“You know what’s way more criminal than my braids? That.” Then he turned and called, “Zoe! Put your shoes on, we’re going out.” I have to say, the way he said it so confidently was very freaking hot, enough so that I didn’t argue much. However, now that we’re here, I wish I hadn’t gotten mesmerized by the way the tendons in his neck strained and kept my head on.
“I don’t want to cause you any more trouble than I already have,” I say, looking away when a lady I don’t recognize looks me up and down.
“Youhaven’tcaused any trouble. We want you around,” he says, as casually as if telling me about the weather. “And whoever has a problem with me hanging out with you? They can say it right to my face.” Then, he resumes his walk toward the restaurant, never letting go of my arm. He’s not holding my hand or doing anything objectively romantic, but I still feel the heat of his skin on mine like a brand. Is this what it feels like to go crazy? Imagining every small touch as something more?
The street is full of sun-kissed families and casual-chic couples strolling around the port, small boutiques turning their signs toClosedfor the night. Zoe is still skipping ahead of us, truly back to her carefree self. I hope whatever happens with the custody trial won’t affect her too much. I don’t want to imagine her returning to that silent shell of herself. Actually, I don’t want to imagine her in the future, period. I never thought I could get attached to someone like that in such a short amount of time, and the thought of never seeing her again in four days makes me queasy. I won’t get to attend her final choir recital or hear the bizarre stories she makes up about her stuffed animals. Even if I come back to visit Mom, Keira, and Eli from time to time, it’ll never be the same. She’ll soon be in kindergarten, and then in school, and what we developed over the course of a few weeks will become some long-lost memory. In fact, it’s probably best if I leave without saying goodbye and let her forget me without a fuss.
A pang of longing hits me at the thought. Can you miss someone you haven’t left yet?
We reach the restaurant, and when the waitress settles us at the end of the terrace, with barely any neighbors, I feel myself relax. The boat is still adorned with large white sails that billow in the soft breeze, tied with thick ropes to the high mast. The town seems to disappear around us, giving us the feeling of drifting somewhere in the middle of the ocean. Lost. Peaceful. What I wouldn’t give to have these two all to myself, somewhere not here nor there.
Don’t go thinking like that when you’re leaving.
“Fucks!” Zoe shouts as she jumps from her chair to lean over the railing. Below us, a quartet of ducks floats onto the calm water.
“Ducks, Zoe.Ducks,” Eli says before dragging a hand across his bristled jaw. He looks at me. “If someone shouldn’t go out, it’s her.”
“What?” I shrug. “They’re pretty cute fucks.”
“You know what? Never mind.”
I chuckle as Eli leans back in his chair and closes his eyes against the sun bathing him in orange light. Behind him, the water is still, reflecting every cloud above. The sight is so beautiful, I wish I was a painter so I could frame the image forever.
Before he can notice, I slip my phone out of my pocket and snap a picture of him with Zoe in the background. It’ll never reflect what it felt like to see it in person, kind of like trying to capture a sunset but never succeeding in showing its beauty on a two-dimensional frame, but it’ll have to do.
Of course, though, when I click on the button, a loud camera shutter sound comes out.
Fuck me. Zoe must’ve unsilenced my phone earlier when she was playing with it.
Eli’s eyes snap open, and while I expect a cocky comment with another of his smirks, he catches me off-guard by looking at my phone, then at me with what looks like longing all over his expression. Or is that in my head, too?
“Zoe was making a cute face behind you,” I try to recover. He doesn’t turn around, only staring at me. I feel naked.
“Here you go,” our waiter interrupts by bringing crayons and paper for Zoe. I voluntarily take the distraction from my misstepand ask a million questions about the menu. We place our orders, and then we’re alone once more.
Eli looks at the characters Zoe is starting to draw—assuming theyarecharacters—but remains silent. It’s as if his thoughts have suddenly dragged him a mile away.
I clear my throat. “Hopefully, she keeps it PG tonight.”
That makes his lips quirk up.
I grab a crayon and hand one to Eli before joining Zoe on her sheet. Soon, our drawings intersect, and Zoe has a blast figuring out what the blends of our creations make.
“That’s Daddy!” She points at a blot of brown and blue.
“Of course it is,” Eli mutters.
Soon, our plates arrive, mine a sizzling lobster mac n’ cheese that smells divine, and a lobster roll with homemade potato chips for Zoe and Eli.
“Jesus, this is good,” I say. No matter how many restaurants in the city pretend they make the best lobster plates, they never hold a candle to the fresh lobster that’s used to cook here. The taste takes me back in time to summer days, stopping by Eli’s dad’s truck for food before going down to the beach and spending the afternoon sunbathing while Eli read a comic book beside me. I take another bite and moan, loud enough that I look up, embarrassed, only to find Eli’s gaze right on mine, his jaw tight. I give him an apologetic smile, then make sure to keep my amazement to myself.
“Cassie?” Zoe asks, mayo all around her lips.
“Yes, honey?”
“You don’t look weird anymore.”
I smile. It’s easy not to feel weird when these two are around. “Thanks.”
