I texted that to Zoey last night. And now she’s in my house.
An energy I didn’t know I had comes over me and I’m in the shower within seconds, hearing the echo of Thayden’s laughter from my bedroom as I scrub off the slick of fever on my skin, ignoring my headache.
“I’m so glad you find this funny.”
“Sorry. But when the unflappable Gavin Brownell becomes flapped, I have to take some small pleasure in it.”
I’ve never showered so thoroughly, so quickly. And still, when I see myself in the mirror, I look like something dragged out of a freshly dug grave.
And Zoey saw me like this. She smelled me like that.
I want my fever back, so I can pretend none of this happened. Pulling on some jeans and a T-shirt, I emerge from my walk-in closet and begin stripping my bed.
Thayden looks at his watch. “Fastest you’ve ever gotten ready.”
“Want to give me a hand here?”
“Not really.”
I grunt. “I’m going to remember this the next time you need help.”
“I could make you coffee?” he offers.
The headache seems to pulse hearing the word coffee. I’d like to kick Thayden out, but right now, I’m not too proud to accept help. “Yes, please.”
He disappears into the kitchen and I get the sheets and my clothes into the laundry room, only to realize that a load was done last night. Zoey must have washed one set of sheets already.
I lean my head against the doorframe, pushing it maybe a little harder than necessary.
Because suddenly, new memories hit me. Mini golf. Those are my last not-as-hazy memories, but they aren’t good. The whole shirt-off thing in the parking lot, her brother’s jabs about our age difference. I remember feeling hot, starting to realize I was sick.
Did I really throw a twenty-dollar-bill at her and run off?
It’s bad. So bad. So incredibly humiliating that I can’t imagine anything worse. I need to apologize. I need to get her a gift. I need to relocate to Europe. I hear that the climate in Italy is lovely. And if I drink enough wine, maybe I’ll really forget all this happened.
That’s when I hear screams. High, girly ones that don’t sound like Zoey at all. They sound like a child.
I run into Thayden in the kitchen and we both stare toward the open glass doors leading to the pool, just in time to see Zoey toss a girl into the pool. The momentum makes her stumble and she falls in right after.
“What—who?” My power of speech function seems to be out.
Thayden is the cat who didn’t just get the cream, but broke into a dairy and swam in a vat of it. “Oh, Zoey apparently has a daughter. Did you not know that?”
“No,” I manage, watching as two blonde heads bob around the pool. They’re arguing, though I can’t hear their words clearly.
“We should probably go out there,” Thayden says.
“I need a minute.”
Thayden claps a hand over my shoulder as he walks toward the other side of the house. “Your coffee is ready. I’ll get towels.”
Zoey has a daughter? Zoey has a daughter.
I’m watching the scene in the pool as layers of emotion drift over me along with a million questions. I’m wondering why she never mentioned it. I'm wondering how she managed childcare on the salary we pay her. I’m wondering who the father is.
I’m wondering why I feel so calm about it.
The arguing turns to splashing and giggling, and I see a beautiful smile stretch across Zoey’s face. It’s brighter than the sun. Warmer too. It ignites something in me, a spark of feeling but also a dream I long ago gave up. The dream where I wanted to be a dad. I wanted laughter in my house, not silence. Splashing in the pool. Mess and noise and life.
I’d thought that would happen with Eleanor. We’d talked about it, but it never seemed to be the right time for her. I argued that I didn’t need to work, that I saw nothing wrong with me stopping my business altogether for a time to raise a child with her.
Not that she worked, but she didn’t want to give up her lifestyle. Which consisted mostly of parties thinly guised as charity work.
The happy feelings start to slide into bitterness, so I shove away thoughts of Eleanor and just focus on Zoey. She tosses the little girl, who goes flying and comes up sputtering and laughing, wet blonde hair plastered to