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Tessa snickers. “Howbig of you to make that concession.”
We crack up.
“I was a lunatic the day of that job interview,” I admit. “I was stressed out, and I took it out on him.”
Tessa tilts her head. “Speaking of job interviews, why didn’t you tell Auggie about yours today, especially after he mentionedhis? Did you already tell him about it before coming over?”
“No, I haven’t told him. I figure the interview might not lead to anything, so why mention it?”
“You toldmeabout it.”
I sure did. I texted Tessa excitedly the other day after receiving the email inviting me to interview, and then again today right after the interview ended to let Tessa know I thought I’d crushed it. “Telling you is different from telling Auggie,” I insist. “I always tell you everything.” Except that I don’t. Not anymore. Not since I found out what Carlo does for a living. Not since I picked up that fucking duffel bag full of cash. And certainly not since I’ve been doing all sorts of crazy things online with Auggie. I wish I could tell Tessa about all of it. But I’m too ashamed. Plus, I’m scared telling Tessa about Carlo’s world might put her and her family in danger, and I couldn’t live with myself if ever I did that.
“Do you think maybe you didn’t tell Auggie about today’s interview,” Tessa says tentatively, “because you’re starting to develop feelings for him, and you’re scared those feelings might make you reconsider the parameters and goals of your job search?”
Fucking Tessa. She’s just articulated my biggest fear—that I’ve been having so much fun with Auggie, a man I’ve known mere days, I might feel tempted to forego my professional goals for him. He’s still in school and will be for the next two years, for fuck’s sake. I can’t let myself get swept away like that—like a schoolgirl with a crush—no matter how much I might adore my hunky next-door neighbor.
I sip my wine calmly. “Auggie and I have already discussed it, maturely, and agreed we’re going to keep our fling fun and casual while I’m in Seattle.” I waggle my eyebrows. “You know, we’re gonna make like JT and the boys and keep things ‘No Strings Attached.’”
Tessa looks disappointed, despite my attempt at levity; but before she says anything in reply, the faint sounds of uproarious kiddie-giggling wafts from the open window above—the oneleading into Zach’s second-floor bedroom. It’s the perfect distraction—an easy escape hatch out of this uncomfortable topic of conversation.
“Sounds like the kiddos are having a blast with Ryan and Auggie,” I say, popping up from the patio couch. “Come on, T. Let’s go spy on the kids and find out what’s making them laugh like little hyenas.”
At the top of the stairs, Tessa and I peek into Claire’s bedroom first, since it’s the first in the hallway, but it’s empty.From there, we creep to the next opened door—Zach’s bedroom—and discover the source of all that giggling. Both kids are sitting on the floor in their jammies while Auggie and Ryan, sitting shoulder to shoulder on Zach’s small bed, give them a puppet show with socks on their hands.
Not surprisingly, given that Augustus Vaughn is undoubtedly the mastermind of this puppet show, the plot turns out to be a silly affair that’s not really a plot at all—just a whole lot of puppet prat falls that elicit guffaws and unbridled joy from both kids.
Tessa whispers, “I’m swooning.”
Shoot. I wish so badly I could make a snarky comment in this moment about this being the most G-rated puppet show Superhero Salami Slinger has ever performed; but obviously, the identity of Auggie’s X-rated alter ego is a secret I’ll take to my grave. And so, what I whisper back to Tessa, instead, is, “My ovaries are exploding.”
“Mine, too. If I weren’t already preggo, I’d be getting knocked up tonight.”
I snort. “Girl, I’m on the pill, and I might still get knocked up tonight.”
We cover our mouths to stifle our giggles, but it’s too late. Our laughter has attracted Ryan’s blue gaze.
When he sees us peeking through the doorframe, Ryan tells us to come in and watch the rest of the show, so we amble into the room and sit behind the kids on the floor. After several minutes of haphazard puppetry, however, the thin plot, such as it is, winds to a close. With a secret little wink to me, Auggie booms, “And they lived happily ever after!” And all four of us on the floor giggle and clap; except, of course, as I’m laughing and clapping, I’m also exchanging knowing, secret glances with Auggie about his coded reference to our own, illicit puppet shows.
Ryan and Auggie make their sock-covered hands take a bow, and Tessa and I get up from the floor. But when the men begin removing the socks from their hands, both kids protest and beg for another show.
“Nope,” Ryan says. “No more delays. We’ve got an early morning, remember?”
Claire bats her eyelashes. “Daddy read me a story?” The kid knows full well Ryan won’t refuse her. It’s now a well-documented fact: Claire Morgan’s got her smitten daddy wrapped firmly around her little finger.
“Justone,” Ryan says, prompting Tessa to chuckle at how easily he retracted his supposedly firm, “no more delays” proclamation.
Well, now Zach wants a book read to him, too. But it’sAuggiehe wants reading to him, not his mother or me. And so, while Tessa and Ryan head off next-door with Claire Bear, I sit next to Auggie on Zacky’s little bed and watch him read the kid a story about the best way to lure a gorilla out of a bathtub.
As Auggie reads, I lean against his back and enjoy the slight rumble of his body as he speaks. The soothing tones of his voice. The kindness that wafts off him. But soon, it’s too much for mypoor ovaries to take, so I sit up straight to save myself, just in time for the “big reveal” of the book: the punchline to all prior suggestions about how to get that dang gorilla out of the tub.
When Auggie reads the punchline, Zach and I laugh with him.
“That’s a good book,” Auggie says, closing it.
“It’s my favorite,” Zach says.
“You’ve got good taste.” Auggie pats Zach’s little chest and pulls up his covers. “Goodnight, buddy. Sleep tight. Thanks for showing me your cars.”
