Page 39 of Hate You Later
“Mrrrrrow?” Oliver shoots me an impatient are-we-done-here-then look from atop the fridge.
“You’re so right,” I tell him. “I have to focus on the reasons I’m back here in Ephron. I can’t let myself get so distracted.”
I sweep the wig off his head and hold out a couple more tiny chunks of freeze-dried salmon, for which I am rewarded with a head bump and purr.
“You’re done for today, buddy.” I unsnap the robe, and he gingerly pulls out his two front paws, like he’s used to being undressed. Then he arches his back and allows me to stroke him along his spine.
Quickly, I edit the photos. It doesn’t take much. They’re good as is. I’ve captured him gazing down from on high in one or two of them, and the angle just works. Judge Judy has nothing on Oliver. He could be a meme. He just needs a tagline.
I can’t wait to see what Cookie says. I’ll wait for her feedback before posting. Maybe she can help me come up with the caption.
Without warning, my phone erupts, blaring the theme toPirates of the Caribbean. Startled, Oliver jumps down to the counter, then leaps to the floor, shooting me a disparaging look before slinking off toward the living room. Add thePiratesfranchise to things he doesn’t approve of.
It’s early for a call from Bora Bora. What is it there, 8 a.m.? Hastily, I swipe up on the screen, hoping nothing’s wrong.
“Hello, son!”
“You’re up early, Walker.”
“Just got off the phone with Lilly. I think it’s wonderful we’re hosting that masquerade fundraiser at the lofts.”
Oh, Lilly. We’d left off the discussion with it still being a maybe. But Lilly isn’t one to take no— or even maybe—for an answer when she’s determined to hear a yes. I shake my head.
“I didn’t agree to that yet, Walker. I only told her I’d speak with the crew and look into it.”
“Well, shake a leg. I’ve already called legal to look into event insurance and see if they have to pull any permits. And I spoke to someone over at the shelter, Angie something. Told her to get in touch with you. She suggested you attend a planning meeting at the diner. It’s tomorrow, by the way.”
“Where’s Bryce?” I ask, suddenly aware that my dad is missing his sidekick. Probably sleeping in.
“I don’t know. He’s spending a few days at the Four Seasons with a bride who got dumped at the altar.” Walker shrugs. “Gotta hand it to him. Kid works fast.”
I rub my temples. I’m not even a little bit interested in Bryce’s stolen honeymoon.
“Anyway,” my dad continues, “do whatever you have to do to make this happen. Also, I told Lilly I’d be back for her birthday party. Might just stick around for this too.”
When it comes to Lilly, Walker actually is a pretty dedicated father. I have to give him that. He takes a real interest in her life. Perhaps it’s because they’re so similar? There’s no saying no to either of them.
I was on the brink of agreeing already. So, what’s the holdup? Professionally, it seems like an excellent idea. Out of the mouths of babes, as they say. With the right staging, we’ll be able to show the completed units to potential buyers next month. Which works out perfectly with the timing of the masquerade. But personally …
I keep thinking about how Georgia is going to react if I show up at that meeting and she realizes who I really am.
Why? Why do I care? Why am I hand-wringing about such an obvious decision? And why have I allowed this woman—who isn’t my usual type and who doesn’t even seem interested in me—to get under my skin like this?
I don’t even know what I was thinking, sending that coffee over.
May as well go ahead and rip off that Band-Aid. It’s not like I can continue to keep my identity a secret indefinitely.
“Okay.” I nod. “I’ll figure out how to do it. For Lilly.”
georgia
Emily walks out the door,and I count to ten in an attempt to calm myself. One, motherfucker. Two, motherfucker. Three … Never mind.
I’m picturing that paintingThe Screamby Munch.The Screamis how I feel right now. Just superimpose a photo of my foreclosed house in the background and a bunch of stray dogs, colorful cartoon legs sticking straight up in the air to indicate their demise.
I walk to the window and flip the sign from “Closed” to “Open” and dismiss the idea of getting some sewing done this morning. Not today.
So, I’m being knocked off. It happens. I pace angrily back and forth in the small shop.
