The Truth About Lennon

My two girls.

I stand at the door, watching as Lennon loads my daughter into the car. Then I watch them pull away, and I keep watching until Lennon’s car disappears. When I turn around, Sara is standing against the desk, a sly grin pulling at her lips.

“You’re in love,” she says in a sing-song voice.

“No, I’m not,” I lie, walking past her. Of course I’m in love with her.

“You know,” she hollers, catching me before I slip out the door, “the sooner you admit it to yourself, the easier it’ll be.”

Oh I’ve already admitted it to myself. Now I have to tell Lennon.

Nova is in the middle of pouring me a glass of imaginary tea when my phone rings. I glance down and see my mother’s name flash across the screen.

What in the world could she possibly want?

I haven’t heard a word from her since I left New York, and normally she has her assistant call me if she needs something. So if she’s calling, it can really only mean one of two things: either she dialed the wrong number or something is wrong.

Wetting my lips, I look at Nova and back at the phone.

Fuck it. She hasn’t bothered to call until now, so why should I interrupt my tea party to answer? I shouldn’t.

There. That’s settled.

Setting my phone on the table, I pick up the cup of tea—pinky poised in the air—and take a dramatic sip.

“Oh, no!” Nova gasps, setting her glass down. “You drank from the wrong glass. That’s poison.”

Wrapping my hands around my throat, I pretend to choke. “Help me.”

“I can’t help you,” Nova exclaims. “The only thing that can save you is the prince.”

Toppling out of the chair, I land softly on the floor. Nova rushes around the table with her stuffed frog and presses his face to my lips.

“There,” she sighs dramatically. “You’re saved.”

Propping myself up on an elbow, I wipe a hand across my forehead. “Whew! That was a close one.”

She nods and takes her seat again at the table. “Now for the real tea,” she says, pouring me a new glass. When I reach for it, my phone lights up again with my mother’s name.

I know she didn’t dial the wrong number twice.

“Nova, I’m going to go into the kitchen and answer this call. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Okay. Can you take these grapes with you, please?” she asks. “We’re done with them.” I take the bowl, and Nova shoves a doll in my seat and goes about her tea party.

Once I’m in the kitchen and out of earshot, I answer. “Hello?”

“Lennon.” My mother’s curt tone instantly pisses me off.

Rolling my eyes, I stuff a grape in my mouth. “Mother,” I say, equally as curt.

“How is Texas?” she asks.

“Better than New York.”

She scoffs, but lucky for her, she doesn’t try to argue with me. It’s an argument she won’t win.

“Have you talked to Mathis?”