Weather Girl(34)

Elodie lets out a shriek. “I’ve been wanting that one to come back here forever! It was amazing, wasn’t it? Did you cry?”

“So much,” I tell her, and just like that, her hesitation turns to a combination of jealousy and awe.

Russell clears his throat. I hope I haven’t said too much to her, though I’m nothing to Russell but a coworker. A co-schemer. “Her mom was about to pick her up, but she just texted that she’s running late,” he says. “Do you mind if we stick around a few minutes?”

“Oh—sure. That’s completely fine.”

Except he looks deeply uncomfortable, focusing on plucking a stray thread from his jacket and not quite making eye contact. It’s clear this wasn’t planned, that Elodie’s mother was supposed to be here before I pulled up. I’m not sure how many people at work have met his kid, but I’m going to guess not many. Again, I wonder how old he is. After the birthday dance, I had to hold myself back from asking because I worried he’d be able to tell I was doing mental math. For all I know, she could be adopted, though there’s a clear physical resemblance in the blue of their eyes, the shape of their faces.

“Do you want me to wait in the car?” I ask.

Russell’s brow furrows. “No, of course not. You can come inside.”

A bit gingerly, I step over the threshold, like maybe Russell’s hiding even more secrets inside. The house is cozy, warm tones and plush rugs, bright-colored vintage artwork on the walls along with framed photos of Elodie as a baby, as a kid, as the preteen she is now. And of course, some sports memorabilia: a black-and-white team photo, a framed jersey with the name of a player I don’t recognize.

“It’s a great house,” I say as I spot a wood fireplace in the living room.

“It was a bit of a fixer-upper.” He leans against the wall next to a photo of toddler Elodie clutching a stuffed cow and grinning at the camera. “But the fixing is all wrapped up, at least for now. There are a few more things I’d like to do to it, but it’s tough to find the time. No one told me that when you get a house, your weekends are spent primarily fixing up the house.”

“Do not get him started on the house,” Elodie warns. “He’ll never stop.”

“If I recall, you were a pretty big fan of the loft we built in your room.”

Elodie mimes zipping her lips. “What? I love the house? Say anything you want about the house?”

My mind is working overtime to process this. This is Russell Barringer, father. Homeowner. Wearer of excellent jackets. Maybe I wasn’t getting to know him that well after all.

When Russell’s phone lights up in his hand, he doesn’t even let it complete its first ring. “She’s here,” he says to Elodie. “You have everything you need?”

“Let’s see, hair dye, DIY tattoo kit, fake ID . . . check, check, and check.” If I didn’t already know she was a theater kid, her killer straight face confirms it. “Don’t have too much fun.”

“That’s my line.” He pulls her in for a hug, and oh—oh no. Something terrible is happening to my heart.

The wind chimes sing, and a white woman with a brunette pixie cut and long wool coat appears, pushing open the door.

“Elodie?” she says, stepping inside. “You ready?” Then her gaze lands on me, her face splitting into a grin. “Hi! You must be Ari Abrams.” She extends her hand. “I feel like I know you already! I watch you every morning.”

“Oh—thank you?” I phrase it like a question because this scene feels straight out of a sitcom. This is Elodie’s mother. And she’s . . . excited to meet me? I’m getting too many mystery pieces of Russell all at once.

“Sorry, I’m Liv. Ahhh, I’m a little starstruck!” She laughs, running a hand through her short hair. “I know, I know, Russ is on TV, too, but we’ve known each other forever. So this is like . . . meeting a local celebrity.”

“I definitely don’t feel like a celebrity when I’m microwaving frozen ravioli in my 450-square-foot studio apartment,” I say, and it’s meant to be a way to break the tension, but it only comes out sounding pathetic.

Either oblivious to the awkwardness or all too aware of it, Elodie says, “I forgot my retainer!” and turns to rush upstairs.

Russell has become a statue next to me. “Liv, Ari. Ari, Liv. Though, uh, I guess you two kind of already covered that.”

Liv touches his arm in this familiar way that reminds me she’s not just Elodie’s mother: she’s Russell’s ex, from who knows how long ago.

Someone’s knocking at the door. Again. And again, they don’t wait for anyone to answer it.

“What’s taking so long?” asks a tall, trim guy with salt-and-pepper hair and one of those down vests all men over the age of thirty in Seattle own. I think I got Alex the same one for his birthday. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Russell’s gaze flicks from me to this new stranger. He looks as though he might self-destruct. “This is Perry,” he says, seizing the opportunity to preempt the introductions this time around. “Liv’s husband and Elodie’s stepdad.” He glances behind Perry. “And is that Clementine I see back there?”

Perry grins. “She just dozed off. I couldn’t bring myself to wake her.” He holds out his hand for me to shake before turning back to Russell. I take it Clementine is a baby. “The Kraken is looking solid this year. Think they have a chance at the playoffs?”