The Golden Couple(34)
“Do you guys want something to drink?” I ask. “I’ve got coffee and, um … water…”
“Do you have any green tea?” Greg asks.
“I’d love some, too,” Lana adds.
“Just English breakfast,” I reply. Lana once told me she thought green tea tasted like dirty socks. Clearly she’s following Greg’s lead.
“Sounds great.”
Lana nods along with Greg’s words.
“This is a really nice house,” Greg comments as we head through the living area into my sunny kitchen.
“Thanks.” I put the kettle on to boil and pull three mugs out of a cabinet. “I love it, too. It’s a little big for me to be knocking around in by myself, but I can’t see moving anywhere else. At least not for now.”
“By yourself?” Lana lifts up Romeo’s paw and waggles it at me, affecting a gruff voice. “What am I, chopped liver?”
I laugh and grab a small bottle of stevia, which I know Lana will want to add to her tea—unless Greg takes his straight.
Lana is too needy when it comes to men, so eager to please them that it threatens her own sense of self. I’ve spoken with her about it, but I make a mental note to schedule a dinner with her and broach the topic again.
“Lana, is this where you grew up?” Greg is sitting on the tiled floor, stroking my dog’s back, so instead of serving tea at the banquet, I plop down next to him.
“Yeah—well, sort of. My dad bought this place right after the divorce, so I split my time between here and my mom’s apartment.”
“Where did you grow up, Greg?” I ask.
“Baltimore.” He doesn’t add anything else, and something about the way he states that one-word answer makes me wonder how happy his upbringing was.
“Does your family still live there?”
He nods. “My mom and sister do.”
In other circumstances I wouldn’t press, but this isn’t just a casual introduction. I want to get a sense of the man my stepdaughter appears to be infatuated with.
“And your dad?”
Greg shrugs. “He walked out when I was five. Haven’t had much contact with him since.”
“That must have been tough.…”
“Avery, please don’t start to analyze Greg,” Lana says playfully. “She’s a therapist,” Lana explains to Greg.
Was, I think. But I don’t correct her.
“Oh, hey, can I tell you about the dream I had last night?” Greg quips, then takes a sip of tea. “So, can I see your room? Do you still have posters of Justin Bieber and Zac Efron on the walls?”
Lana’s eyes find mine. Neither of us has gone into her old bedroom in a long time.
Lana clears her throat. “After my dad got sick, we set him up in there. Then…”
Her voice closes up; she can’t complete her sentence and tell Greg about the rest. Greg reaches over and gives her hand a squeeze, and we sit in silence for a moment. I break it to ask if either of them wants more tea.
“No, thanks.” Greg says.
Lana quickly shakes her head, too.
We chat awhile longer, then Lana says they need to get going.
Romeo and I walk them to the door and I hand them their coats. Greg holds out Lana’s for her to slip into as she smiles up at him. He seems like a decent guy and clearly cares for her. At least she seems to have chosen well this time.
I give them both a quick hug and stand on my porch, watching as they walk hand in hand towards Lana’s Honda.
As Lana starts to unlock the door, I notice a woman with dark hair approach them. I can’t make out what they are saying, but I assume she’s asking for directions.
Then I recognize her.
I fly off my porch and race down the front walk, surprise and anger roaring through me.
The woman who is mere inches away from my stepdaughter wears jeans and a parka, rather than a blue hospital gown. She looks fit and healthy now that she isn’t propped up against a pillow with an IV dripping fluids into her system.
It’s Cameron’s ex-wife.
I thrust my body between hers and Lana’s. “Skylar, what are you doing here?”
Skylar smiles, and I notice the ease of her transformation—from a demanding ex-wife to a seemingly friendly acquaintance.
“Avery! Oh, my goodness, what a small world. Do you live nearby?”
Lana edges around from behind me. “You two know each other? So funny!”
“We sure do.” Skylar laughs. “Turns out Avery treated my husband. He’s almost like a different person now.”
“That’s great,” Lana replies as Greg nods in agreement. They’re oblivious of the undercurrent running through this encounter. Although Lana knows I lost my license a few months ago because I’d changed my therapeutic methods, she has no idea that the woman standing in front of her is the one who reported me.
“I wish we had time to chat,” I say pointedly.
Skylar ignores my rebuff. “I’ve always loved this street. I was just telling your”—a crease forms in her brow as she looks from me to Lana—“niece, is it? Or—”
“I’m her bonus daughter, Lana.”
Stop talking! I think.
“And this is Greg, my boy—”