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“It was,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say.
Strangers. We were strangers.
Who’d fucked each other blind.
Why in the world am I thinking about sex?
“But it’s all right. Give me your phone.” He handed me his phone and I programmed in my number and then called myself so I could have his.
“Let me know where you live,” I said. “I’ll meet you there when I’m done. When am I done?”
“I really can’t believe how cool you’re being about all of this,” Ethan said.
“Front desk closes at 7 p.m.,” Chris said.
I knew I had a choice, and I’d made it. I’d decided to stay here. To help out my one-night-stand husband. And I had to call my mom so she could yell at me and tell me not to fall in love. And I could tell her that I wasn’t going to.
That I was taking the money, just the way she taught me.
Once Ethan was gone it was just his father and me behind the desk. His leg was up on another chair, taking up most of the space in the small area. He really did look like a picture of Santa Claus.
“Is your leg okay?” I asked him, trying to fill the sudden deep silence.
“Fine. I’m on the good stuff. You’re really married to my son?”
“I really am. But don’t worry, it won’t be for long.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why not for long?” he asked.
“Umm, for a million reasons. A: We’re strangers. B: We’re not in love. 3: He lives here. I live in Vegas. I’m a showgirl and he’s going to be mayor.”
“That’s all you’ve got?”
“And we were drunk when we got married.”
“Marriage is a holy vow,” he said and normally that kind of cheese factor would make me throw up in my mouth, but there was something in Chris’s face that was completely solid. This was his truth and if there was one thing I’d learned in my life was that you didn’t mess with someone’s truth.
Especially if that someone’s truth was aliens. Because those people would cut you.
And for Chris it was marriage. Which was really sweet. And it had to be such a bummer that his son dragged that truth through a Vegas chapel.
“Our marriage was far from holy,” I said, trying to break the news to him gently. “The woman who married us dances the champagne room in Little Vegas and she mispronounced our names. Our marriage was a mistake, Chris.”
“All I know is my son got one look at your face when you arrived and it was as if the heavens opened up.”
Oh, my heart leapt at that. Just, like, danced around my chest. I squashed it back down the way my mother had taught me with ruthless pessimism. “He was surprised.”
“And you were mad, but now you’re staying. You’re helping out the family.”
“Chris,” I said. “He’s paying me to stay.”
“Oh,” he said, clearly disappointed. Which didn’t make any sense. He just met me.
I weathered that disappointment as best I could. But then he took his leg off the chair and shifted to stand up.
“What are you doing?” I asked, putting one hand on his arm, the other pulling the chair out of the way. “Are you sure you should be standing?”
“I think I’m going to head back home.”
I’m sorry, I wanted to say to him. But I didn’t even know what I would be apologizing for.
I channeled my inner Henny, whose personal motto was never apologize for shit, and straightened my spine.
“Do you need some help?” I asked and he shook his head.
“You need to stay at the desk.”
“I can call someone—”
“I’m all right, Lexie,” he said and smiled at me. “Thank you for staying. We’re so lucky to have you.”
“Thank you,” I said and watched the old man walk out the office door.
The front door was thrown open and the two kids were back with Baby Girl, who was shaking off the snow like the dainty princess she was.
“She did a number one and number two,” Ben reported, his cheeks all flushed from the cold.
“We didn’t pick it up,” Chelsea said.
“If you have a bag,” Ben said. “I’ll go pick it up.”
I picked the little pink poop bag out of my purse and handed it to Chelsea. “What?” she asked, recoiling like the bag was already full of poop. “Ben said he would do it.”
“Yes,” I said. “But I have a different job for Ben.”
“Is it worse than poop pickup?”
“Much worse. “
Chelsea took that bag and ran out the door.
“What did you need me to do?” Ben asked. And I recognized how eager to please he was, and I felt privileged that he trusted me and worried that he trusted me. I’d been the same way and it had landed me in some tough spots.
I pulled Baby Girl’s brush out of the bag and handed it to him. His eyes lit up like I’d handed him a million dollars. “That’s not worse,” he said.
