Crap. I should not have spent the past six months ignoring the yellow maintenance light that flashed to life every time I started the car. I kept meaning to drive to AutoZone for a checkup, but stuff kept popping up on my work schedule, and I never got around to it.
It’s a classic Lucy Rourke mistake, and I have only myself to blame. While I try to start the car again, as if the eightieth turn of the key just might do the trick, I run through my options. I can’t call Nona for a ride because she’s at a salsa dance lesson. I’d feel bad calling Elle, because asking an exhausted pregnant person to bail me out seems like poor form. I’m not about to bother Sam while she’s hitting it off with Freya, and I’m sure as hell not going to call Karina.
Damn. I really need to make more friends.
I don’t love the idea of paying for an Uber, because I’ve already blown my weekly budget by eating out twice, but I have no choice. I’m fishing my phone out of my purse when a familiar voice calls from behind the car.
“Lucy?”
No. Please, for the love of all that is holy, no. But sure enough, when I glance into the rearview mirror, I spot Nick waving at me.
“Hey, Luce!”
For a moment, I close my eyes and pretend that I’m a ruby-throated hummingbird. I fly out through the open car window, flapping my wings fifty-three times a second.
“Hi, Nick,” I say finally, opening my eyes.
Margo from Guest Relations stands behind him with her hands on her hips, clearly no more pleased by this turn of events than I am.
“Car trouble?” my ex asks, frowning at the high-pitched grinding noise the engine makes when I crank the key. It’s the soundtrack to my life, that noise, and if I had a walkout song that played every time I entered a room, this would be it.
“Oh, no, I’m fine,” I lie.
Nick, who can’t resist the urge to help a soul in need even when that soul is his baby-hating, unmaternal ex-girlfriend, shakes his head and strides toward the Chevy. He rests his elbows on the driver’s-side window, and I give him a strained smile and wonder what I did in my previous life to make the universe hate me.
“Lucy,” Nick says with the same you-little-rascal-you smile that he wore whenever I tried to make a new word in Scrabble, “tell me you got your engine light checked.”
“Of course I did,” I lie, annoyed. “It was a problem with the carburetor.”
I know as much about cars as I do about ancient hieroglyphics, and I avoid Nick’s gaze as I open the Uber app.
“She said she’s fine, Nicholas,” Margo says, tapping her foot against the pavement.
“At least let us give you a ride home,” he insists.
Half of my soul curls up and dies at the thought of sitting in the back seat of Nick’s Prius in my muddy shorts while he and Margo hold hands and give each other long, loving glances.
“No,” I say so firmly that Nick startles. “I mean, no thanks. I already have a ride.”
He tilts his head like he doesn’t believe me, just like he did when I tried to convince him that the word snarkles should earn me Scrabble points. “Did you call an Uber?”
“No,” I say. “I mean, yes. I mean—”
“Lucy,” a deeper voice calls, interrupting me. “I thought you were going to wait for me at the bar.”
I pop my head out the window to see Kai striding toward the Chevy, his hands in his pockets and a warm smile on his face. Gone is the wide-eyed, frozen stare he gave Courtney moments earlier. He’s the picture of calm, cool, and easy-breezy, and he glides past Nick to open my door and offer me his hand like a gallant knight who just won a round of joust.
“Let’s take my car this time,” he suggests, as if there were other times. As if we leave bars together on the reg and drive off to get up to who knows what.
The stunned look on Nick’s face gives me a thrill that starts at the top of my head and travels all the way down between my legs, and I don’t stop to think twice. I accept Kai’s outstretched hand, and he pulls me out of the car and to my feet in one swift motion.
“Oh,” Nick says, glancing from me to Kai and back to me. “Oh. Okay, then.”
Kai’s hand is warm, steady, and for a split second I forget all about wanting to be a hummingbird. For this brief, shining moment when Margo’s head practically spins in a complete circle, I’m happy to be Lucy, mud-covered shorts and all.
“Thanks anyway, Nick,” I say.
His gaze lingers on Kai for a beat, and Margo lets out an exasperated sigh and marches toward his Prius.
“See you around, then, Luce,” my ex says, glancing back at me as he trails after her. “Don’t ignore your engine light anymore, okay?”
“I’ve been telling her the same thing!” Kai says. “Classic Lucy-goosey.” As if to really sell the lie, he taps a finger to my nose like my inability to handle proper vehicle maintenance is an oh-so-adorkable quality.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell Kai when Nick and Margo drive off, even though I’m glad he did. Except for maybe the “Lucy-goosey” part.
Kai nods. “And you didn’t have to intervene at the bar. I’m just returning the favor.”
He’s still smiling that warm, Kai-to-the-rescue smile, one I haven’t seen before, and Bad Lucy finds it quite panty dropping. Reminding myself that he’s still the guy who stole my book, I drop his hand like a hot potato.
“If you ever boop my nose again,” I say, pulling myself back to my senses, “I will feed you to the polar bears.”
