“Thanks,” she says. “I got it at my mom’s shop. She owns a fashion store.”
“I know,” I tell her. “Great store. I’ve bought a couple of things there myself.”
Thankfully, the café is not too busy and we’re served in no time. We both order iced teas. We are given our drinks in bottles and accompanying tumblers of ice. We sit down without a word, and both pour our tea. Ava’s hand is wrapped tightly around her glass, and she’s not taking her eyes off it. She eyes me curiously.
“So a little about me,” I start, my words cheerful. “Your dad and I are in a yoga class together… at your aunt Juliette’s.”
“Oh, yeah?” She takes a sip of her iced tea. “Her studio is awesome. I’m not really into yoga, but I did one of her classes once. It was cool enough.”
“I love yoga,” I tell her. “Anyway that’s how your dad and I became friends. Anywho… we always go for a smoothie after class, and we talk a lot about our families. I have two boys. Trevor is fifteen and Tristan is thirteen.”
“Cool,” she says, but I know she’s wondering why the hell I’m telling her all this, why we’re even here at all. I know I can’t chit chat too long before getting to it.
“Okay, so you’re probably wondering what the heck is my deal,“ I say. “I would be too if I were you. So I’ll get straight to the point.”
Her beautiful gaze is fixed to mine, and it’s like I’m staring right into Brian’s eyes. It’s so unsettling, I need to pull my eyes away. “Your dad has told me a lot about you because we’re really good friends.”
She raises a brow. “How good exactly?”
Oh, she’s not only inherited Brian’s beautiful eyes, his widow’s peak and chin dimple, but apparently, also his feisty wit. As sweet as he can be, Brian always calls people out on their shit.
An image of Joel and I and our almost-kiss flashes before my eyes. “We… we’re just… Joel and I are just friends,” I say, a little too flustered.
“Okay,” she says. “I believe you. My dad is a standup guy. He would never cheat on my mother. My mom, though…” Her words trail off.
“Anyway, your dad was telling me…” I struggle to say it out loud. It’s such a personal matter, and I’m sure she doesn’t want to talk to a stranger about it. “You see, when I was young… I used to do it too,” I confess. “I used to cut myself. It felt good… to release that pressure, that pain.”
She’s speechless. Her eyes darken as she studies me. She’s near tears, and her voice is shaky when she finally asks, “Did my dad ask you to talk to me? I can’t believe him.”
She’s angry now.
“No, no. I just came by myself. This has nothing to do with him.”
“How did you know where I went to school?”
You mentioned it on your Facebook feed.
“I… I… your dad mentioned it once,” I lie. “I just dropped by, hoping to see you.”
“So you’ve been stalking me?”
Yes.
“No, no. Of course not. I just want to help you.”
She grabs her backpack and stands to leave.”Well, I don’t need anyone’s help. You can’t help me, lady.”
“Sit back down, please,” I plead. “Please, I came all the way here. I had to take the bus.”
She plops back down on her chair. “That sucks. I hate buses. Why don’t you have a car? You must be at least thirty.”
“I just… I don’t like to drive. Who needs the hassle.”
She nods. “Well, I don’t mean to be rude but… what was your name again?”
“Mischa,” I tell her again.
“Well, I don’t mean to be rude, Mischa, but the only person who can help me is my mother. If she could just tell me the truth, and tell me who the hell I am, that would just be fantastic.”
