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For one, while I’m lying to her about her car not being ready, I did end up ordering another part, and it’s delayed. It’s a small thing, and something I don’t really need to do, and could fix without the Audi stamped part, but you know . . .
Of course, I did invite her yesterday morning to the family dinner. Partly because I don’t want her spending too much time alone, and partly because I like being with her, and if she was staying here, she’d sure as hell be mine, no two ways about that. Some people do long distance . . .
I clear my throat and hold out my hand. “Wrench.”
But I invited the princess not just because I want to touch r and protect her, but because my mom’s gonna somehow find a way to run into her and this is easiest. And . . . yeah, I want her there.
Something hits my hands and I close around plastic.
I pull back from where I’m bent over the engine on the old Chevy and give my assistant a stern look.
“Don’t you think, London Bridge, that Barbie might need her leg?”
The little girl looks up at me, all wicked innocent big eyes. There’s a grease stain on her cheek, and in the back pocket of her pink jeans is a rag, just like mine. I think I’m a little cleaner, though.
The kid’s covered in dirt, oil, grease, and . . . ketchup? It’s either that or she went on a murder spree when I wasn’t looking, and I don’t see any corpses.
“She don’t want it.”
“Well, okay, can’t argue with that. But Barbie’s weird leg isn’t gonna get the job done. I thought you wanted to be a mechanic.”
“I wanna go to space. And be a princess. With the cats.”
I probably shouldn’t have told her about the cats. She’s added pink spots to them.
“Princesses aren’t what they’re cracked up to be.” I lean on the front of the Chevy, and London immediately does the same. But she’s wielding a naked, one-legged Barbie with an extreme haircut like old Barbie’s a weapon. Barbie is also covered in ketchup and grease. “Well, except one.”
She drops the doll. “You know a princess?”
“She’s real pretty too.”
“I wanna meet a princess!”
“Not like that, you don’t. Where did you get the ketchup?”
She points to the Chevy’s open door, and I peer in. The owner sure does like fast food, and there are packets of the stuff falling from the open glove box.
“They aren’t ours.”
“They wanted me to eat them.”
“You hungry? I mean, I can feed you something better,” I ask, giving London a look as she looks around me.
“Princess!”
I go still at her little voice, and I turn, skin prickling.
There’s a princess, all right, one with smooth hair pinned back, black trousers, and a floral shirt. I’m pretty fucking sure this is armor, princess style.
“How’d you know, London?” I ask.
She shrugs, suddenly turning shy and burying her face in my leg.
“London,” I say to Sidney, “is astute. Pegged your princess status immediately.”
“Why are you holding the leg of a doll?” Sidney asks, staring at the plastic in my hand.
I’m about to explain when I realize there’s a cool distance in her tone and stance. It’s like she’s a low-key air conditioner.