Kai shrugs. “I thought the boop was a nice touch.” He points toward my car. “Want me to take a look under the hood?”
The double meaning of his words sends another tingle southward, and I cross my arms over my chest, refusing to let Bad Lucy out to play.
“No thanks,” I say quickly, before he can offer to pump my tires or something that sounds equally dirty. “I’ll just call an Uber and get my car towed tomorrow.”
“Forget the Uber. I’ll give you a lift.”
He strides away from the bar, expecting me to follow, and turns back to study me when I don’t. “I won’t mention my Emmys, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I don’t point out that in promising not to mention his Emmys, he just mentioned them. Because what actually worries me is that being trapped in an enclosed space with Kai’s campfire and Yankee Candle scent might give Bad Lucy more evidence for her budding hypothesis that he isn’t actually so terrible. My other concern is that Kai’s still secretly pissed about my insults at the picnic, and he’s going to drive me fifty miles toward the middle of nowhere and abandon me to be eaten by wolves.
Or, according to his ex, wooves.
“You can pick the music,” Kai adds, as if it’s a preference for pop rock, and not the threat of death by apex predator, that’s giving me pause.
But I don’t have money to waste on an Uber, so I guess I’ll take my chances. Plus, I’ve never been in a Maserati before, and this might be my only shot.
“Okay,” I say with a hint of reluctance. “Thanks.”
I follow him across the parking lot, realizing that if Kai does murder me, at least two witnesses saw us leaving the bar together. But when he stops next to a blue minivan to fetch his keys from his pocket, I wonder if he’s had too many sips of his old-fashioned to operate a vehicle.
“Um, what middle-aged mom are you trying to jack this from?” I ask, peering around the parking lot. “Where’s your Maserati or your Lamborghini or your Batmobile?”
Kai squints at me. “A Maserati, Lucy? Seriously?”
I shrug. “I didn’t realize we were swinging by the soccer fields to pick up the kids.”
He rolls his eyes and climbs into the driver’s seat, leaning over to open the passenger door. “If you must know, I rent one of these puppies when I travel for work. They’re safe, they get decent mileage, and they can fit plenty of camera equipment.”
“True. And if you cover the windows, they’re perfect for snatching up children.”
Kai ignores my snarky comment. “Did you seriously think I drove a Lamborghini? I produce a wildlife show, not a Fast and the Furious franchise.”
Well, I certainly didn’t expect him to drive the same car as the neighborhood Karen, but I keep my mouth shut as I buckle my seat belt.
After I guide him out of the parking lot, an uncomfortable silence fills the air. I know that Kai’s seen me roughly ten seconds after I threw up and watched me humiliate myself on camera, but there’s something strangely intimate about riding in the car together. It’s bizarre to see someone I’ve watched chatting with Oprah and helicoptering over a wild elephant herd on Animal Planet do something as mundane as flip on his turn signal and check his blind spot before switching lanes.
It’s like watching Daniel Craig scoop up cat litter, or Scarlett Johansson trim her fingernails.
And it’s mesmerizing.
Realizing that I’m staring at Kai like a grade-A creeper, I tear my gaze away and watch the pickup truck in front of us like it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.
“So, Dr. North,” Kai says finally. “He seemed very concerned about the state of your engine.”
I can’t tell if the innuendo is intentional, and I adjust the AC vent to blow in my direction lest I turn lobster red.
“Well, I struggle with adulting in a way that always drove him crazy,” I explain. “You know, neglecting to get my oil changed or forgetting to rotate the mattress every three months. I was always just more focused on work, and he couldn’t stand it.”
“He sounds like a prick,” Kai says plainly.
Huh. I think Kai’s the only person in the world who’s ever called him that. “Well, my grandmother loved Nick,” I say. “And her best friend would have drop-kicked me if it meant getting a shot with him.”
Nobody said it after the breakup, but I knew what Nona and Trudy and my co-workers thought: Poor Lucy. If she can’t make it work with sweet, agreeable Nick, who reminds her to pay her taxes and tolerates her work schedule, who can she?
“Well, I vote prick,” Kai says, and I wish I could record his statement with my phone and play it for Trudy the next time she pesters me about my ex. “Was he?”
“No,” I say quickly. “Of course not.”
Nick wasn’t a prick. He spent his Saturday mornings performing free spays and neuters on the homeless animals at Columbus Humane, and he changed Trudy’s flat tire, and he supported my decision to turn down work trips to the San Diego Zoo and a lemur rescue in Madagascar when I worried that Zuri’s intestinal blockage would return once I left.
But then I remember the last three months of our relationship, when Nick side-eyed me whenever a Pampers commercial came on, like he was waiting for me to fall to my knees and announce that yes, finally, the crawling baby on the screen lit a fire in my cold, bitchy ovaries and convinced me to open my dusty womb to motherhood. I think of brunch at his parents’, when his mother clutched her infant granddaughter to her chest and said, “I don’t understand people who don’t want children, they’re just so selfish,” her eyes darting toward me, and Nick didn’t defend me or follow when I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I remember when we attended his college reunion and one of his buddies’ wives asked if we had kids and Nick said No, not yet, but maybe someday, rubbing small circles on my back with his hand, even though I’d insisted earlier that morning that I wouldn’t change my mind.
