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“I never knew what I wanted to do. I majored in graphic design because it came easily to me. After I graduated, I took a job at a firm in the city, but once Izzy was born, the commute was too much. I stayed home for a few years, was heavily involved in the PTA, and one day, I saw an ad for a party planning assistant and thought,I could do that and be available for my kids. So, I interviewed and got the job.”
“You were great at it, and the rest is history?”
“Opposite. I was horrible. Planning details and keeping a timeline are not my strong suits. The design part? That I liked. Jillian was a wedding planner there and introduced me to one of her clients as a weddingdesigner. I honestly hadn’t even known the job title existed. When Jillian decided to open up Lavish Events, she asked me to come on board as a partner and head designer. It was perfect timing because Tyler had just filed separation papers and I needed cash. Fast. Plus, I really like working with Jillian.”
“Must’ve been hard, planning other people’s happily ever afters when yours was falling apart.”
“It sucked.” I laugh ironically. “It also reminded me that love is real, and whether it lasts or not, it’s a beautiful thing to be part of.” Realizing I’ve found myself in a wistful haze, I shake my shoulders and turn to ask him, “Do you believe in happily ever after?”
“I do.”
Hunter comes barreling down the stairs. He’s changed from his school clothes and into Captain America pajamas and is holding his magic kit. “Can we work now?”
Will runs his hands on his thighs. “A good man keeps his word.”
He rises and heads into the den with Hunter and takes a seat on the couch.
I take a look at the clock. It’s earlier than I was planning on making dinner, but I should start it so Will isn’t here all afternoon. The chicken is out of the refrigerator, and I’m whisking eggs when Izzy comes over. She looks at Will and Hunter through the open door of the den. They’re reading instructions and testing a trick.
“Will’s cool,” she says.
I place a piece of chicken in the egg mixture and hand it to her to place in the breadcrumbs. “You’re only saying that because you want to hear about how he got shot.”
She puts the breaded cutlet on a plate. “He told me already.”
My brow rises as I wonder when he could have told her.
“You were lost in your wedding haze. He told me after we finished my chemistry homework,” she explains.
“And?” I hand her another egged piece of chicken and wait for her to tell me the story.
“Not my story to tell.”
“That’s very mature of you.”
Izzy and I cook together and listen to music. I haven’t had her help in making dinner in a long time. I want to point it out, but I know better. Instead, I enjoy having my daughter by my side, doing something as simple as frying up chicken cutlets and warming up vegetables.
When the meal is ready, we call Hunter and Will to the kitchen. The two boys set the table while Izzy and I make the plates. We sit down for dinner, and it’s … nice.
The kids ask Will about being a cop. He regales them with stories of arrests and what his training was like at the academy. He keeps his stories kid friendly, as I’m sure there are many dreadful things he’s witnessed.
In turn, Will asks the kids questions about themselves and school. Hunter talks about his passion for magic and superheroes, which I’m pretty sure Will already figured out. Izzy slowly and coyly shrugs off her art. Will asks to see it, but she refuses.
The meal is possibly the most interesting we’ve had in a month. Hunter and Izzy usually eat and run after their meals, eager to get on their iPads or watch television. Tonight, they’re taking their time and enjoying the conversation. I’m enjoying it too.
Everything is going nice. Too nice.
That is, until the front door opens, and we’re all greeted by a very gruff, very confused, “Who the hell are you?”
twelve
“DAD, I THOUGHT YOUwere coming home later. I invited a friend to dinner,” I explain as Will stands up and holds out a hand for my father, who approaches the kitchen table cautiously, like he just walked into an armed robbery in progress.
“I know you. You’re the man from the paper.” Dad appraises him as he takes off his cap.
“Yeah. He was shot!” Hunter exclaims.
Izzy hits him on the arm. “Don’t be disrespectful.”
