Picking Up the Pieces (Pieces, #2)(13)

I had to rein in my defensiveness. Her tone pissed me off, but I knew that if I snapped at her again, I'd regret it forever. “Um, listen, Lily. I know that I was rude last week, and I'd like to get together. Maybe explain some things. Clear the air. Can I buy you a drink?" The way I saw it, this was the best of both worlds. We could say what we each needed to say, and I could avoid doing it sober. “How ‘bout Dino’s? They have a beer garden there. We’ll grab some pizza, a few beers, and talk.”

“Okay, when?”

The quickness of her response surprised me. I needed a little time to collect my thoughts. Plus, I didn’t wanna seem to eager to see her. A week and a half seemed like a good amount of time to let things cool down a bit. “Uh, how ‘bout Saturday, the twenty-first? Late afternoon?”

“Um, let me see.” She got quiet for a few moments, probably to look at the calendar on her phone—which made me think about how I had absolutely nothing going on. Ever. “That should be fine. I’ll see you then, I guess.”

“Yeah, okay. See you then. Oh, I’ll text you about the time when it gets closer.” Does it seem like I have a life now? Probably not.

“Okay. Oh, and Max,” she added just before hanging up. “Try not to be such an * next time.”

I dropped my hands and stared down at my cell phone screen as I heard the line go dead. I couldn't help the soft, rumbling chuckle that escaped my throat as I replayed the conversation in my head. Well, that went well.





Chapter 6: Adam


“Eva! Where's my hair gel?” I lifted my head up toward the ceiling of my bathroom. You just had to give me a girl, didn’t you? As I continued to ponder all of the reasons God could have for punishing me, I heard Eva’s voice yell from downstairs.

“What?”

“You heard me. Where is my hair gel?” Getting ready for a date was already nerve-racking enough without my thirteen-year-old running inadvertent interference.

The next time Eva spoke, she was behind me. I watched her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she leaned against the doorjamb munching on a brownie. “What makes you think I have your hair gel?” She examined her brownie closely, her refusal to meet my eyes giving her away.

“Eva,” I warned.

“Okay, okay, it’s in my room. I’ll get it.”

Watching her walk away, I came to a disturbing realization. Eva had just entered her teenage years. I still had at least five years of this kleptomaniacal liar. I wasn’t sure both of us were going to survive.

She returned to the bathroom and thrust the bottle of hair gel at me with a gruff, “Here.”

Deciding my sanity had a better chance of staying intact if I ignored her rudeness, I took it from her. “Why did you take this anyway? It’s men’s hair gel.”

“I was experimenting,” she shrugged, before turning on her heels and heading back downstairs.

I thought for a second. “Experimenting with what?” I finally called after her, unable to quell my curiosity.

She stopped abruptly on the landing, and looked at me with annoyance before spitting out, “With sex, Dad.” Registering the look of horror that swept across my face as I nearly vomited Exorcist style all over the bathroom, Eva rolled her eyes before adding, “Seriously. What do you think I was doing with it?”

I stared at the bottle in my hand, no longer wanting it anywhere near me. From this day forward, I would always associate it with a father’s worst nightmare. My head spun as I looked from Eva to the bottle, from the bottle to Eva. “I . . . I . . . Jesus Christ, Eva, please tell me you were using it on your hair.”

“Obviously, Dad. God.” She stomped down the rest of the steps and left me alone to wonder if there were any convents that accepted children.

I stared at the offending bottle of hair gel, knowing that I needed to use it, but not sure I could handle squirting liquid from it. “Fuck it,” I muttered before throwing it in the trashcan. Messy hair, I could deal with. The thoughts that were now plaguing my frontal lobe, I couldn’t.

I ran my hands through my hair before walking back to my room to grab my wallet and spray myself with cologne. Quickly checking my watch, I realized that I was running late but stopped to take one last look in my bedroom mirror. Having decided to put in a little extra effort, I'd ironed my light blue polo and khakis neatly. I flexed my bicep and was pleased with how the sleeve of my shirt fit snugly around my muscles. Satisfied with my appearance, I jogged down the steps and started toward the front door just as my mom entered.

“Hey, mom.” I placed a quick kiss on her cheek. “Thanks again for staying with Eva tonight.”

“No problem, Adam. I love having girl time with my granddaughter. You look nice tonight. Who’s the lucky lady?” My mom slid past me to hug Eva.

“I’m not sure actually. I mean, I know her name, but not much beyond that. My friend Frank's wife hooked us up.” The entire situation was pretty awkward. Claire had been telling me about her friend Marnie for weeks. But it wasn’t until Frank showed me a picture of her that I relented. It was a little grainy because he had taken a picture of a picture with his phone, but I could still make out her light blonde hair, slim figure, and pretty features. I just hoped not much had changed since the picture had been taken. But in the end, what did I really have to lose?