I have no idea if she even wants me to be the person who makes her happy. The way she was looking at me last night, it felt like she did. If you asked me then, I never would have believed this is just casual sex. But this morning, I was just the carpenter again.
Is there a chance she feels the same way about me as I do about her? Or is this all just a summer fling, something she’ll forget about the minute she leaves? I need answers. There’s no way I’m going to be able to focus on this game, or anything for that matter, until I find out. I need to talk to Marissa, figure out where we stand. And I need to do it right now.
“Where did you say this cookbook thing was happening?”
Toby’s face splits into a grin.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
24MARISSA
It turns out that tonight’s cookbook club is hosted by Zara, Violet’s sister-in-law.
On the way over, Shelby tells me that Violet’s parents have owned the café for over twenty years, and even though they are now semi-retired, and Violet is basically running the café herself, they’re still reluctant to fully turn over the reins. Violet has considered making an offer to buy it but doesn’t have nearly enough in savings.
“You know how it is,” Shelby tells me. “The economy has changed, and our financial situation is way different than our parents’.” She grimaces. “Er, well maybe notyourfinancial situation. But you know what I mean. Our generation in general.”
“No, I get it,” I say. “I won’t pretend that I’m not incredibly fortunate. But the truth is, I haven’t worked in almost a decade. I’m still getting steady residuals from the Felicia franchise, and since California is a community property state, I was entitled to half of Rocky’s assets. But I want to make my own money again. Support myself independently of my ex-husband.”
“Which is why,” Pooja says from the back seat, “our girl is going to sign on to this project. Imagine how good it will feel to collect thatfirst paycheck. You can tell Rocky exactly where he can shove those child-support checks.”
Shelby sneaks a sideways glance at me. “Have you been able to speak to the kids a lot while they’ve been away?” she asks lightly. She’s choosing her words and tone carefully, so as not to imbue any sort of weight or judgment to it, and I feel a rush of gratitude for this woman, who, despite her quirks, has slowly started to grow on me.
“Yeah,” I say. “Rocky and I agreed that the kids and I would talk on the phone once a day. I called them right before you picked us up. Isla is predictably having the time of her life. And surprisingly, Levi sounded happy too.”
The first twenty-four hours after they left were by far the hardest. It felt like I had lost a limb. I had no idea what to do with myself or where to direct my energy. It seemed like there was nothing to do but sink into my bed and wallow until they came back, like Sad Mother Duck awaiting the return of her missing ducklings.
The tricky thing about motherhood, though, is there’s never an opportunity to feel at peace when you’re apart from your kids. There are only two modes. The first is a deep sadness that smothers you like a weighted blanket. The second is wary acceptance, and that is somehow worse. Because the moment you start to feel okay about being apart from them, that’s when the guilt hits. That’s when the little voice in your head says,How dare you feel happy right now. What if they’re sad or hurt or missing you while you’re off having the time of your life?But hearing the happiness in my kids’ voices did put me at ease, made me feel like it was okay to go on breathing.
Fortunately, distracting myself with company over the past few days has been medicinal. Especially Jesse’s company. What a delicious distraction that has been. And I can’t help but notice that part of me feels like it is coming back to life. My spirit is crawling out of hibernation, parts of me reawakening like the first buds inspringtime. I feel alive again and it’s equally guilt-inducing and exhilarating.
The rest of the women are already gathered around the kitchen counter when we arrive, and Shelby hands her casserole dish to a tall woman who introduces herself as Zara. Newly unburdened, she flashes jazz hands as she presents me to the rest of the group.
“Everyone,” she says, “this is Marissa. She’s just inherited her grandmother’s lake house up on Harmony Drive. And this is her friend Pooja.” She leans forward and adds conspiratorially, “They’re from Los Angeles.”
Pooja’s fake bangs fall into her face as she does a little curtsy, and the rest of the group coos in fascination, as though the West Coast is an exotic locale.
“So cool,” says a woman whose naturally dark bob understood the assignment. She squints at me. “Wait a minute. Are you MarissaMorgan?”
A trace of apprehension curls up my spine. I’ve barely been recognized since we arrived, but my luck had to run out at some point.
“That’s me.” My body goes tense as I wait for the follow-up questions. But they never come.
“Nice to meet you,” she says. “We all loved your grandmother. We’re so happy to have you here.”
Shelby quickly introduces us to the rest of the club members. There’s Zara, the host, who’s married to Violet’s brother, Charlie. Ashleigh, who’s so petite that her oversized denim shirt nearly hits her knees. Megan, the woman with the dark bob, and Caleb, whose perfectly accessorized costume puts us all to shame. And of course, Violet, who leaps up to give me a hug like we’re great friends. Somehow, I already feel like we could be.
As I glance around Zara’s house, the first thing that jumps out at me are the radios. They’re seemingly everywhere: There’s one on the kitchen counter and one on top of the refrigerator. There is one onthe coffee table and two on the living room bookshelf. I’m wondering if there’s a polite way to comment on them when Pooja says, “You have a great radio collection.”
Zara grins. “They’re not technically mine. They belong to my son, Tucker. Radios are one of his special interests. He loves to collect them and tinker with them. He’s fascinated by mechanics.”
My senses perk and I raise my eyebrows. “Is Tucker…”
“On the spectrum? Yup.”
“Wow. My son Levi is too.”
“I thought I felt a connection.” She eyes me with a smile. “Moms of neurodiverse kids. We have a radar for each other.”
