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Chapter 14
Vince
Laurel Canyon, CA
One Week Later
Eventually, Lyndsey stops glancing around my house like she’s casing the joint for emergency exits.
Things are good between us, but it feels fragile somehow, almost like when we first met, and I thought one wrong move would scare her off.
Allison’s talk about finding her family inspired me to reopen my account. I sent my spit off in a tube before tour started,hoping to find another distant Exter who made their home in America, but I quickly forgot about it once I hit the road.
I bring my laptop to the kitchen table and reset my password half a dozen times. Lyndsey’s making coffee in the kitchen, her hair still a mess of knots. There’s a blob of toothpaste drying on her chin, and as the light pours in from the kitchen window, I realize this is how I like her best. Watching Lyndsey be comfortable feels like a movie like I’m the hapless, bumbling love interest with a sordid past.
“What’s giving you trouble?” Lyndsey asks as I hunch over my laptop. She places a cup of coffee next to me.
“This fuckin’ find your family website! I can’t find my fuckin’ family if I can’t open the account!”
“Did you reset your password?”
“Yes! Dozens of times! They didn’t send me the code.”
“Check your spam,” Lyndsey suggests as she pops a piece of toast into the toaster.
“Oh.” I open my spam folder and find half a dozen reset links. I click one, and like magic, my accounts are restored.
To my surprise, I have a message.
Hello VExter6,
My name is Allison, and I believe we might be related. It says here that you are a close familial match. I would love to meet up with you if possible. I live in Pasadena. My phone number is (901)552-1864.
I message her back, and she responds almost immediately. We make plans to meet for coffee later today. For a moment,I wonder if it’s Lyndsey’s friend Allison, but California must be chock full of twenty-somethings named Allison. Her profile only has what looks like some senior picture, and Lyndsey’s Allison has bleach-blonde hair.
I push it out of my mind and help Lyndsey make a scramble to go along with our eggs. I find a couple of peppers in the refrigerator from our recent trip to the Farmer’s Market and get to work slicing them up while Lyndsey cracks an egg into a skillet.
“Hand me the feta?” she asks.
I grab the container of feta out of the refrigerator and hand it to her. She sprinkles a handful on top of the egg sizzling in the pan; then I add a handful of chopped peppers. When the scramble’s done, we eat in comfortable silence until Lyndsey’s phone buzzes.
“Hey, Al! Sure, I’ll go with you, what time? Perfect.” Lyndsey and Allison talk for a bit longer, and she hangs up the phone.
“I’m going to run some errands with Allison today,” she explains.
“Sounds good; I was going to write a bit and then grab a coffee,” I lie, though I have been meaning to start working on some new songs, so it’s not a total lie.
“Oooh! You’ll have to show me what you’ve got.”
“I will,” I lie again. Why am I lying? Why is the room suddenly ten degrees hotter? Why can’t I tell Lyndsey where I’m going?
I get ready for the day and try to look slightly classier than usual, once again pondering how close a ‘close familial relative is?’ A daughter? A cousin? Fuck me, am I someone’s dad?
Erring for the side of sudden fatherhood, I go with my most subdued button-down shirt, a pale purple linen material that suggests I own a yacht or at least a 401k. I tie my hair back into a ponytail and shave.
Lyndsey kisses me before she leaves, and I hold her close. Our fight the other day made me realize that our relationship is more precarious than I thought. It also made me realize that I don’t want to lose her.
Mystery Allison drops a pin at a nearby coffee shop. Lyndsey has my car, so I drive the Audi, which spends most of its life in the garage.
