The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue 2)

“All the girls will want to kiss you.”

With a heavy sigh, I give her a reprimanding look. I don’t know if it’s normal for girls her age to tease their dads about women. I can’t exactly ask around—I don’t know any other single dads. I thought I had a while longer before she moved into this phase where she starts to wonder about love and sex.

Sex.

Jesus. Christ.

Could I ever actually work up the nerve to talk about that with Bell, my precious baby? Fuck. I hope I’m right that I’ve got years left to prepare, but I’m worried that might be pushing it.

“Homework’s done?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Yup. Are you going to the city?”

“Yes. Uncle Nathan has to work and Aunt Sadie needs me to go with her.”

“I love New York City. I want to live there one day.”

I slide my gaze over to her. I’m aware of her interest, but this is the first I’ve heard of wanting to move there. “It’s not a nice place.”

“But Aunt Sadie lives there, and she has a fun job and cool friends.”

“She lives in Brooklyn,” I say, “not that that’s any better.”

“Are you going to a party?”

I rinse out my razor. I don’t often leave Bell in the evenings. It can sometimes get ugly. Since she didn’t freak out too much about spending a weekend with Sadie, I’m hoping she’s grown out of it, but I don’t exactly want to test that theory. “Speaking of parties,” I say. “Did you decide what kind of cake you want for your birthday?”

“Chocolate with chocolate frosting that has blue and pink swirls,” she says. “And mint ice cream.”

“Done.”

“Will you be home in time to tuck me in?”

Fuck. I tilt my head back, shaving under my jaw. I don’t look at Bell, because like an animal, she smells fear. “I don’t think so, babe. City’s far away. I’ll be home late.”

She doesn’t respond.

I put my razor down and splash water on my face. “I need you to be good for Flora tonight,” I say about Pico’s mom, Bell’s usual sitter. “Even Pico’s coming over to play.”

Silence. When it comes to Bell, that’s never a good sign unless she’s doing homework or playing where I can see her.

“You’re a big girl, Bell. You’ll have fun tonight.”

I go into my closet, drop my towel, and pull on underwear. All I hear is the loudening knock of Bell’s heels against the cabinets. “Hey,” I call out to her. “Pico said he doesn’t believe you know all the lyrics to Metallica. Want to practice until he gets here?”

“Which song?”

“‘Sandman.’”

Immediately, she launches into the first verse. Her voice echoes through the bathroom as I get into my suit. I button my dress shirt laughing. It’s always creepy when she sings it, especially the part that’s actually a child’s voice, but she loves the song. She’s never been a fearful kid. Never believed in monsters or boogey men. She’s like me, afraid of things that’re actually scary—like being abandoned.

I tuck in the shirt and do up my pants. Sadie probably worries I’ll show up looking like a slob since I don’t care about these things. But the suit I have from her wedding still fits perfectly, and I have a reason to look good tonight.

I open a drawer with ties. For owning only two suits, I have way too many ties, all less than subtle hints from Sadie to dress up more. I pick up a drab gray one, but a flash of red at the back of the drawer catches my eye. I wore that tie last year when I took Bell into the city for a show around Christmastime.

Sadie mentioned that avec was nominated. If I know Amelia, which I don’t, not really, she’ll be dressed to the nines. That must’ve been the reason for the expensive cherry-colored dress we picked up from the front desk of her apartment building. I select the red tie. It’ll be a message from me to her, a way of both teasing her and showing her I’ve been thinking of her.

I come out of the bathroom and stand in front of the mirror to get the knot right. “What d’you think, kid? Does Dad look good or what?”

“I don’t want you to go,” Bell says immediately.

I glance at her. “I know. I don’t really want to go either, but—”

“Then don’t,” she says. “Stay home. We can watch a show about cars.”

I chuckle and think, not for the first time, manipulation must be genetic. In that way, she’s her mother’s daughter. “I can’t. Aunt Sadie’s expecting me.”

Bell crosses her arms, pouting. “Parties are stupid.”

“Come on. We don’t use that word.”

“Stupid,” she repeats.

“Bell,” I warn. “You want to go to your room until I leave?”

“No. I want to stay with you.” She sticks her bottom lip out farther. “If I’m good, will you not go?”

“No.” I tug on my sleeve and head into the bedroom to get cufflinks from a drawer. Sensing Bell’s glare, even through the wall separating the rooms, I ask, “Will you help me? I can’t do this alone.”

