Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

NOLAN

M ina delivers three bags stuffed with Thai carryout and then heads out to meet up with a friend. Slater and Ellie stay to eat, and I linger awkwardly, unsure whether I should stay or go. Amber must assume I'm going to stay because she tells me to make a plate while she feeds Maddy.

After dinner, Slater and Ellie leave and Amber puts Maddy to bed.

I take a shower and when I'm done, I'm not entirely sure what to do with myself. It's a bit after eight and I have a room in the suite so I can help with Maddy, but since it's our first night in a hotel, I haven't figured out the logistics of sharing the space. Do I stay in my room? Do Amber and I hang out after Maddy is asleep? Is that even a good idea?

Will being alone together feel weird?

It would be nice if Mina hadn't had plans. I'd be much less uncertain about how to act if she were sitting around scrolling on her phone or snacking at the mini bar.

After dawdling in my room for nearly half an hour, I tiptoe down the hallway and peek into the main room of the suite. Amber is in front of the windows, folded in half with her hands on the ground. As I watch, she slowly walks her hands forward until she's in a straight-armed plank. She holds that position without the slightest indication that it's difficult. I'm more than a little impressed by her strength and flexibility.

Not wanting to be caught gawking, I start to back away, but she must hear me, because she says, "You don't have to leave. I'm almost done."

"I don't want to interrupt."

She walks her feet up to her hands and then slowly uncoils her body until she's standing. "I was just stretching a bit. Trying to stay as limber as I can." She rolls her shoulders and swings her arms around. "We could…uh…chat a bit…if you wanted, or um?—"

"Sure," I answer before she can finish.

She grins at me and grabs her water bottle off the ground before gracefully lowering herself onto the large sofa in the center of the room. I settle onto the other end, careful to leave plenty of space between us.

"Why early childhood?" she asks once I'm seated.

It's a question I've been asked dozens of times and I have a plethora of stock answers. I like kids. I like feeling useful. I like having a routine that can shift on a whim. I don't like being stuck at a desk.

I don't give her any of those answers because I think she'll understand better than most the real reason why I do what I do. "When did you know you wanted to perform?"

She answers without hesitation. "I've known for as long as I can remember. My parents have video of me when I was three and half standing on the countertop, my mom's lipstick smeared on my face and a banana in my hand as I belted out the lyrics to "Itsy Bitsy Spider."

"Exactly. You just knew. I'm the same. When my brother Nicky wanted to play superheroes, he would get pissed with me because I didn't want to engage in battles for world domination. I wanted to be the hero's teacher. Or their father." I shake my head. "He hated playing school. And he refused to be the mother."

"That's kind of adorable."

I chuckle. "Adorable doesn't help you make friends when you're a kid. A lot of boys just want to run around zapping each other and pretending to punch the air."

"And you didn't?" She looks distressed by the possibility that other four-year-olds thought I was odd. This is not where I thought our conversation might go, but that doesn't stop me from telling her, "I did okay. My mother encouraged me to be myself. And so did my father. As I grew up, my older siblings started having kids, and my father kept having kids, so there were a plethora of opportunities to babysit. I wasn't that old when I started planning activities for the littler kids at family events. It was kind of perfect because—as you can imagine—there are a lot of personalities and a lot of competition for attention when my dad is around. It's much less chaotic when the kids are being entertained. It's crazy, but I don't think I ever really questioned what I'd do when I grew up."

"Me either. The certainty is nice, isn't it? I can't remember ever not expecting to make it." She pauses and shakes her head. "Although sometimes I still can't believe I'm here."

"I can't believe I'm here ," I respond, part joking, part serious.

"On tour with me? Or being a nanny?"

"Both. My life plan included twenty-five more years of being headmaster."

"Hmm. Do you miss it?" she asks, taking a small sip of water.

"I'm not sure I would have ever acknowledged it if I hadn't been fired, but I didn't love being an administrator. In a very roundabout way, losing my job was a blessing."

"You got fired the morning we met?"

She already knows that I did, but since I know the sordid details of her past with Teddy, it's only fair that I tell her what happened. "That's right. I met Carla at a bar and when she asked to come home with me, I didn't hesitate." I frown. "I didn't know who she was or that she was married, and I didn't expect to see her again. Actually, I didn't see her again, but she told her husband what happened that night, and he confronted me at dismissal the following Friday. I was too shocked to deny it. The next morning, the board summoned me and decided I was in violation of their morality agreement."

She purses her lips. "Seriously? Why would she do that?"

"I'm not sure. My father thinks I should have confronted her. Or fought back. But I couldn't make myself do either."

"You don't want to know why?"

"Knowing why won't change anything." I look at the ground, and admit, "I slept with another man's wife. A man I never liked. Even though I didn't know she was his wife, it still happened."

She looks at me strangely. "You blame yourself? You think you deserved to be fired?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know. It wasn't for me to decide. Actions have consequences. Choices, too. I chose to accept the consequences of my actions."

"But you weren't at fault." She squints like she's trying to understand. "If anything, you were a victim."

I hear what she's saying, and I don't necessarily disagree. At the same time, I can't help feeling partially responsible. "I should have been more careful. Or more discerning. Either way I was an active participant."

Her brow furrows. "I can't decide if that's noble or crazy."

"Maybe both." I laugh awkwardly.

"It's very zen of you to simply accept and move on."

"When one door closes, another door opens." The words are cliché, but that doesn't make them untrue.

"The grass is greener," she says.

I chuckle. "Obviously."

She bites her lip. "By your logic, my situation with Teddy is the result of my actions and therefore I ought to accept the consequences."

"Not at all," I rush to try to explain. "I don't hold myself responsible for what Carla did. I hold myself responsible for what I did." I shift so I'm facing her more directly. I don't want her to think I'm judging her. "By that logic, you're responsible for your actions, not Teddy's."

She takes another sip of water. "So as an active participant, getting knocked up is on me and therefore the consequences—good and bad—are mine to bear. But being cheated on wasn't on me, so the consequences I experience because of that are unfair."

I wince at the sharp tone of her voice. She definitely thinks I'm judging her. Fuck. I should have stayed in my room. Why are we even talking about this? "I didn't mean to—I'm sorry."

She sets the water bottle down on the floor and shakes her head. "No. I like that. When Teddy is driving me crazy, it's simpler for me to blame him for everything. I do it all the time, even for the parts where I was a willing participant." She curls her legs underneath her. "It's hard to be objective about yourself and it's even harder to hold yourself accountable. Especially when you have a tangled history with another person."

"There doesn't have to be a tangled history for it to be hard." I barely knew Carla. "For me, it comes down to who I want to be. I don't want to look in the mirror and see someone who can't be honest with themselves." I study my fingers. I'm making myself sound more noble than I am. "There's another reason I didn't fight back. The truth is, I felt like I was going to suffocate under their judgmental stares. I don't know if it's the result of growing up in the shadow of my father's scandals or what, but I shut down when I feel threatened and I just wanted it to be over." It isn't an easy admission. I'm far too old to react so severely.

She reaches across the couch and covers my fist with her hand. "My mom used to always tell me that it doesn't matter what other people think and while I wholeheartedly agree, it hits me like a ton of bricks every time someone talks shit about me." She squeezes my hand. "You're a good man, and I'm sorry that they judged you."

I smile slightly. "It sucked, but I'm glad I'm here now."

"Me too," she whispers as she returns my smile.

The silence stretches and the soft look on her face beckons me closer. I want another kiss, but I settle for spreading my fingers and flipping my hand so we're palm to palm.