“No, you were. I wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t forced the issue.”
“Well, like I said, I know what it’s like to feel that everyone else is more important.”
Voices in the background break the spell this conversation has woven over me.
“My meeting’s starting,” she says. “I gotta go.”
“Yeah, me, too. I have to drive Simone to this dance camp thing.”
“Okay.” She pauses for a second before whispering, “I love you.”
“You have no idea,” I reply immediately. “But I’m going to show you real soon.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“So do I. Love you, Button.”
I’m on the proverbial cloud, feeling like some lovesick fool, but not really giving a damn.
My high crashes when my dashboard displays an incoming call from Bridget. We’ve been civil the few times we’ve spoken. With her in New York, there have been thankfully few visits to coordinate, and those happened while I was on the road. Dr. Packer believes the harmony between Bridget and me is just as much a stabilizing force as me waiting to be with Lotus or my mom moving in with us.
I answer the phone and brace myself for any drama she may have in store. “Bridge, hey,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road. “What’s up?”
“Hey, Kenan,” she says, her voice filling the car interior. “How are you?”
Oh, manners. I remember these. “I’m good. What’s up?” I repeat.
/> “The cast has an appearance in LA today,” she says, her tone slightly hesitant. “I, um, thought I might swing by to see Simone.”
“You know she has that dance camp in Laguna Beach,” I remind her. “I’m on my way home to take her now.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot. Um . . . maybe next time.”
“Well LA is even closer to Laguna Beach. Pop in and see her before you go back. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“You think so?” she asks, brightening.
“Yeah. I start a stretch of road games tomorrow and will be gone for the week, so seeing one of us will probably be good for her.”
“Okay. I’ll text her to make arrangements.” She goes quiet for a second. “She’s better, right?”
The same cold-sweat fear I have—that I’ll find Simone barely breathing on my bed again—resides in Bridget’s voice. I find myself in my daughter’s room when she’s asleep and watching her breathe, like I did when she was a baby. It reassures me. Right now, Bridget doesn’t even have that.
“Yeah, Bridge. She’s better.”
“I think we all are,” she says, a smile in her voice.
“Yeah.”
“She told me you’re not seeing Lotus anymore,” Bridget says, the tiniest flicker of hope in the words. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”
“They’re actually working out fine,” I reply carefully. “Lotus and I wanted to give Simone some time to recover, and for me to focus on her as much as possible while the season is still so demanding.”
“Very thoughtful of you.” An edge blunts her words.
“Lotus’s idea actually.”
Several drops of quiet form a shallow puddle of silence that starts becoming uncomfortable just when she speaks again.