Never Say Forever

“Exactly. If Sesame Street can’t be the voice of reason, who else is qualified?”

“Actually, that’s W.B. Yeats. He’s an Irish poet.” The latter she adds a little self-consciously, as though divulging some part of herself she’d prefer to keep private.

“You’re sure those aren’t Big Bird’s words?”

At last, she smiles. It was hard-won but worth it. “‘Come away, O human child. To the waters and the wild with a faery, hand in hand, for the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.’” Her head jerks up, and she blinks, her eyes a shade of gold I’m pretty sure they weren’t a moment ago.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand like pins, my body simultaneously hot and cold at the same time—my insides fiery and molten, a chill coating my skin. What the fuck was that? Maybe it wasn’t Goldilocks I found in my bath last night. Maybe it was queen of the faeries.

“Sorry.” She shakes her head, rapidly reaching for her wine. “That’s one of his. Yeats, not Big Bird’s, I mean.” Another smile, this one a little sadder. Is it bad that I’m counting?

“It’s beautiful.” Just like the woman in front of me. “Even if I still think your poet’s been stealing from Sesame Street.”

“It’s one of Lu’s favourites,” she says, smoothing her daughter’s hair, as dark as hers is light.

“I can see why. Maybe you’ll read it all to me sometime.”

“Like a bedtime story,” echoes Lu.

“I’m not sure about stories, but it is time for our bed.”

What I wouldn’t give for that kind of invitation from her.

“What? You’re not going to abandon me at nine thirty on a Saturday night, are you, roomie?”

“I’m sure you don’t need us for company.” Her words are delivered through a derisory chuckle as she slides her phone from her protesting daughter’s hand.

“I’d certainly like your company. Both of you. You’d like to stay up late and watch a movie with me and your mom, wouldn’t you, Lulu?”

I might not be a parent, but even I know that was a dick move.

“Can we watch Poppy’s movie?” The kid angles her head like an inquisitive terrier.

“Sure, Lu. That’s my favourite,” I answer as her mother groans.

Whatever it is, if it gets me a couple more hours with Fee, I’m in.

And on some level, probably a masochist.

“And there has to be popcorn,” the kid says, clearly feeling a sense of her own power in the exchange.

“I thought you had a tummy ache.” Fee places her hands on the kid’s shoulders, steering her towards the door.

“ ’S gone,” Lulu protests, wriggling out from under her hold. “I wanna watch a movie with Uncle Car. It’s the weekend, remember?”

“Want to watch a movie,” Fee amends, frowning as I interject,

“Yeah, Mom, it’s the weekend. Don’t go spoiling the vibe.”

“We’ll see if you’re still wearing that smirk in an hour,” she says, throwing down the gauntlet before turning back to the kid. “Fine. But you need to get dressed for bed first.”

“Deal-ee-o!”

“Does that go for me, too?”

Her frowning gaze flicks my way, scanning me from the head down. “No. You better stay fully clothed.”

I don’t know about clothes, but I’m still wearing the same smile as the pair leaves the kitchen. One of them to slip into something more comfortable, the other probably to frown a little more. I do a quick reconnaissance of the cabinets on the hunt for popcorn. Finding a microwave pack, I stick it in the machine for the allocated time, then open another bottle of Chateau Margaux, topping up our glasses with the open bottle. Then I make my way to the den to cue up Lulu’s movie of choice when she bounds into the room.

“I want to sit next to Uncle Car!”

“Don’t climb over the back of the sofa!” Fee rebukes, following her in. “Honestly, anyone would think you’re half monkey.”

Rolling off the seat cushion to stand at my knees, the little girl pops her hand on one hip. “Sweet or salty?”

I like to think I’m a little of both, but I guess that isn’t an appropriate answer. “Can’t you smell the butter?”

She nods her approval and sits to my left. “Mummy, you sit next to me and make me the ham in a people sandwich!”

A people sandwich sounds like the kind of weekend I was looking forward to before my plane broke down. But if there’s going to be a P.G. people sandwich . . .

“I think your mommy should sit next to me. How else is she going to reach the popcorn?”

Fee tries and fails to suppress a superior grin as she takes a seat on the other side of Lulu, her eyes meeting mine over her child’s dark head. “Good try.”

“Your loss,” I reply. “I happen to know having the meat in the middle makes for a better people sandwich experience.”