If You're Out There(53)

I squint up at the sky. It’s still a ways to sundown. “How about I walk you home instead?”

He groans. “Is this another gender role thing? I don’t think it’s patronizing of me to offer when strange men are literally stalking you.”

“I’m just not allowed to come home yet,” I say, smiling though I don’t mean to. “Mom’s punishment for . . . wallowing, I guess.” We pass a stream of bustling bars before turning down a quiet side street.

Logan seems lost in his thoughts for a while. “So . . . how’d you meet this guy?”

“We met outside Priya’s house. After you left.”

He scratches at his jaw. “Did he say who he was?”

“A family friend, supposedly. Something was off. Anyway, I’m fine. No use dwelling on it.”

“Oh, I plan to dwell on it,” says Logan. “You might be a pain in the ass, but I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Gee,” I say. “How nice of you.”

“Hey. Zan,” he says, reaching out to stop me on the sidewalk. “What I said? The stuff about Priya?”

“It’s fine,” I say, a mess of emotion rising up inside me. “We were both . . .” I’m not quite sure what it is I want to tell him. I’m mad, and I’m sorry. It’s strange. These aren’t good feelings, and yet, even now, it’s so much better to be with him than without. “I think you were right, anyway,” I say finally. “I’m . . . giving up on all that.” We’re at the path to Logan’s building, where one door stays propped open with a big rock. Someone is shouting nearby. I listen close. “Whoa.” There’s a loud crash and I hurry toward it, stopping at the entrance to the lobby.

A small stained glass lamp lies in pieces on the ground. Frank the doorman is standing with his chest out, a petite woman yelling up at him. “It’s my kid! Do you get that? I’m trying to see my kid!” On that last word, the woman’s spittle hits his face.

“Is not up to me, lady,” says Frank, wiping his eye. “I call upstairs, maybe we sort this out.” The woman makes a break for the elevator, but he blocks her with his body. “Please. Don’t make me dial police.” She tries to run again, but he grabs her by the wrist, a pained look on his face. “I’m just doorman. Not security guard.”

I can feel Logan standing behind me in the entrance now.

“It’s my kid,” the woman says through a whimper. Frank releases her and she crumples to the ground, a mess of blond hair covering her face. “My babies.” As the woman’s back heaves up and down, I turn to Logan and suddenly understand.

“Hi, Mom.”

Frank and I share a look.

“Logan.” She scrambles to stand and a few glass shards sprinkle down from her long skirt. “Logan, honey.” She wipes away a trail of mascara, a frantic, pretty smile taking up her whole face. “Thank God you’re here. Let’s get inside, baby.”

“You can’t be here,” he says evenly.

“I want to see Bee.”

For a flickering moment, I see those haunted charcoal faces in his eyes, and all I want is to take them away. “You know you can’t do that,” he says. “And even if you could, it wouldn’t be like this.”

“Honey . . .”

“How’d you get here, Mom?”

She shrugs. “Got a ride.” She walks over to touch his cheek, her eyes filling all over again. “I love you so much, baby. More than you’ll ever . . .”

Logan takes her hand from his face to hold it, and for a moment I forget to breathe. “I know,” he says. “I love you, too. But it’s time for you to go.”

When I get home I find the door unlocked and charge straight into the kitchen to hug Mom. As I pull away, she looks a little stunned, but in a good way, I think. “You okay?” she asks after an odd silence.

“Yeah,” I say, the haze around me slowly dissipating. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” says Mom.

I pause a moment, trying to place the lingering smells. “What’s on the menu tonight?”

“Quiche and kale salad,” says Whit, slipping into the room.

“Actually, Zan has plans,” says Mom.

“I do?”

She nods. “Dad called. Asked if I would persuade you to come by. Consider yourself persuaded. I told him you’d be there at eight.”

I hang my head. “I shouldn’t have blown up at him like that. It’s gonna be weird.”

“He’s your dad, Zan.”

I pout there a moment, feeling especially indulgent, and Whit shoots me a kind look that makes me feel even worse. “Sorry about yesterday,” I say to her. “I know it was your big night.”

Whit shrugs. “It was just a party. It’s what I signed up for with all this, isn’t it?” She gestures to the home around us. “The kids come first.”

“Where’s Harr?” I ask, relaxing a little.

“The sleepover was rescheduled,” says Mom. “You know that girl Claire?”

My jaw drops. “Claire as in a girl? You think that’s a good idea?”

“Honey, he’s seven.”

“Uh, seven and a freaking Casanova,” I say, making Whit snort.