I answered the call by saying, “Two calls in one week. I must be special.”
She’d called a few days ago to check in and ask what I wanted for my birthday. I hadn’t been very helpful.
“Oh good, you’re not asleep,” she replied with a grin in her voice. “I wanted to be the first to wish you a happy birthday!”
I chuckled and side-eyed the clock. Four minutes past midnight. “You’re sweet. Are you doing all right?”
“Sort of.” Most of her humor had faded. “I called for a selfish reason too. I need some reassurance.”
That made me worried. “From me? What can I do?”
There was some rustling in the background; it sounded like she was in bed. “I’ve been offered an internship at a restaurant that would mean I’d only come home for two weeks in June. Then I’d have to fly back and work till the end of August.”
Ah. So, instead of being home for nearly three months…
I released a breath and peered down at Grace. She was asleep, finally.
Two weeks of seeing Pipsqueak. June was around the corner. It was the end of May now. “I think I’m too happy about the fact that I’m actually seeing you soon that it’s difficult to say anything about when you leave,” I murmured. “It’s going to suck to see you off so soon, but it’s been almost a year, Pipsqueak. At this point, I’d make a deal with the devil for ten minutes.”
She exhaled a laugh that made it sound like she was a little choked up. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear that. I miss you so much.”
I took a deep breath. I’d needed to hear that too.
“Why aren’t you here?” she whined softly.
I closed the book on my lap and stared at the cover. The image of the Golden Gate Bridge had been what’d caught my eye in the first place.
“I’m sorry,” she added. “I was kidding.”
She hadn’t been. I knew she hadn’t been dead serious either, but I recognized a weak moment when I heard it over the phone, evidently. Because I’d been there myself. It was when I cursed California and wondered what the fuck was so special about that culinary institute in San Francisco.
But what if…
“Have dinner with me when you come home,” I requested quietly.
“Of course.” Her response was so simple that I wasn’t sure she realized I wanted it to be a date. But it was okay. I’d make my intentions clear soon enough. “By the way, you’ll get a package delivered tomorrow.”
“Oh?” I smiled.
“Mm-hmm. Since you don’t like cake, I made you thirty-four pieces of the new and improved Mister Collection.”
Thirty-four, Jesus. I was thirty-four years old. What was Pipsqueak even doing with me? She was so young and amazing. She could have virtually anyone.
“They were already perfect, but I’m looking forward to trying them.” I set the book on my nightstand and flicked off the light. “It’s been too long since I had anything you made in my house.”
She laughed softly. “I’m holding everything hostage so you’ll miss me more.”
“Effective and brutal,” I chuckled. “There used to be a bread in the cupboard when you ran my kitchen. I looked for it in three grocery stores before Mary told me it’s a bread you bake yourself.”
Pipsqueak found that funny. “The poppy seed bread?”
“Yes.” I nearly groaned at the memory of it. It was fucking amazing. “You used a paper bag from the deli at the store to keep it in, so imagine my disappointment when I couldn’t find it.”
She giggled. “I’ll make it for you as soon as I get home.”
I smiled to myself and scooted down. As soon as my head landed on the pillow, I let out a sigh of contentment. “Can’t wait.”
Only a few weeks to go.
Downtown was, without a doubt, the most beautiful when everything was in bloom. One residential area after another was filled with apple trees and rose bushes, and it felt like the entire town’s spirit lifted in May and June. People came out of hibernation.
The torrential rains of early spring had ended, and the heat waves of summer hadn’t hit yet.
The weather was perfect for running with Grace. She squealed and gripped the bar across her seat in the stroller and went, “Voom, voom, Dada!”
I chuckled, out of breath, and turned onto a new street. Another street of perfectly maintained front yards and nice Victorian houses. One older man was repainting his picket fence. A woman a couple houses down was busy spring-cleaning the shutters. The sound of birds and lawn mowers could be heard everywhere.
Barbecue season was almost here.
“Do you wanna have lunch at Uncle Darius’s, Grace?” I asked, reaching for my water bottle.
“Unka Da, go, go, go!”
I grinned and took a swig of my water. “I’ll take that as a yes.” It was a good time to turn around anyway. We’d reached the outskirts of Downtown, and…I came to a stop when I saw a house that was for sale.