Page 75 of The House Guest
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
She jumped in her seat. “Yes!”
I put the car in drive and drove off. “What do you feel like for lunch today?”
“Peanut butter and fluff!”
“That’s very sugary. How about peanut butter and banana?”
She pouted. “Fluff!”
“I’ll give you a little fluff and some banana on a peanut butter sandwich, okay?”
“Okay, Mommy.” She smiled.
My sweet baby, oblivious to the emotional dilemma pummeling her mother right now. She deserved better than to be in the middle of this.
After we got to the house and parked, I looked around my quiet neighborhood street, feeling paranoid. Dorian knew where I lived. Had he been here before today? It freaked me out that he’d been staying nearby, and I hadn’t known. How long had he been here? I supposed these were all questions I needed to ask him on Friday.
I put on a TV show for Rosie in the living room, and I realized I’d left the vacuum out, since Dorian showing up at my door had distracted me from putting it away. Ireturned it to the utility closet and went to the kitchen to make her sandwich.
As I spread peanut butter on two slices of whole wheat bread, my mind wandered. Before I knew it, I’d been spreading the peanut butter around for three minutes, and I’d nearly ruined the bread. I added a little marshmallow fluff and layered it with half a banana, thinly sliced.
I washed a small bunch of red grapes and cut each one in half, since I worried Rosie could choke if I left them whole. I could be so responsible in some aspects of my life, yet so very irresponsible in others, like—I don’t know—planning to visit an ex-boyfriend while my daughter was at school on Friday. I cringed at the thought.
After carrying the food over to Rosie, I sat and watched her eat as she enjoyed her video. If I was physically present right now, that might make up for the fact that my mind was still on Dorian.
I gently patted her hair as she devoured the sandwich.
“What should we have for dinner tonight?” I asked.
She answered the way she always did.
“Spaghetti.”
“Will you eat little trees with it if I make you spaghetti?”
Little trees was what we called broccoli around here.
She nodded.
“Deal, then.”
Spaghetti was likely all I could manage tonight anyway. If tasked with cooking anything that required me to follow directions, I’d ruin the whole thing. I needed to give myself grace for now. Maybe tomorrow night, too. Or as long as whatever the hell was going on with Dorian lasted.
As I took Rosie’s plate back to the sink, I realized I hadn’t formally committed to meeting him. So there was still a chance I could back out. But that wasn’t what I wanted. I reached for my phone and pulled up his name before I could change my mind.
Would you be available to meet with me Friday around 8:15 in the morning?
His response was almost immediate.
Dorian: Absolutely. Thank you for making time for me. Where would you like to meet?
Primrose: I can come to the address where you’re staying.
Going to his place felt even more forbidden, but there was really no other choice; being in public with him would be too risky.
Dorian: Great.
