Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
“That’s a lovely memory,” I say. “And I’m glad you have it.”
“So…” she begins, “maybe you don’t think anything is ‘right’ with love because you haven’t met the right person yet.”
Because they don’t exist in my book. Fine, Bibi had a happy romance, but my mother did not. She thought she’d found Mister Right, and look how that turned out. I shudder at unwelcome thoughts of my father, then dismiss them just as quickly as they came.
“Bibi, I know you believe in the Pisces dream for love—”
“That’s not an insult!”
“Of course it’s not,” I say, placating her. “I’m simply saying you do. But you’re also the exception to the rule. By that same logic, you could say Mom hasn’t met the right person, but look at her.” I’m thinking of the texts I exchanged with her over the weekend and her FaceTime call with Mac on Thanksgiving morning. “Mom’s single, but name one person happier than she is. She’s living her best life in London.”
“He has a point, Bibi,” Mac puts in. Dear god, I raised this child right.
Bibi tosses her hands in the air. “You’ve turned her into a mini-me.”
I laugh.
Mac scoffs. “I have my own opinions!”
“Exactly. That’s what makes you his mini-me.” Bibi smiles like the sap she is for her great-niece. “And it’s also why I love you like crazy.”
“Love you too,” Mac says.
We arrive at the school. I get out with Mac, smoothing the crisp front of my tailored shirt. “Your mom has you tonight,” I remind my daughter.
“I know. She’s right there.” Mac points to the woman with wavy blonde hair, bright red lips, and a Bohemian skirt floating over lavender Uggs. A burly security guard stalks a few paces behind her as San Francisco schoolkids stream past the wrought-iron gates and into the school’s main entrance, with its pristine white limestone walls.
“Hey, love.” Felicity greets Mac with her bright English accent and gives her a big hug. “You look smashing this morning.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
When they let go, Felicity flashes me a smile, pointing to my Tom Ford suit. “And you look…very CEO this morning,” she teases. “Was it tough choosing between suit number one, suit number two, and suit number three?”
Mac chuckles. “He has more than three suits.”
“And no, it wasn’t hard.” I don’t tell her why it was easy, the fashion choice for this meeting.
“How’s everything going? The Thanksgiving pics you sent were adorable. Sorry I missed it. I’ve loved that holiday ever since your dad introduced me to it.”
“Hmm, letting down ten people at Dad’s Thanksgiving or disappointing fifty thousand fans?” Mac pretends to weigh the options for her pop star mother. “Tough call.”
“Ten of my favorite people.” Felicity smiles. “But you’re right. I had committed to the concerts first. I can’t wait for the New Year’s Day one, though, since I’ll be here, and you can come.”
Mac pumps a fist. “I love the VIP suite. It has the best snacks.”
“That’s all I could want. Good snack reviews,” Felicity says.
“Your tour is getting rave reviews too,” I point out.
Felicity gives a grateful smile. “That’s always lovely to hear. I hope it goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway—you’re welcome to come to the New Year’s Day show too, Wilder, if you don’t have a hot date.”
Mac snorts with laughter.
“What’d I say?” Felicity asks.
“Bibi is trying to set Dad up. Again.” Mac rolls her eyes.
I roll mine too. “She does this every year. You’d think the law of diminishing returns would dampen her enthusiasm.”
“The enthusiasm of a woman with more Santa hats than I have costume changes during a show?” Felicity says with fondness. But shifting to slight concern, she asks me, “But is it the worst idea? Maybe you could meet that perfect sparring partner at last.”
Great. First my aunt. Now my ex-girlfriend. But at least I can laugh at her too-correct acknowledgment that she was never the right sparring partner for me.
We met in the city more than a dozen years ago. She’s from London but has called California home for a long time now. We’ve always had an easy relationship. Felicity and I don’t argue—not about Mac, not about custody, not about anything. We share our daughter, and we get along. We have since we got together and since we’ve been apart. It’s…nice. I can’t complain.
I’m lucky in that regard. I’m lucky in a lot of regards.
And I know what it’s like to be raised by a father who doesn’t show up. I won’t be that kind of dad. Mac deserves all my spare time, even if my life is a little lonely when Mac goes to bed and the house is quiet. Or when she’s with her mom.
But I don’t need a partner to break the silence in my house. I can listen to music. Track down antique maps. Listen to a new episode of The Best Damn Heist.