“Vivian called. I need to bring London the ceramic vase she made last week.”
“Then you better get to it, seal.”
“Seal?”
“She commands and you comply. If you’re lucky, maybe she’ll toss a fish at you.”
“It’s for London, not Vivian,” I snapped.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Though I was annoyed by her comment, it passed in the rush to get to my house, and then to London’s class. Marge lived ten minutes away; if I hit more green lights than red, I’d be there shortly after class started.
I wondered, absently, whether London had told Vivian about the yellow flowers and pink mouses. I smiled. Mouses. It had sounded so cute coming from her, I just didn’t have the heart to correct her. I wanted to see my daughter, even if only for a few seconds. Though it had only been a day, I missed her.
I got home, grabbed the vase, and was fortunate to hit one green light after another, the Man Upstairs obviously understanding the urgency of my mission.
I pulled into the lot and spotted Vivian standing outside the studio. When I parked, she was already approaching my car, motioning me to roll down the window.
I did and passed the vase to her.
“Thanks,” she said. “Let me get back in there.”
I felt myself deflating like an old balloon. “Before you go – did you two have a good time yesterday?”
She was already backing away. “We had a terrific time. I’ll call you tomorrow to let you know what time you should come over to the house.”
“Can you send London outside so I can say hi?”
“She can’t,” she said. “They’ve already started painting,” she said. She turned and vanished into the studio without another word and I thought to myself that seals were actually lucky.
At least they got a treat.
I didn’t want to return to Marge’s right away. Vivian’s demeanor put me in a pissy mood, one intensified by the fact that I hadn’t slept much. Caffeine, I thought. I needed caffeine, and I pulled in a few doors down from the studio and parked in front of the coffee shop. No doubt Vivian would rather I had gone somewhere else for an iced tea on the off chance that London might see me! But in a rare turn, I told myself that I didn’t care whether she might get angry or not. I actually wanted her to be angry with me.
Maybe, I thought, that was the first step in correcting my need for Vivian’s approval. After all, Marge had been right about my reasons for racing to the studio earlier; even after yesterday’s lunch, I’d still wanted Vivian’s approval, not London’s. If there was anything positive to come out of it, it was that I realized that Vivian was making it easier for me to not want her approval; why try when it simply wasn’t possible? And if she happened to give it, I doubted whether that would change anything.
I pushed through the door, wondering if this was the first step in fixing this particular character flaw of mine when I heard my name being called out.
“Russ?”
I recognized the voice and spotted Emily waving from a table, a newspaper spread before her, a glass of tea on the table. With her luxurious hair curling in the heat and a casual, low-cut T-shirt tucked into faded jeans shorts and sandals, she was beautiful in an earthy, natural way. The sight of her made my irritation melt, and I realized that she was the very person I’d wanted to see, even if I hadn’t been consciously aware of it. “Oh, hey Emily,” I responded, unable to suppress a smile. Instead of getting in line, I found myself heading toward her table, almost on autopilot. “Long time, no see. How are you?”
“I’m good,” she said with a genuine smile. “My schedule’s been crazy for the past few weeks.”
Mine, too, I thought. “What’s been going on?”
“I had to finish some pieces for the gallery, but David’s been in town, too. And that meant a whole lot of running around.”
“You mentioned that he’d be around. How much longer is he staying?”
“It’s his last weekend. He’ll be flying back to Sydney on Tuesday.”
As she spoke, I caught the glint of reflected light in her hazel eyes, triggering memories that seemed to make the years roll backward. I motioned toward the counter and the words were out before I could stop them. “Will you be here for a few minutes? I was thinking about getting some iced tea.”
“I’ll be here,” she said. “The raspberry tea is fantastic.”
I went to the counter and ordered; I took her advice and when it was ready, I brought my glass to the table. She’d just finished folding up the paper, making room, as I took a seat.
“Anything interesting in the paper?”
“A lot of bad stuff. It gets old. I wish there were more stories about good things.”
“That’s why they have the sports section.”
“I suppose. But only if your team wins, right?”
“If they lose, I skip the sports section.”
It wasn’t particularly funny, but she laughed anyway. I liked that. “What’s been going on with you?” she asked. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Did you film those commercials like you wanted? For the lawyer?”
“I did. They’re being finalized in the editing room now, and the first one will hopefully air in about two weeks. I’m filming another one for him next week. And I also signed a plastic surgeon as a client.”
“Is he any good? In case I need his services?”