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“Come on, Trent. You hardly get out of the house. And I bet you anything in my savings account you don’t have the Tinder app. How did you meet?”
“Work.”
“She’s in finance?”
Not even close. I cocked my head sideways. “Something like that. I trust this doesn’t change your commitment to Luna?” I tried to sound courteous and keep the edge off my voice.
Sonya frowned at this, reaching across her cluttered desk to tap my hand. “Absolutely not. I am one hundred percent committed to your daughter, and about eighty percent happy for you.”
“Eighty?” I quirked a brow.
“The other twenty is mostly jealous and bitter.” She laughed. I almost smiled at that.
After the session, I put Luna in her car seat and drove aimlessly for a while. It was too early to go back home and start our bedtime routine, and Luna liked small places, where she could watch, but not be seen. I didn’t know what it was about Edie that infuriated me. Maybe it was the fact that our introduction had started off with her trying to steal from my mother. Maybe because her dad was a racist, and I thought—hoped, even, because that would make things so much easier—that perhaps she was one, too. Or was it the fact that I knew she was after me—after my shit, after my secrets, after my neck?
Well, things had gotten out of hand.
And I hadn’t stopped them.
I should have, but I hadn’t.
She was eighteen. That was good. She was legal.
That was also bad. She was still too young to understand what all this meant.
If my daughter met a man twice her age and decided to be with him, I’d be losing my shit and going Gran Torino on his ass without so much as a blink.
Luckily for me, Edie didn’t have a loving father. She had Jordan Van Der Zee.
Luna kicked my seat, and I snapped my eyes to the rearview window, frowning.
“What’s up?”
She pointed at something outside the window. I shifted my gaze to see what she wanted. “Ice cream shop? Yeah, not happening.”
Two kicks. Then one more for the road.
“No junk food, kid. You know the drill.”
I was good at the technical stuff. I fed her a nutritious, well-balanced diet, made sure she got plenty of sleep, and the appropriate kind of intellectual stimulation. It was the personal stuff I was hopeless with.
Luna waved her tiny hands like she was screaming, making her point, and it occurred to me that she’d never tried to communicate with me like this before. Actively. A bullet of thrill shot to my stomach. It may have not looked like a breakthrough, but it felt like one. I found myself tapping my fingers on my steering wheel, trying to contain my excitement. The smile I was biting down was slipping out.
“Are you hungry, or just in the mood for something sweet?” I asked, my eyes glued to the rearview mirror. She huffed and threw one hand in the air, looking at me like I was an idiot.
“Sweet tooth, then. If you were hungry, you’d have kicked until you broke my back.”
Her smile was slight, but it was there. It was intoxicating.
I wanted to write her something. Something good. Something that would make Sonya proud.
Luna, Luna, Luna.
My tangled maze.
Show me the way to your beginning and your end.
To the exit point.
To your pure little soul.
“I’m going to make a suggestion, if I may.” I sniffed, rubbing my face with my hand to hide my stupid grin.
She shook her head, smirking. This time, I couldn’t help it. I laughed. My daughter had a fucking sense of humor, and it was lit.
“Little brat. It was a figure of speech. I wasn’t really asking. There’s a churro stand by our building. They also sell cinnamon pretzels. You’ve never had a churro, have you?”
She shook her head again.
“Well, we need to rectify that before social services takes you away from me for denying you everything good in this world. But—if you have a churro today, you don’t get any junk food until next week. That includes Sunday with Edie, and I don’t know what she’s got planned for us.”
Her eyes. Her fucking eyes. They looked like mine and they ignited like fireflies at night. They looked like the eyes of any four-year-old kid. Hopeful. She kicked steady, fast, eager kicks to my seat.
“Is this about the churro or about Edie?”
One kick.
“Kick once if it’s the churro, two if it’s Edie.”
Kick, kick. I sat back, brushing the steering wheel, feeling calm for the first time in years.
“Yeah, she’s going to come over on Sunday and spend some time with us. Hey, why does she call you Germs?”
I knew why, but wanted to try to get her to talk to me.
Luna looked perplexed. I’d stopped asking her questions which required her to talk or elaborate long ago. My mother said I was killing her with kindness by letting her not speak. I usually retorted that she had enough shit getting asked and poked by other people for me to nag her, too. I saw the wheels in Luna’s head turning. She was trying to figure out how to communicate to me. Usually she’d ignore me and move on. But for the first time ever, she wanted to tell me. Someone honked their horn behind us. I’d been too deep in the moment and had missed the green light. I didn’t give a fuck. The car lurched forward and swerved around us just as Luna opened her palms and waved them around.
