“I really need to child proof the locks,” he muttered to himself. “Clarissa, baby, you can’t just wander the halls like that. It’s not safe.”
“But I wanted to share with Lara,” the little girl whined.
“Daddy was very worried about you. If you want to visit Lara, tell me first, okay?”
“Okay,” she mumbled into his shoulder.
Chuck smiled at me. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not,” I laughed. “You two are welcome any time.”
“I have to tuck Clarissa in for the night, but did you maybe want to stay for a cup of coffee?”
“I’ve actually got delivery on the way,” I started. Hannah’s words rang loudly in my ears. Remember, trust your gut! I worried my bottom lip with my teeth before an idea hit me. “I mean, have you eaten yet? Maybe we can split the dumplings I ordered.”
Chuck cracked a toothy grin. “I’d like that.”
“I’ll be back in a few.”
“And I’ll be waiting.”
6
Chuck
Inviting Lara into my apartment hadn’t been a part of any of my plans. But when I saw her at my front door with Clarissa in her arms, all logic and reason went straight out the window. In that very moment, everything seemed to make perfect sense. It was obvious how much Clarissa liked Lara, and how much Lara liked Clarissa. Given enough time, I was sure they’d be as thick as thieves. I hadn’t seen Clarissa this happy since the divorce, and it genuinely filled my heart to the brim with delight to see her getting along with someone new. Ever since I’d left Sandy, Clarissa had been progressively difficult, often acting out in various ways to demand my attention. Her escaping the apartment every other night was definitely an act of open rebellion, and I was more than aware of that fact.
Lara and I sat on the bar stools against the kitchen island, pouring over the Styrofoam containers full of Chinese takeout. I’d cracked open a bottle of red wine and we were already half-way through it by the time we got to the wontons. We spoke softly, doing our best to hold a conversation without waking Clarissa. A part of me thought I was dreaming. I couldn’t believe Lara was actually here, laughing quietly as we both reached for the same steamed pork bun.
“Please,” she said, “you take it.”
“No, it’s okay,” I insisted. “This is your food, after all.”
“How about we split it?”
“Sounds like a perfectly reasonable compromise.”
Lara expertly used the ends of her chopsticks to cut the bun in half, handing me the left side while taking the other to promptly bite down on.
“How did you get started in writing?” she asked after swallowing. “No great author just popped up out of nowhere.”
“I was actually a journalist,” I explained. “I went to school to study politics, but loved writing so much that I decided to go into journalism after I graduated.”
“No wonder your political subplots are always so flushed out.”
I chuckled, “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
“How long were you a journalist?”
“Only two years or so. The flashiness of the job kind of wore out quickly. I eventually realized I wanted to do so much more with my life. I transitioned into freelance work. Since I’d collected a significant number of articles for my portfolio, the switch was really easy. Before I knew it, I was writing short stories and novellas for clients.”
“When did you start writing for yourself, then?”
I hummed, thinking back. “Not too long. Maybe after my fourth client project. I had a ton of ideas and stories I wanted to share with the world, so I spent all of my free time working on my own thing.”
“How long did The Last Remembering take you to finish?”
“The first book took me a year and a half, not including editing time. The second and third book took less than a year each.”