Billie walked back in, a twin on each side, wearing a smile that cracked the walls that had been built up around my heart for so long I forgot they were there, and sing-songed, “Dinner.”
She was still everything, twenty years did nothing to dull her effect on me or build up my immunity. In fact, it might be even worse. I was so fucked.
9
BILLIE
“Can Billie read our bedtime books?”Joey asked, wrapping both arms around my leg as if I might float away if she didn’t anchor me to the living room rug. Her backpack had already been abandoned on the floor, and her socks, mismatched and pilled at the heels, peeked out from the cuffs of pajama pants decorated with cartoon narwhals she’d chosen after her bath.
“Please?” Andi echoed, her hands pressed together beneath her chin in a gesture of exaggerated prayer.
Adam, who had been fighting to keep his eyelids open ever since we finished dinner, managed a weary smile. The effort seemed to cost him, lines deepened at the corners of his eyes, and his posture slumped incrementally with every exhale. He looked like someone who had just run a marathon and discovered, at the finish line, that the house was on fire.
I glanced between the girls, then at Adam, then back to the girls. There was no way I could leave him like this, as if he might collapse from emotional exhaustion if someone didn’t step in to take over. As I watched him practically melt into the cushions, it suddenly struck me as miraculous that anyonesurvived childhood with both parents still upright, much less single parents.
I wondered, not for the first time that evening, how Genesis Milan was going to respond to this change in his lifestyle. Raising two energetic, precocious girls, each with a bottomless appetite for stories and snacks and affection, was not exactly what she’d planned for. I should know. I’d done it starting at the age of four.
She didn’t seem like the selfless type, but then again, maybe that was just her persona. She was sexy. And hot. And successful. And hot. And smart. And hot. And badass. And hot. And funny. And hot. And flexible (she did yoga). And did I mention hot?
Was I jealous? Yes. I was. But surprised? No. Of course Adam Knight would end up with, not only a model who was in the military, but she would also have to have a sexy accent and be super cool and funny because, fuck my life.
Honestly, I’m glad I found out from him directly because them going Instagram official or appearing on a red carpet would have been like a knife in the heart. I don’t know what I would have done. Sobbed. Eaten copious amounts of rocky road ice cream, kettle corn, and drank all the rosé I could get my hands on probably. It was still torture but hearing it from him was less devastating…slightly. It was at least a personally delivered bomb to my soul.
And I refused to be jealous of a woman who I didn’t know. Especially since Adam must love her if he was willing to move to another country for her and spent three years long-distance with her. That took dedication and sacrifice from both parties.
I would be happy for them, eventually. Hopefully.
“I don’t mind.” I offered a smile whose wattage I could only hope was somewhere between reassuring and that of a fun-aunt.
Adam’s eyes flicked up, as if he wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy to mount a case. He just nodded.
The girls each grabbed one of my hands and led me up the stairs, tug-of-warring for pole position and narrating the ascent as if it were a trek up Everest, each vying for their favorite book to be read.
It was so strange being back in Adam’s house. It was the same but so different. His dad had really let the place get into disrepair, which was heartbreaking. Growing up, the man I’d known had always taken such pride in both his home and his belongings.
As we made it to the room that the girls had claimed as their own and entered, I took it in for maybe the first time ever. It wasn’t a space I’d ever spent time in. When Adam grew up there, it was his dad’s study. I saw why the girls chose it. There were bookshelves and a huge window seat that looked out over the backyard.
Joey dug into one of her bags, and I walked over and settled onto the bottom bunk queen-sized mattress. She emerged with a battered hardcover copy ofMiss Rumphiusand a paperback ofThe Trouble with Chickens. Andi had slipped past her sister and returned withGoodnight Moon, which she placed reverently in my lap.
“Classics,” I observed. “A little light for my taste, but strong themes of existential dread.”
The girls laughed, or at least tried to. More like a polite giggle, the kind adults use when they’re not sure if something is supposed to be funny.
We settled on which book would get read first by rock-paper-scissors, it was the easiest way not to cause a fight. It had always been my go-to with the girls growing up. It prevented anyone from being able to claim unfair treatment.
Joey won and decided onMiss Rumphius. I settled back against the wall and cracked it open. The smell of old paper and crayon wax filled the air. Joey and Andi tucked themselves inon either side of me. Andi rested her head on my arm, and Joey began to play with my hair, twisting it around her fingers as I began to read, falling into the rhythm of Barbara Cooney’s prose, but I sensed the girls’ attention was already wandering.
“Do you know Mr. Adam?” Joey blurted out as I finished the first page.
Mr. Adam. That’s gotta sting if Adam heard it. I hadn’t heard either of the girls address him directly. Although, in fairness, they had met him less than a week ago.
“He’s our dad,” Andi supplied, as if I might not be aware.
I paused and marked the page with my thumb, even though it was only the first. “I do know him. I met him when I was about your age. Just a little younger.”
“Was he mean orgoofy?” Joey asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
I had a feeling that “goofy” was a good thing in her book.
