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NICA
Matt suggested going out for dinner, but Eva convinces him she needs a home-cooked meal. “The meal plan food isn’t bad, but it gets old after a while. Besides, I don’t want to run into that photographer again. He’s bound to be watching for another chance to get photos of Nica.” Eva flexes her fingers.
“Where’d you learn to punch like that?” I ask. “And why didn’t it hurt your fingers? I thought punching was painful for the person doing it?”
Eva lifts her hand level with her shoulder, with her wrist cocked at a ninety-degree angle, palm facing me. “I didn’t really punch him. I shoved the heel of my hand into his face.” She pushes her hand toward me, stopping short of my nose. “I learned it in a self-defense course my dad made me take before I left for college. I can also stomp his instep and knee him in the groin.” She brings her foot down hard, then spins and mimes grabbing an assailant’s shoulders while swinging her knee up, fast.
“That’s my girl.” Matt pulls a package of steak from the fridge. “I don’t have a shotgun, so I had to make sure she could take care of herself.” He grinds salt and pepper over the beef and flips it onto a plate to do the other side. “What are we drinking, ladies?”
“I got it.” Eva opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle and a can. “Beer for Dad, soda for me.” With a mischievous look at her father, she puts the red can back and takes a pale green one. “Or maybe I’ll have a cider. I’m twenty-one now.”
“Go for it.” He pushes the meat aside and takes the beer. “What will you have, Nica?”
“I’ll take a cider—if it’s not too sweet.”
Eva hands me the can, then pulls out some glasses. She passes one to me, then grabs a cola.
“I thought you were having cider?” I pour mine into the glass.
“That was mostly to get him riled up.” She nods at Matt. “Didn’t work.”
“You’re legal now—you can drink what you want as long as you’re responsible. Besides, I’m betting you’ve had stronger stuff than that at school.” He rummages in a drawer and pulls out a bottle opener. “Why don’t you do some broccoli and a salad while I manage the meat?”
“Sure.” Eva starts pulling things from the fridge, and Matt gets out plates and silverware. Eva tells us about some of her friends at college while I set the table. I fold the paper napkins in half and slide them under the forks.
“Don’t get too fancy—we won’t recognize the place.” Matt sets three or four bottles of salad dressing on the table.
“It’s not like I’m making origami.” I pretend to fold something quickly, then hold one hand out, palm up, while flourishing with the other. “Look, a napkin swan.”
“Very nice. Can you work that magic on the sticky notes in Eva’s room?” He flutters his hands. “Make them just fly away?”
“You should have thought about the cleanup before you stuck them all over, old man.” Eva pokes her dad’s arm with her index finger. “I’ll be lucky if I can find the bed.”
“I covered it with a flat sheet before I did the stickies. You can just pull it off and voila, pre-made bed. I even changed it before I started sticking.”
“Really? Thanks, Dad.” She puts her soda glass on the table and bounds out of the room.
“She seems to like you.” Matt’s eyes linger on the doorway his daughter just disappeared through.
“What’s not to like?” I cringe internally. My usual reaction to a perfectly normal family surfaces—I am nothing like these people with their pranks and obvious love for each other. I’m a flighty, flakey Hollywood actress. More looks than substance. Using whatever it takes to get ahead in a world completely focused on money, power, and fame.
I give myself a mental shake. I’m not that far down the dark road of celebrity. I still have a moral compass. It might be dinged and rusty, but it keeps me straight most of the time. And just because I want success doesn’t mean I’ll sell out anyone who gets in my way. That encounter with the photographer has kicked my self-loathing into high gear, and I need to get him out of my head.
Matt moves closer, forcing me to look up at him. His eyes meet mine, searching—for what, I’m not entirely sure. He stands before me, warm, solid, dependable. He leans closer, and my head tilts up naturally, as if our lips are connected by a retractable line, drawing us together. He stops, his breath warm against my mouth as he speaks, and I swallow hard, longing rushing through me. “There’s nothing not to like.”
Eva’s feet clatter loudly down the stairs, startling me. I jump back, biting my lip. Matt’s lips twitch. “She’s twenty-one, you know. She’s seen adults kissing before.”
“But has she seen you kissing? Someone other than her mother?” His ex-wife might be two years gone, but from what Rachel and Blake let slip at the lake, he hasn’t dated since. Eva might like me, but that doesn’t mean she wants me as a stepmother.
I turn away and grab my cider as she saunters in. Stepmother? Where did that come from? I barely know Matt—marriage shouldn’t even be on my radar. In fact, despite my age, I’ve never seriously considered marrying anyone.
Until now. The idea has appeared, fully formed, in my brain, as if it’s been surgically inserted. I can see myself living in this house, decorating for Christmas, opening gifts with Matt and Eva. Matt’s hair goes gray, and Eva wears a white dress. There are even small children and a faceless son-in-law hovering around the edges of my daydream.
What is happening to me? I’ve attended a lot of weddings—and seen a lot of divorces. People in my social circle get hitched quickly and easily—and get unhitched just as fast. I’ve never wanted that. I figure marriage should be forever, and I’ve never found that forever guy.
Maybe you have now.
The thought scares the crap out of me.
