Daniel has sole legal and physical custody of Rusty. Legally, he never has to let his ex see Rusty again, but Daniel’s not a monster. He still wants Rusty to have her mom in her life, even if it’s not really clear that her mom wants the same thing.
She’ll go weeks, sometimes even months without contacting her own daughter. Daniel’s reported her missing at least twice. And then, after Rusty visits her, she comes home knowing what hangovers look like.
Sure, Daniel owns a brewery, but I’ve never seen him have more than one drink in a night.
“I had to hide it,” I explain, still trying to clear the final cobwebs of sleep from my brain. “It’s in the bottom of the fridge, behind that big Tupperware of macaroni salad that your grandma made.”
Rusty grins.
“Does it have a flower?”
“There weren’t any flowers,” I say.
Technically, it’s true: the flowers were gone by the time we actually served cake. I think most of them were in Violet’s hair.
God, it was disappointing when she went into the pantry to change shirts. Not unexpected, but disappointing. Turns out she’s pretty when she’s laughing, too.
“I got you a corner piece, though,” I say, as seriously as I can manage. “Is our deal still good?”
She nods.
I hold up one finger.
“One more thing,” I say.
Rusty frowns.
“You can’t eat it in front of your dad, because he’ll kill me,” I say. “We’ll sneak it out when the time is right, okay?”
Rusty nods, grinning and rocking from foot to foot.
“Okay,” she says, practically bouncing with excitement, then leaves my room.
I flop back into my bed.* * *“Listen, it was nothing,” I say, watching the saucepan like a hawk, keeping my voice low. “You’ve never made out with someone at a bar?”
“Oh, I have,” Daniel says, leaning over and looking into a pot. “That’s how I got Rusty, remember? Well, that was step one.”
Today’s Sunday, and that means that today is Sunday Dinner.
If we’re in town, we’re expected to be there. No excuse is good enough. Anyone we want to bring is welcome. Silas is there a lot. Charlotte, Daniel’s best friend, is usually around.
Since I’ve been back, I’ve taken over the cooking. Tonight I’m trying out a slightly sweet lemongrass catfish dish, and the sugar needs to be caramelized before I add it to the sauce.
“Then you know that sometimes it happens, and it’s no big deal, and there’s no need to talk about it because it was nothing,” I say, not moving my eyes for an instant.
The sugar is starting to turn very, very slight yellow.
“Yeah, it sure seems like suddenly getting physical with your childhood nemesis is nothing,” Daniel deadpans.
“We all make mistakes,” I say, trying to sound as nonchalant as I can.
Was it a mistake? Maybe. Would I do it again? In a second.
Did I come close last night?
Hell yes.
The sugar’s slightly darker.
“So this was a one-time thing and I don’t need to brace myself to hear even more about Violet?” he asks. “I just like to be prepared.”
I quickly glance up at my younger brother, who’s leaning against the kitchen counter and clearly doesn’t believe a word I’ve been saying.
“Nope,” I say.
“Well, if you’re wrong, I’m here for you,” he says, patting me on the shoulder. “And I promise to only say I told you so a few dozen —”
“Here they are!” my mom says, bursting into the kitchen, holding her phone out in front of her like it’s divining rod. “Daniel, Eli, your brother’s on the phone!”
“Hi,” comes Caleb’s slightly staticky voice, over speakerphone.
“Hey,” Daniel and I say in unison as my mom hands her phone to Daniel.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“Uh, I think this town is called Idyllwild,” he says. “I’m at a hostel for the night so I can take a shower and re-supply, so I figured I’d call and let you know I’m still alive.”
“How far have you gotten?”
“About a hundred and seventy-five miles,” he says.
Daniel whistles.
“You gonna finish this year?” he asks, and Caleb just laughs.
“Probably not,” he says. “The Pacific Crest Trail is longer and harder than the Appalachian Trail.”
“That’s what she said,” I mutter.
They both snort, and my mom rolls her eyes.
“Tell him about your job,” she says.
I’m still watching the sugar. It’s getting close.
“I got a new job,” I say.
“Doing what?”
“Cooking,” I tell him.
“He’s the executive chef at Bramblebush,” my mom says, smacking me lightly on the arm.
“He works with Violet Tulane,” Daniel says.
I shoot him a glare. He raises one eyebrow slightly, like he’s challenging me.
“You didn’t tell me that,” my mom says.
“Is that the girl you couldn’t stand in high school?” Caleb asks.
“Yes,” Daniel and my mom chorus together.
“She’s very nice,” my mom says. “But she used to really get Eli’s goat.”
Daniel makes another face at me. I ignore it.
“Tell us about all your adventures on the trail,” my mom says.