn’t what I thought, knew, dreamed, expected.
I knew I’d love Eva, and I’d hoped Eva would love me, but I didn’t realize that Eva would have problems I wouldn’t be able to help her with.
“I saw him,” Shey says quietly, laughter gone. “For a minute I wasn’t sure it was him, but it was.” She turns to look at me. “He’s still with her. They were together. The kids were there, too.”
I would like to pretend that I don’t know who or what she’s talking about, but Shey and I don’t have that kind of friendship. Our relationship is quick, sharp, honest, real. “How does he look?” I ask, my insides tangling, emotions suddenly chaotic.
“Good.” Shey presses her lips, tries to smile, but her expression is tender, protective. “You did the right thing, Ta. You did.”
