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“Why would I be intimidated?” I say, trying to inject some fire into my voice.
But in reality, my belly is swirling with all the desires I could never voice to Caitlin. Guilt pricks at me, sears my insides, when I think about all the times I’ve let my mind wander back to that dinner, to the chandelier light bouncing off Solomon’s square, strong jaw. He had a light dusting of silver across his face, and I’ve spent way, way too long thinking about how that would feel grazing across my palm.
It’s a girlish crush, nothing more.
If I never tell anybody, it doesn’t matter.
Caitlin smiles wryly as if to say, everybody is intimidated by my dad.
We go on eating our pancakes and then Mom’s phone buzzes from the table. Her case is spattered with paint and the screen is cracked. Maybe it’s strange, but my heart aches when I see the state her phone is in.
I need to bust my ass at this internship so that I can one day earn enough to buy her a hundred phones if that’s what she wants.
A smile lights up her face, her eyes glinting playfully.
“More Tinder interest, Miss C?” Caitlin banters.
“Now it’s my turn to saw ew,” I laugh.
“What?” Caitlin says, grinning wickedly. “What’s the matter with your dear old mom seeking some playful girl-on-girl action?”
“I’m not listening,” I say, plugging my ears and shaking my head. “I refuse to listen.”
“And please, Caitlin, enough with the old. I’m still in my prime, I’ll have you know.”
We all laugh as Mom loses herself in frantic texting. If there’s a benefit to having a mother who’s only thirty-seven years old, it’s that I never have to help her with technology.
“How did it go in England?” I murmur. “For your dad, I mean.”
“Well, I didn’t think you meant the queen.”
“Ha, ha,” I say sarcastically.
“It went really well, I think,” Caitlin says. “Well enough that he’s moving back to the States for the long term, anyway. To be honest, all I can think about at the moment is Professor Chaucer. I mean, why does that man have to be so freaking complicated?”
“You’ll get it,” I tell her. “You’re the smartest person I know, Cait. You’re going to ace that English lit class. I just know it.”
“Thanks,” she says. She reaches over and gives my hand a short squeeze. “Soph, just so you know, you really deserve this internship. I didn’t have to do much persuading with Dad. I just showed him some of your digital illustrations, and he was really blown away.”
My heart swells and glows unfairly when I picture Solomon Sky staring down at my work, maybe with that gleam in his eye I remember. Maybe he was thought, This art is perfect, but not as perfect as the woman who made it.
But no—no.
What a silly, fruitless place to let my mind dance to.
This is work, nothing more.
Caitlin would be repulsed if I shared my deep dark thoughts with her.
Solomon would, at best, fire me.
At worst, he’d laugh in my face and call me disgusting.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’m surprised he didn’t meet a woman over there.”
A nice English woman with a posh accent and legs that go on and on forever and a sleek model like body and all the things I can never give him.
I want to snatch the statement back as soon as I’ve said it.
It’s none of my business if he met a woman or not.
“What, Dad?” Caitlin laughs. “As if. As far as I can tell, Dad’s asexual. I mean, obviously, he can’t be, because here I am. But ever since Mom walked out on us, he hasn’t so much as looked at another woman. Either that or he’s just too sneaky.”
My chest tightens at the thought of Solomon riding a private elevator to a discreet hotel room. I imagine him opening the door to a rose petal covered room, with some socialite type woman lying on a bed waiting for him.
I curse myself inwardly.
What use are thoughts like these?
I’m torturing myself over a man who’d call me crazy if he knew what I was thinking.
“Oh, drat,” Mom snaps, dropping her phone on the counter.
Caitlin and I turn to her.
“What is it?” I ask.
“The stupid thing just died, I think. I’ll have to run down to the store and see if I can pick up a cheap one later. What a shame. She was really nice.”
“She’ll wait for you, Miss C,” Caitlin says, “if she knows what’s good for her.”
Caitlin’s forehead furrows as she stares at my mother. Over the years, Caitlin has tried to offer us money on more than one occasion, but Mom is always too proud to accept it.
If I had my way, I’d accept whatever Caitlin offered us.
I respect her pride, but I’d also like her to be able to replace her phone when some dickhead customer knocks it off the bar at the restaurant and cracks the screen.
