was used to Toni cleaning her face with spit. And tissues. And hems of T-shirts. The occasional dish towel.
Mom followed at a more socially appropriate pace. In heels and an expensive navy-blue pantsuit, she looked as well put together as she always did. Her silver hair was cut in a smart bob, and even in her midfifties, she was still turning heads.
When she reached the small group, she touched Toni’s shoulder and leaned in to kiss her cheek. Her gaze, however, was trained on the gorgeous man standing just behind Toni.
“You look familiar,” Mom said to Logan.
“He’s a rock star,” Birdie said helpfully. “But not the pretty one.”
Toni chuckled. When Toni had explained to Birdie why she was leaving for a while, she’d given Birdie a picture of Exodus End to familiarize her with the reason she was going. Birdie had immediately taken to Steve, who had long hair and thus was pretty.
“You don’t think I’m pretty?” Logan fluttered his eyelashes at her.
Birdie tucked in her chin and appraised him closely. “No. You’re a boy.”
“Steve is a boy too,” Toni said.
Birdie scowled as she tried to assimilate this information into her ideas of boys and girls.
“Don’t worry about it,” Logan said. “I mistake him for a girl all the time.”
Birdie beamed at him and took his hand in both of hers, instantly finding a new friend. “You are so funny.”
“So which one are you?” Mom asked.
Logan gave one of Birdie’s pigtails a tug—which made her giggle—and then lifted his gaze to Mom’s curious stare.
“I’m just the bassist,” Logan said with a heartthrob of a grin.
“This is Logan Schmidt,” Toni said. “This is my mother, Eloise Nichols, and my little sister, Bernadette.”
“Birdie!” Birdie corrected, staring up at Logan worshipfully. “I can’t say Birdadent right.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Nichols,” Logan said, lifting his left hand for a shake since Birdie was gripping his right. “And Birdadent.” He tugged her pigtail again.
Watching him interact with Birdie had Toni melting into a puddle of sentimental goo. So many people tried to ignore her because they were uncomfortable with her condition, but he’d already won Birdie’s heart. And her big sister’s too.
“You said it wrong,” Birdie said.
“That’s a hard name to say,” Logan said. “I think Birdie suits you better anyway. Can you whistle like a bird?”
Logan whistled a tune. And Birdie rounded her mouth and blew soundless air.
“Let’s go find a seat in the dining room,” Mom said. They turned in the direction of delicious breakfast smells—bacon, sausage, biscuits, and cinnamon.
Logan and Birdie ambled ahead, Logan offering instructions on whistling, Birdie too happy for his attention to get frustrated that it didn’t come easy for her.
“Are you seeing that man?” Mom asked, nodding in Logan’s direction.
“Sort of,” Toni said, realizing too late that she wasn’t prepared to answer questions about her undefined relationship with Logan.
“Does he have a degree?”
“You mean, like, college?”
“That’s exactly what I, like, mean.”
Toni resisted the urge to cringe. She’d been hanging around normal people too long. Her use of language had already slipped and her mother—being the CEO of a publishing company and having a Ph.D. in literature and a bachelor’s degree in English—had always been a stickler for the use of proper grammar. Like was like her least favorite modifier ever.
“He doesn’t really need a degree, does he? He’s a rock star.”
“What can you two possibly have in common?”
Good question.
“You’ll become bored with him quickly.”
He was more likely to become bored with her, Toni mused.
“We’re having fun together. I thought you wanted me to get out and experience life,” Toni reminded her.
“Perhaps I was a bit hasty. I’m having an awful time balancing the corporation and the household and meeting Birdie’s needs. Unlike your father, I never was good at the domestic stuff.”
“What are you getting at?”
“I want you to come home. Birdie needs you.”
Toni gaped at her. So that was why her mother had brought Birdie with her? So she could guilt her into coming home early no matter how well she’d progressed with the book?
“You need to figure out how to care for Birdie, Mom. She’s your daughter.”
“I’m trying. She’s just . . .”
She gazed across the nearly empty dining room at her younger daughter, who had her nose pressed against the sneeze guard of the buffet as she eyed the available dishes. Logan stood nearby, keeping an eye on her and shooting Toni questioning looks.
“She’s a handful, Toni.”
“Is this supposed to be news to me? I practically raised her myself.”