Page 97 of Last Chorus

- Some dude in an AA meeting

“A hungry Fairy is a grumpy Fairy. Come eat breakfast.”

- Wilder

When I read the last one, my stomach growls. A glance at the clock startles me—it’s almost ten. Usually by now, I’d have heard Wilder singing in the kitchen, as he does whenever I lose track of time writing and breakfast is getting cold.

I tuck my journal and pen into their dedicated drawer, then poke my head into the hallway. Silence greets me, and a sniff confirms the absence of the French toast he promised to make for my birthday.

Rather than disappointment, giddiness fills me at the possibility he might still be asleep. He doesn’t sleep inoften, and since my own sleep has drastically improved, I haven’t had as many opportunities for my favorite challenge: seeing if I can make him orgasm before he wakes up.

I take an eager step toward the stairs, then stop abruptly when a flash of bright yellow catches my eye. A few feet down the hallway, a sticky note is attached to the wall. There are no words, just an arrow pointing toward the kitchen.

With a rueful smile for the lost opportunity, I follow Wilder’s prompt. Given his caginess over the last week whenever I brought up ideas for celebrating my thirtieth, I should have known he already had something planned.

Sweet, sneaky man.

I find the next note attached to a tumbler of coffee, beside which sits one of the lemon-blueberry muffins we made yesterday.

Humming in delight, I take a bite as I peel off the note.

What is rough but smooth and also SUSPICIOUS?

Laughing softly, I grab the tumbler and head out the back door into the morning sunshine.

Despite my rising excitement, I walk slowly, enjoyingthe fresh air as I nibble on the muffin and sip delicious coffee. Each deep inhale brings a bouquet of scents I’ve come to associate with peace and happiness: salty air, pine, and petrichor mingling with the faint sweetness of lilacs and lilies.

I’m mid-swallow when I reach the small clearing and see who’s sitting on the sex stump. I promptly gasp, then choke, and end up bent over and coughing uncontrollably. Footsteps rush toward me and a broad hand pounds my back—a completely unhelpful and yet utterly reassuring gesture.

“Dad?” I wheeze, straightening and wiping my tearing eyes with the back of my hand. “What—what are you doing here? How did you get here?”

Pale eyes sparkling warmly, he hands me three bright red tulips. “Wilder opened the side gate for me. Happy birthday, pipsqueak.”

I snort at the ancient nickname. “Thanks. Is Mom here? Where’s Wilder? I’m so confused.”

He grins. “It’ll make sense eventually. Will you sit with me for a minute?”

Smiling uncertainly, I nod. He returns to the stump and I settle beside him, hoping my coughing fit is a sufficient explanation for my red cheeks. Privately, I vow to punish Wilder, as I have zero doubts he suggested this location to my dad just to mess with me.

Especially since the last time I was naked here wasyesterday.

Oblivious to my inner freak-out, my dad says, “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

At his serious tone, my tumbler stalls halfway to my mouth. I lower it back to my knee, belatedly registering his tense shoulders, fidgeting fingers, and tapping feet. All rare signs of nervousness from a man who normally drips easy confidence.

I clear my throat weakly. “Sure, Dad. I’m all ears.”

“This may sound random at first, but bear with me.” He takes a deep breath, his gaze lowering to the forest floor. “I had a pretty great childhood. Lived in a good neighborhood. No abuse, no financial or food insecurity. No major trauma besides my dad splitting when I was eleven, which was honestly a good thing for all of us. Plus, your grandpa Bill came along a few years later and he was an amazing stepdad. And I’m sure this next information will come as a surprise, but I was also popular in high school.”

I gasp dramatically. “No way!”

He chuckles. “I had a ton of friends, and don’t tell your mom, but I’ve always been a hit with the ladies.”

My laugh is mostly a groan. Growing up with a sex symbol for a father was both aggravating and hilarious. It wasn’t uncommon for my friends to blush andstammer in his presence, thanks to easily accessible old photoshoots of him in his underwear. Their moms weren’t much better and in a few cases, they were a lot worse. Talk about awkward.

My mom truly is a saint, though my dad does deserve some credit for making her feel secure. He’s never been shy—in fact, he can be downright obnoxious—about expressing his devotion to her in public.

“I met Julian and the guys right after graduation, and within two years, we were famous.” He pauses, the vestiges of humor fading from his face. “Nothing was ever reallyhardfor me. I wouldn’t say I was oblivious to pain or struggle—I had my fair share of disappointment, heartache, and the like. But I was seriously lucky on a lot of levels. And for the most part, I stayed that charmed, clueless kid until my early thirties.”

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