Beautiful Mistake

“I’ll pick you up at work at seven.”

“You’ll go with me to my sister’s?”

“I assumed from your conversation you want me to.”

“I do.”

“Then I’ll see you at seven.”

I smiled long after he was gone. He had no idea how much it meant that he’d agreed to come along without any prodding. It felt like we’d broken through to a new place together, and I couldn’t wait to walk on the other side.

Caine

I could get used to that smile greeting me. Rachel waved from the table she was helping when I arrived at O’Leary’s a few minutes early. It had been less than twelve hours since I’d been inside her, and yet I felt my body react to seeing her.

Charlie greeted me at the bar. He shook my hand with a firm grip meant to get my attention. “She’s floatin’ around this place. I take it that’s because of whatever the two of you got going on?”

“If you’re asking if we’re seeing each other, the answer is yes.”

“You ain’t married, are you?” He narrowed his eyes.

“No, I’m not married.”

“You do drugs?”

“No drugs.”

“Got a record?”

I was basically being interrogated by a cop—no reason to share something that happened years ago and no one had access to anymore.

“No record.”

Charlie spread his pointer and middle finger into a V and pointed to his eyes, then to me. “I got my eyes on you.”

Rachel appeared next to me. “Charlie, what are you doing?”

He grabbed a glass from a full crate and started to stack them behind the bar. He’d been in my face, but with Rachel he was kowtowing.

“Just talking with the good professor.”

She squinted. “Just talking, huh? Not interrogating?”

Charlie looked me square in the eye. “We were just talking about the Yankees. Third baseman got injured when he was trying to steal home. Should have stayed at third until he got the all clear from his coach. Right, Professor?”

Rachel rightly looked suspicious.

“Sure, Charlie,” I said.

I wasn’t sure if she believed Charlie’s shit or chose to ignore it. Either way, I was glad she had someone looking out for her.

“Table three is almost ready to close out,” she told Charlie. “I told them to bring their check up to you.” She looked at her watch. “Ava’s not here yet. You want me to wait? Table five ordered appetizers and hasn’t put in their dinner order yet.”

“I got it. You two kids take off.”

“You sure?”

Charlie thumbed toward the door. “Go on. Get outta here. I don’t want people to see your professor friend here and think the place is changing over to yuppies.”

I laughed. “’Night, Charlie.”

Rachel’s sister lived in Queens, and traffic was still heavy from the evening commute home. She was quieter than usual as we inched our way up the parkway.

“Busy at work today?”

“No. It was actually kind of slow.”

More quiet as she stared off out the window.

“Something bothering you?”

She shifted in her seat. “There’s something I should tell you about my sister.”

“Alright.”

“She’s a drug addict. Well, she’s in recovery. But I suppose that still makes her a drug addict, because once an addict, always an addict. It’s the same thing as an alcoholic, right? You still call yourself an alcoholic even if you haven’t had a drink for five years. Is there actually a time when you stop referring to yourself that way? Like maybe those chips they give out—one might signify that you’re sober? Do all of those chips mean different things? I thought they were timeline accomplishments—like one for a month, and another for a year? But maybe—”

She hadn’t taken a breath yet. Run-on sentences were one of her tells when she was nervous. I interrupted, “Rachel?”

“What?”

“You’re babbling. I don’t care if your sister is an addict. I wouldn’t even care if you’re sister wasn’t in recovery. I’m not going to judge her. I’m coming to dinner because you wanted me to come. Do you still want me to join you?”

“Yes.”

I reached over and took her hand, bringing it to cover the gear shifter beneath my own. “Okay then.”

From my peripheral vision, I saw her shoulders relax a bit. She looked out the window, seeming lost in thought, and then turned to me.

“She lost custody of her son because of her addiction.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“She only gets to see him twice a week—supervised visitation. Her ex-husband left her a few years ago and took her son with him.”

“Her son? It’s not her ex-husband’s child.”

“No. It’s a long story. But she had Adam when she was young.”

I squeezed her hand beneath mine. “Shit happens, Rach. Addiction is tough.” God knows I knew that first hand after Liam.

“I know. I just wanted to tell you that.”

“Thank you for sharing with me.”

Even though I meant it when I said I had no judgment of her sister—I had definitely visualized her as something different. I’d expected an addict to open the door for us when we arrived—thin and unkempt, in a small apartment, maybe bad teeth. But the woman who greeted us was nothing like that. She was an older version of Rachel. Healthy and smiling, she welcomed me into her home with a hug.

“It’s so nice to meet you. My sister’s told me absolutely nothing about you.”

Rachel laughed. “Ignore her. She tends to be a wiseass.”

“So you two have a lot in common then, along with your looks.”

Riley shut the door behind us, grinning from ear to ear. “I like him already.”

The apartment’s entrance led into the kitchen, so we stood around talking for a while as Riley checked on the dinner she had in the oven. It had been hot as hell in class today, so I’d guzzled a few extra bottles of water while lecturing and needed to relieve myself.

“Excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”

Riley was stirring a pot at the stove and pointed down the hall. “Sure. Through the living room, down the hall, first door on the left. I basically live in a railroad car, so you can’t miss it.”