“I need more. I’m not following.”
“Extreme Mindlessness?” I ask it as a question. Most people have heard of my company before, but placing a face with the name is a completely different animal.
Recognition flares in her green eyes. “The workout video?”
“You’ve heard of it?”
She shrugs. “Yeah, a few people in my office have tried it out. That’s not you. I’ve heard the owner made millions on those videos.”
I stay completely silent and let her figure it out on her own.
“Seriously? Why the hell are you living here?”
“I like it here. My friends are here and it’s a beautiful place to live.”
She gives me a duh expression. “I meant in this apartment building.”
“What’s wrong with this apartment building?”
She leans back and studies me. “You’re weird.”
I give her my best grin. “Isn’t everyone a little weird?”
“Yes, but you’re like really weird. I’m not sure I can hang out with you anymore.”
“What?” I ask, affronted. “Come on. I make cheesy workout videos that people love, how is that weird?”
“That’s not weird, but you’re secretive . . . in a weird way.”
I stare at her. She’s right, but I’m not sure I can change that. “I’m on a need to know basis type of person.”
Her jaw tenses, her eyes point directly on mine. “Tell me this, do you have a girlfriend?”
Yes, she probably needs to know the answer to that. “Not yet.”
“See! That’s a weird answer. Most normal people would either say yes or no. You give me something in between.”
I shrug. “I’m working on it.”
“Working on not being weird or working on getting a girlfriend?”
“Both.”
She huffs frustrated but resolved.
“What about you? Do you have a boyfriend?”
Her eyes shoot up to mine, a sadness that I want to make disappear filling them. She shakes her head and I decide not to push the issue, obviously this is a tough topic for her and I’m relieved I didn’t kiss her earlier. She’s not ready for me yet.
“Can I see one of your videos?”
I stand up and pull her with me. “Channel five, tonight at three am. But right now, I need to say goodnight. I have to get up early tomorrow to go to the track, and at this rate, I’ll never make it.”
Her face falls and I get a slight rush that she’s disappointed I’m kicking her out. But I’m not comfortable with all her questions. I don’t believe in revisiting the past, only moving forward, making the best out of the life you’re given.
She takes the red pillow—finally agreeing that red is a fantastic color. With a promise to place it in the center of her couch, I watch her leave. Part of me is glad she takes it—the other part knows I need to go out and buy my own red pillow. Most lips are pink, but hers are red and it’s become my new favorite color.
“Would you rather eat fish food or dog food?”
Emily rolls her eyes at me. “You need to up your game, Damian. No one would ever answer fish food.”
I love this girl. Her big blue eyes, her sassy eight-year-old demeanor. My sister has a three-year-old son, Ryder, who I love to pieces, but he drives me nuts, he can never sit still. Emily Jones—she’s smart, she’s funny, and she’s sick. She breaks my heart and if I could trade places with her, I’d do it in a second.
This is the first time I’ve ever played this game. We usually go for hangman or tic-tac-toe, but I’m willing to give it a try. Maybe she wants a new partner.
“All right, show me how it’s done.”
“Would you rather live in a home filled with rats or a house filled with snakes.”
“Neither.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“But I wouldn’t.”
She sighs. “You have to give an answer or the game’s no fun.”
“Fine, snakes.”
“Really? That’s not a very good answer.”
“Hey, Emily, you’re going to be on Wednesday Child this week!”
Rebecca Hamilton, her social worker, is walking towards us with her dark curly hair bouncing along the tops of her shoulders. “What is Wednesday Child?” I ask.
“A television show where they profile a child looking for a home to gain the interest of a nice family.”
“No . . . no she’s not going to be on Wednesday Child. Not sure if you’ve noticed, but she’s not for sale. She’s a human being.”
Emily’s face slightly falls as we talk about her like she’s not in the room and I’m instantly ashamed of myself.
“Damian, can we talk in the hallway?”
“Sure. I’ll be right back, Em.”
I follow Rebecca out. She always seems to have Emily’s best interest in mind, but this feels like a terrible idea and I’m not going for it.
The minute we get outside Emily’s room, Rebecca turns on me. “Listen, I know you only want what’s best for Emily, hell, that’s what we’re all working for, but if you disagree with something her attorney has lined up for her, do us all a favor and don’t argue the point in front of the child.”
“The child? She has a name, it’s Emily, and her attorney is an asshole.”
“Maybe, but he’s still her attorney and right now, what he says goes. She’s being featured on Wednesday Child next week. Be prepared.”
My blood’s beginning to boil. I love that little girl like she’s my own. She’s not a piece of property that people can parade around for show. How could anyone think this was a good idea?
“I’m going to fight it.” I can’t let this happen.
“You can’t. You have no rights. Remember? And if I were you Damian, if you want to keep seeing this little girl, go along with the program. Thomas doesn’t want you here as it is, give him a good enough reason and he’ll ban you from her room. Emily responds to you and it’s clear she needs you here as much as for whatever reason, you need to be here. She doesn’t need you disappearing on her. I don’t want to see it, and even the millions of dollars you’re worth won’t buy you a visit.”
Fuck! Sometimes I really hate this life.
He’s weird, but I like his type of weird. It’s different and intriguing. He’s not dangerous, just protective of himself and the people around him. I should be more like that. Two weeks have gone by since he moved in, and we seem to have fallen into a great neighborly routine. Every morning we drink our coffee together on our respective balconies. He’s usually shirtless, which I love, and if I have my shit together I’m dressed for work. I still can’t believe he’s the mega millionaire work out guru. It’s somewhat mind boggling, but looking at his body, I shouldn’t be surprised.
I’m at work reading a brief for a family that really can’t afford to be splitting up. Three kids, and if these bank statements are correct, a mass amount of debt neither of these parents will ever be able to crawl out of stares back at me. My stomach rolls over in sympathy for those poor children. Sometimes I think I picked the wrong profession. I get too personally involved with my clients’ cases, especially their children. Being raised by a single parent isn’t any child’s dream come true, but it’s a reality so many families face, it was my reality, and these kids need someone looking out for their best interest.
I’m half way through the document when my cell rings. Distracted, I absentmindedly answer it, not bothering to look at the caller ID.
“Addison.” I recognize the deep, smooth voice instantly.
“Matt, what number are you calling from?” He’s programmed, has his own damn ringtone for crying out loud. How am I supposed to screen him if he uses a different number?
“You weren’t answering my other calls so I’m using a land line.”