Page 57 of Husband of the Year
I give her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, and Illona and I rush for the ferry.
“Your mom is…” Illona stares at the clouds in the cool March sky from our seats on the upper deck. Even with our light jackets, we’re snuggled close to keep warm. “Interesting.”
“You could say that. She means well.”
“I like her,” Illona says. “Her hamburgers are amazing. I’ve never had them with onions cooked inside it like that.”
“Yeah, my mom puts onions in everything. I used to joke if someone made onion ice cream she’d devour it.”
“Onion ice cream?” Illona shakes her head.
“Hey, Jews and onions—it’s a love story with many layers.”
Illona laughs and rests her head on my shoulder, cuddling against me.
Time is funny. In the grand scheme of things, two years isn’t really that long. When you consider the history of the universe, two years is a blip. The tiniest dot. But it’s almost one-third of Illona’s seven years of life. She’s going to be my stepdaughter—me, her stepfather. Not the evilrobot kind who wants to murder her like poor Buffy had to deal with in Season Two. More like Mike Brady, where you couldn’t quite tell who was whose biological child because everyone was just part of the bunch. Yeah, definitely more of a Mike Brady.
I take out my phone and play “Ribbon in the Sky” softly over the hum of the ferry’s engine.
“One of Daddy’s favorite songs,” Illona murmurs.
Of course she knows.
I close my eyes, thoughts of Olan’s latest email swirling in my head.
His brother’s situation. Rehab being more difficult than expected. I never really gave much thought to what rehab was like, but I can’t imagine it’s fun for anyone. For Olan to write it’s harder than he thought, it must be grueling. And Liam’s girlfriend. I wonder how long they were together. Did Illona know about her? I’m guessing no, since Olan only had brief contact with Liam beyond the occasional text. How does someone overdose? I mean, obviously it’s by consuming too many drugs and/or alcohol, but what exactly happens? And Liam was there. With her. Surely that contributed to his current situation.
My heart aches for Olan’s brother. A man I’ve never met, my knowledge of him limited to a lone photograph Olan keeps in his office. The picture is the only one I’ve ever seen of all three of them together. On a dock near some lake, with their beautiful smiles, Gabe and Liam surround Olan, who stands out with his lucky tooth gap. I think Olan told me he was twenty-one in the picture, which means Liam would’ve been almost nineteen. Babies.
Sarah’s arrival has only exacerbated my longing for Olan, and the thought of him navigating a strained family situation without my presence makes my stomach twist and knot with unease. My brain knows he needs to be there alone. My heart, not so much.
The beginning of Olan’s email floats into my head, and a smile skates across my face, remembering his words. A portrait of my holein the Louvre. Would people line up to see it like theMona Lisa? The Hole-a Lisa. A chuckle spills out of my lips, catching Illona’s attention.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothing. Just thinking about something your dad said to me.”
“What?” She sits up, eager for a morsel of her father’s words.
“That he loved you more than apple pie with ice cream.”
“What about whipped cream?” She cocks her head, apparently offended by the omission.
“Sweetheart, your father loves you more than apple pie with ice cream, whipped cream, sprinkles, chocolate sauce, with a cherry on top.”
“Two cherries?”
“All the cherries in the world.”
Illona smiles and wraps her arms around my torso. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Your mother is here?”
Jill halts mid-sentence, her pen frozen in midair, and whirls around to face Illona and me standing in her classroom doorway. Her eyes are so wide, they look like they’re about to leap off her face.
“Sweetie, I’ll be over in a few,” I say to Illona.
