“Because I would absolutely date him.”
I stare at her. “You cannot be serious.”
“Oh, I am deeply serious,” she says, zooming in. “That is a man who knows how to take control of a room.”
“That is my father.”
“And a single one, from what you’ve told me.”
I snatch my phone. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m practical. Because if I keep him,” she clears her throat, “occupied, he won’t be trying to run your life. Hence, Max time on the horizon.” She adds. “Also, imagine holidays.”
“He would terrify you,” I say.
Elena smiles. “Good. I like men who thinkthey’re in control.”
“Stop talking.”
She giggles, moving toward the door. “Go,” she says. “Drink. Let women tell you things you don’t want to hear.”
“I already have you for that.”
“And yet, you keep needing more.”
I almost don’t go.
I sit in my car outside Piper’s house with the engine running, watching the reflection of the mature trees distort across the windshield. Getting closer to people who know him is a mistake. Letting them talk about him is worse. I turn the engine off anyway. Piper’s house looks exactly like a suburban oasis, and also exactly like what happens when a woman with excellent taste marries a former professional athlete who has an opinion about storage solutions. There are hooks for everything. The mudroom has a system. But the living room has three different kinds of throw pillows and a vintage lamp that doesn’t quite go with anything else and clearly isn’t going anywhere. The house has been lived in, not staged. It has fingerprints on the light switches and a crayon mark low on the hallway wall that someone has made a cursory effort to remove and then decided was someone else’s problem.
There’s a specific smell to houses with small children that you can’t quite separate into its component parts. Warmth,baked goods, and the particular ambient scent of small humans who’ve recently been outdoors. It hits me at the door and settles somewhere complicated. My apartment smells like cedar diffuser and controlled conditions. This smells like people actually live here. Piper’s house smells like Sunday. Music hums low. I pause inside the door. This is a lot.
I’m standing in the doorway registering this when Scarlett appears and I stop registering anything. “Hey!” Scarlett hugs me in a blur of silk and perfect hair. “You made it.”
“I said I might.”
“And I said you would,” Piper pops up behind her with a glass of wine already in hand. “For courage,” she warns, pressing it into mine.
“I don’t need courage.”
“You wore that dress,” she replies. “You need courage.”
Sophie lounges on the couch. “We’re keeping her.”
“I’m not a stray,” I say.
Scarlett tilts her head. “Debatable.” Laughter ripples through the room. It’s easy. Too easy. I take a sip of wine. Mistake. Tastes good.
Twenty minutes later, I’m seated with a blanket in an Adirondack chair in front of the wood fire pit with four women who clearly know too much about each other. And now, apparently, me.
“So,” Sophie says, swirling her drink. “You and Max.”
“There is no ‘me and Max.’” Piper snorts.
Scarlett raises a brow. “Bold lie.”
“I’m his compliance trainer.”
“And I’m a casual movie star,” Scarlett replies. Laughter again. I set my glass on the stone ledge of the fire pit.
