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I get a notification they’ve let Lilah through the gate, and a minute later, there’s a knock on the door.
“Mommy!” Monica races from the playroom to the front door and whips it open. Before Lilah can step inside, Monica’s arms are wrapped around her mom's middle.
“Hey, kiddo.” Lilah kisses the top of her blonde mop of hair. “Did you have fun today?”
Monica steps back and bounces up and down. “Yeah! There’s a playroom here and it has all my favorite things! And there’s this other room that’s like a movie theatre with a big screen and these comfy chairs that come out and you put your feet up.”
“Wow, sounds like this place has everything.” She steps in and glances at me with a strained smile.
For the first time since I’ve been in Monica’s life, I wonder if I went overboard. I’m not trying to show up Lilah, and I hope she doesn’t see it that way.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” I say to her. “I’m just waiting for the baked potatoes to finish cooking on the barbecue.”
“Great.” She sets her purse on the circular table in the center of the foyer.
I lean down to eye level with Monica. “Do you want to show your mom around the place?”
“Yah! C’mom, Mommy!” Monica grabs Lilah’s hand and drags her through the foyer.
I head back to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on dinner. I overhear Monica giving her the tour before they head upstairs.
Fifteen minutes later, I walk over to the intercom and press the button that will broadcast through the entire house. “Dinner’s ready, ladies.”
When I finish setting the condiments on the table, they stroll in hand in hand, and I love how natural this feels. It reminds me of when Lilah came out of rehab and we spent a lot of time at my place in Malibu, just doing regular people stuff—no red carpets, no sets, no interviews. Just quality time with the person I cared about. And that’s what it feels like now. Only now there are two people I care about.
“I hope steak is okay?”
Lilah helps Monica get seated and sits beside her. I sit down directly across from Lilah.
“Looks great, Jimmy. I see you haven’t lost your culinary skills.” Lilah smiles at me and cuts a small piece of steak off the one on her plate for Monica, then she cuts Monica's into smaller pieces.
“Some things never change.” I meet her gaze, and it’s clear she understands I’m referring to more than just my cooking abilities.
She clears her throat and diverts her attention to Monica, asking what she did with her day. The rest of dinner is spent joking around with Monica and sharing a few stories from our youth—the ones we can tell anyway.
Earlier in the day, I promised Monica that we could watch a movie, so I get everything set up in the home theatre. Once Monica is settled into her seat, I stand.
“I’m going to go pop some popcorn,” I say.
“I’ll help you,” Lilah says. “Kiddo, we’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”
She nods, transfixed by the screen filled with colorful characters singing and dancing.
The air changes when we reach the kitchen.
“When Monica was showing me around, she showed meherbedroom. Mentioned it was where she’d sleep when she slept over.”
I look at her over my shoulder, tossing the popcorn into the microwave. “I meant to talk to you first. I was excited and it slipped out. I’m sorry.” I punch the numbers on the microwave’s keypad, hit Start, and lean against the counter, facing her.
She’s leaning against the island with her arms crossed. She looks so much like the woman I fell in love with all those years ago—before Hollywood beat everything that was special out of her. She’s fresh-faced and healthy-looking and her light pink lounge wear sets off the rosy tone in her cheeks. I’m trying my best not to notice how those clothes hug her curves, even though my hands are tingling with the desire to run my palms over them.
“It’s okay. I figured as much. I guess… I didn’t really think of the fact that you’d be spending time with her on your own and I’d be back at my place… alone.” Her voice takes on a sad note.
It’s now or never. I’m putting my cards on the table with no regrets. I step forward and run my thumb over her cheek. “Who said anything about you being alone? If you want to be here too, you can be. I thought I made that clear when I dropped you off at work yesterday?”
She holds my gaze for a minute and her pupils dilate, her breaths choppier. “I don’t want to intrude.”
A small chuckle escapes. “You are not intruding.”