With a huge sigh, she pads over. I lift her up on the edge of the bed and hold the sleeve together for her. “Just put the small part of the cufflink through the holes so it holds the cuff together.”

She furrows her eyebrows as she works. “Can I come with you?”

I press my lips together, half pissed that she won’t drop it and half devastated. That Bell thinks I’m abandoning her, even for tonight, makes my chest physically hurt. I’m starting to wonder if others have been right about us. If she’s too attached. Problem is, she learned it from me. Part of me would rather stay here, dish out ice cream, and play Mario Kart. I’m looking forward to seeing Amelia, but is it worth making my girl feel like this?

Bell’s finishing the other cufflink when the doorbell rings. She jumps down and sprints out of the bedroom.

“Stop right there,” I call after her. “Don’t you dare open that door.”

“But it’s Flora,” she cries from the living room.

“I don’t care. How many goddamn times have I told you—do not open the door by yourself at night.”

“But it’s Flora.”

“You don’t know that.” I rush into the room after her. “It could be a stranger.”

She’s hanging on the door handle, her eyes watery, as if she’s waited her whole life to answer that door and I’ve taken it away from her.

“Now that I’m in the room with you, you can open it,” I say.

She does. Flora’s there, smiling warmly. “Why, hello, Bell,” she says, stepping in. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

Bell looks back at me, suddenly shy for all her bravado.

“Say hello,” I tell her firmly. “Mrs. Picolli was nice enough to come over and spend her evening with you.”

“It’s no trouble,” Flora says.

“Come in.” I hold the door as Bell glowers and then slinks away.

Pico ambles up the sidewalk, his motorcycle parked in the driveway.

“Give ol’ mom a ride on the scooter or what?” I ask.

“No, dumbass. She drove herself.”

Pico may work for me now, but I’ve been busting his balls since before we were teenagers. His dad, Flora’s late husband, worked for my grandpa.

I slap him on the back. “Do me favor and see if you can distract Bell. She’s in one of her moods.”

“I

’m on it.” He pulls a deck of cards from his back pocket. “Learned some new magic tricks recently.”

Thank God for his geeky side. It might actually save us tonight.

“Thanks for doing this,” I tell Flora as Pico goes to find Bell. “I’m sorry about her. She doesn’t want me to go.”

Flora takes off her cardigan, and I hang it up for her. “She’ll get over it.”

“Just when I think she’s maturing at light speed, she pulls this crap. I think it’s getting worse.” I rub my eyebrow. “Maybe I shouldn’t go. She’s going to cop an attitude with you.”

“That’s exactly why you should. Believe me, dear, I have five children. I can handle her.” Flora eyes my suit. “You look handsome, by the way. Please tell me you have a date to this party.”

“I’m just helping Sadie out.” My heart thumps once when I think of Amelia. She isn’t my date, which means I have to keep my hands off her in public. How can I after last week? I knew the woman an hour before I had her in my arms, kissing her where all of Manhattan could see. It’ll be a feat to restrain myself until I can get her alone.

Flora looks as though she’s waiting for me to continue, as if I’m really leaving because I have something up my sleeve. “Can I get you something to drink?” I offer.

“I’ll take a water.”

I lead Flora into the kitchen and get a glass out of a cabinet, even though she’s been here a hundred times and knows where everything is. She continues to watch me.

I don’t know if it’s the maternal vibe she gives off the way my mom used to when we were really young, but her silence has a way of filling the room, pressurizing the air around me until I crack. “Actually, there will be a girl there tonight,” I say.

“Really?” Flora sounds surprised. She knew Shana well, knows our history. Then again, there aren’t many people who don’t. It’s not as if Elizabeth is a small town, but sometimes it feels that way. “Who’s the lucky lady?” she asks.

“No, it’s not like that,” I say right away. “Not serious. Just someone who . . . I mean, we’re just friends, but . . .”

“I see,” Flora says. “A friend like Denise.”

My cheeks warm. Pico and his big fucking mouth. Or maybe it was Denise. I wouldn’t put it past her to try to get Flora on her side. Flora’s one of the few people I respect enough to hear her advice. “Yeah,” I say, even though Amelia isn’t like any other woman I know, and certainly not Denise. “Like Denise. I’m sorry.”