Page 41 of Bittersweet

I wish our experiment was a lot more X-rated than it had been. I wish I’d swiped the cake off the table and eaten herinstead.

“Hello? Elio?” B waves a hand in front of my face, snapping me from my fantasy. “I don’t think you should just let her getaway.”

“I’m not.” I bristle, then lower my voice in case my daughter decides she needs just one more drink of water before bed. Anything to put off sleep. “She’s the one who can’t handle the idea of being with a guy who comes with a kid. And if she doesn’t want us, we don’t wanther.”

“But that’s the rub.” She reaches over to place a hand on my shoulder. “You do. I haven’t seen you so worked up, so emotional about agirl—”

“Since Pamela,” I finish for her,glum.

“No.” She shakes her head, her expression soft again. “I was going to sayever.”

Ever? Is she forreal?

B must read the expression on my face. “Just think about it.” She reaches for the book in my hand. “Maybe you need to take some advice fromthis.”

I glance down.The Tortoise and the Hareshines in gold foil on the cover. “Coco and I need to keep plodding along until I find someone who wants us for who we are?” Pretty depressing advice, if you askme.

“No.” She reaches into her jeans pocket and pulls out her car keys. “You should be persistent. Give Romy time to get used to the idea of having a family and try to win her affectionsagain.”

“B . . .” I shake my head. She doesn’t know how hard it is. How I already risked so much by letting her in in the firstplace.

“Slow and steady wins the race, Elio, and I don’t think that girl’s heart has fled as far away as you think.” She kisses me on either cheek, then gives a small wave as she heads to hercar.

As I walk upstairs to Coco’s room, I wonder if she’s right. What if Romy just had a knee-jerk reaction? What if she could come around to want not just me, but my daughter,too?

Sophia gives me a warm smile as she passes me on her way downstairs, no doubt headed for the kitchen and a big glass of wine, as is her nightly ritual. I push open the door to Coco’s room. Her bedside lamp casts a warm glow. Coco has the pink bedspread pulled right up to her chin, a huge smile lighting herface.

“What’s got you so happy?” I ask as I make my way over to the corner of the mattress and sit besideher.

“Just finking how much I love you, and Aunt B,” she says with all the sage wisdom of a four-year-old, and fuck it. Fuck women who don’t want to accept that I come with this beautiful child, because they don’t deserve her sweetness in their life. They don’t deserve it atall.

“We love you too, Coco.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “Now, shall we get into thisbook?”

“Yesh, pwease.” She nods eagerly, and I begin toread.

But as I reach the end of the story about the tortoise finishing first despite his lack of speed, B’s words ring in my ears, and I wonder if I’m behaving like the hare after all. Coco is my world—there’s no doubtingthat.

But slow and steady wins the race. And maybe, just maybe, I’m quitting before I’ve even left the starterblocks.

17

Romy

Imakemy way to the Mad Cow Steakhouse on foot. Marc didn’t offer to pick me up. In fact, he said he had all of five minutes to shower and change at the gym after his last client, so I decided to walk. There’s not much point in driving, since it’s less than ten minutes from my apartment, and it’s nice out. Cold, but nice. Besides, it’s not like I can’t use the exercise. And hell, maybe if I burn calories on the way to the date, I can eatfries.

Hmm. I don’t want to walk so fast that I sweat all my makeup off though. I slow my roll to a clipped stroll. That way, I’m burning calories, and my foundation and highlight are still on fleek.Oh crap, I think that word already went out. Either way, I’m strolling and looking hot doing it. Though maybe the hot is on account of me actually breaking asweat.

Two doors down from the steakhouse, I pass the window of a second-hand bookstore. I linger at the display like a kid in front of a candy store. Spines, some lined with age, others fresh and crisp, are color-coded in a rainbow-themed decoration with the pot of gold at the end, a trove of literary treasures. To celebrate the season, orange leaves have been painted gracefully dancing across the window, and a warm-looking plaid blanket is draped over a large armchair, implying you could come right in and escape the elements, escape the world right now. I reach out to touch the glass.That’s all I want todo.

What is wrong with me? I’m about to go on a date with a guy who has the hottest body I’ve ever seen. The only blanket I should want to get under is one on Marc’s bed, with him naked underneathit.

I’m about to keep going when one of the spines catches my eye.The Brothers Karamazov, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky—the guy who wroteCrime and Punishment. Elio would lovethat.

I hate thethought.

I hate that I know that fact about him when I didn’t know so many other important things about theman.

He led me on. He called me a hot piece of ass. That isn’t the sort of thing a married man should say to someone, even if the ass in question is probably financing an upgrade to his coffee machine thanks to her serious love formuffins.

---