Stuck-Up Suit(78)

“Uh huh.” She smiled.

“That’s a beautiful name.”

“Thank you.”

Turning to the woman, I asked, “So…you’re her stepmom?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. I just assumed…”

“That she’s my daughter? Because we’re close?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’d be right. She is my daughter. I don’t consider her any less of a real child because she’s not blood-related to me.”

“I’m lucky to have two moms,” Chloe said.

I nodded in silence. “Yes, you are.”

“Well, we have to run. Chloe has ballet practice.” She held out her hand. “I’m Natasha, by the way.”

I took it. “Soraya.”

“It was wonderful to meet you, Soraya. Hope you enjoy your stay in Hermosa Beach.”

“Maybe we’ll see you in New York next year!” Chloe said, jumping up and down.

I smiled. “Maybe. Thanks again for the yoga class.”

Left alone again on the sand, I contemplated what that encounter meant. In the days leading up to my ending things with Graham, I’d been looking for signs to justify that my leaving him was the right thing. I wasn’t looking for any signs at all today, yet that one hit me in the face like a ton of bricks.

Chloe.

That was no coincidence.

I’d never once considered that a child might view having a stepmother as gaining a parent rather than losing one to another person. My own personal experiences had been guiding my decisions. Theresa never even tried to get to know me, let alone acted like a second mother. She never made an effort to include me in anything that my father and her daughters did together. It wouldn’t have been like that with Chloe and me. Why had I never thought of it this way? Fear, stress, and guilt had blinded me, and now I was seeing things for the first time from an entirely different perspective—now that it was too late.

***

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Delia and I were relaxing in the air-conditioned living room after an afternoon at the beach.

I’d impulsively picked up my phone and opened up the text message chain between Graham and me, looking through all of the old texts from the beginning of our time together. The very last one from him was sent the morning before he caught me with Marco. It simply said, I love you.

Delia didn’t know what I’d been doing for the past several minutes. She probably thought I was just surfing the Internet. When she noticed the tears start to fall from my eyes, she came around and suddenly snatched the phone from my hands.

“Looking at old texts from Graham? That’s it! I’m taking this and shutting it off. I didn’t take you all the way to California for this shit.”

“You can’t just take my phone!”

“Watch me,” she said, holding down the power button. “You’ll get it back in New York.”





CHAPTER 31


GRAHAM



MY PHONE VIBRATED just as I was leaving the office.

“Hello, Genevieve.”

“Why haven’t you answered my texts?”

“Busy day.”

“I was hoping you could come by after work. We need to talk about what happened between us.”

“I’m already on my way there to see Chloe.”

“Alright. We’ll see you when you get here.”

The last thing I was in the mood for was to rehash the other night with Genevieve. Up to my ears in work from having been preoccupied over the past few weeks, the last two nights I’d skipped going to see my daughter again because it was way past her bedtime by the time I left work. That couldn’t happen again. I planned to have dinner with Chloe before heading back to the office after hours.

Rain drops were pelting the windows of the town car. Almost every night on the way home, I’d instinctually go to text Soraya, forgetting for a split second that we were done. Then that awful acidic feeling of reality souring in the pit of my stomach would linger. It angered me that I’d trusted her so fully. After what happened with Genevieve and Liam, I was probably the least trusting person around. But I would have trusted Soraya with my life. How could I have not seen a change of heart coming? The whole thing just didn’t make any f*cking sense.

“Not sure how long I’ll be here, Louis. I’ll text you when I’m ready to head back to the office,” I said as we pulled up to Genevieve’s brownstone.

Genevieve greeted me, taking my wet jacket and hanging it up.

She stood there awkwardly, playing with her pearls. “About the other night…I—”

“Can we please not discuss this until I’ve seen my daughter?”

“Okay.” She looked down at the floor. “She’s in her room.”

Chloe was playing with her dollhouse. “Graham Cracker! I missed you.”

Bending down and pulling her into a hug, I said, “I missed you, too, smart cookie.”

“Are you still sad?”

“What do you mean?”

“About Soraya?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Your smile isn’t as big as it usually is.”

She was so perceptive. Apparently, she didn’t take after her clueless father. The last thing I wanted was for my daughter to think that something was seriously wrong with me or that it might have been her fault. Trying to wrack my brain for a way to explain, I ultimately decided that it was better to just be honest.