Nick wasn’t a prick for dumping me, but maybe he was for trying to pressure me into accepting a life I didn’t want. For assuming I would give in, and for acting like I was less of a woman when I didn’t.
“Actually, yes,” I tell Kai. “He kind of was.”
I don’t say what else I’m thinking: that I was kind of a prick to myself, too, for putting up with it.
“Nick wanted kids, but I didn’t,” I say, not sure why I’m sharing this. “Not that wanting kids makes someone a prick. It’s just that he suddenly started dreaming about a wedding and toddlers and a 529 plan when all I wanted was a promotion. It’s still all I want.” I shrug. “Maybe that makes me selfish, but I’d rather be selfish without kids than selfish with them.”
I don’t tell him that I know what it’s like to have a mom who puts you last, and that I’d never put myself in the position of doing that to a child.
“I don’t think that makes you selfish,” Kai says, and it’s so unlike the petty insults we usually lob at each other that I’m surprised it isn’t sarcasm. “Besides, no offense to your ex, but anyone who wears those shoes with tube socks should think twice about reproducing.”
I laugh, and the knot of anxiety that formed in my stomach when I saw Nick and Margo loosens.
Kai glances sideways at me as he turns onto a main road. “It was cool of you to help me out back at the bar. I don’t usually get tripped up over my words like that.”
“Well, I get tripped up over my words all the time, so I recognize a fellow deer in headlights when I see one.”
Kai smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “The Taji stuff catches me off guard sometimes, even after all these years. People see me as the guy on TV who swims with eels and dives off rocks with sea lions, and they forget that I’m, you know . . .”
“A person?” I suggest when he trails off.
He nods. “Yeah. A person. They don’t realize that bringing Taji up out of the blue is like walking up to a burn victim and saying, ‘Hey, remember the day your house burned down? Give me all the details!’ For them, it’s just something that happened in a movie. But I was there when he died, you know? I was there. And it’s crazy how casually people mention it. Like, one second I’m sitting at a bar eating spring rolls, and the next, someone’s asking me about a massacre like we’re chatting about the score of the Yankees game.”
I can only imagine how that would feel. If a bartender came up to me and said, “Hey, remember when your mom abandoned you? That was just so sad, now sit still and smile while I ask you fifty questions about it,” I’d fling my drink across the lounge and refuse to leave home again.
“Have you ever thought of just telling people no?” I ask. “Like if they bring up Taji, just refusing to engage?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve tried, but it doesn’t go over well. When people see you on their TV screen every week, they start to think they know you. The real you. And when the real-life version doesn’t measure up, well, next thing you know, there’s a Page Six article about how Kai Bridges made a five-year-old cry by refusing to take a selfie.
“I took a selfie with the five-year-old,” he explains when he sees my raised eyebrows. “What I would not do is autograph his mother’s right butt cheek.”
“Just the left one, then?” I say, and this time when Kai smiles, it’s effervescent.
“I don’t mean to sound like a spoiled rich kid,” he says, turning where I direct him to. “I just wanted to say thanks for not hanging me out to dry. Even if you did drop a bomb on everybody with that scorpion horror story.”
“No problem.” I tap my temple with my index finger. “I’ve got more horrifying animal facts stored in here than I know what to do with.”
Kai laughs. “I bet I’ve got you beat.”
Recalling his accusation that I’m afraid of a challenge, I decide it’s time to drop the gauntlet. “Okay, Mr. Big Shot, beat this: beavers produce anal liquids that get added to vanilla ice cream.”
He rolls his shoulders back as if to say, You’re on. “Some frogs make their homes out of elephant dung.”
“Storks pee on themselves to stay cool.”
“Horror frogs break their own bones to grow claws,” Kai counters.
“Koalas have chlamydia.”
“Honeybees boil hornets to death,” he says.
“This is my stop,” I say suddenly, realizing I’ve been so focused on shouting out disturbing animal facts that I almost let Kai pass Nona’s house.
“Cows kill—” Kai starts to drop another fact, then pauses. “What?”
“—more humans than sharks do,” I finish for him. “Yep, I know that one, too. And this is where I live. The house with the red tile roof.”
He hits the brakes and puts the van in reverse, letting out a low whistle as he slows to a stop at Nona’s curb.
“And you accused me of being in an international crime ring?” he asks.
I glance at Nona’s Spanish Colonial, with its garden of lush roses blooming in the courtyard. “It’s not mine. I just rent a room. My landlord’s a cardiologist.” I neglect to mention that my landlord is also my grandma, who still makes me crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when I’m not feeling well.
Some things are better left unsaid.
I unbuckle my seat belt and slide out of the car. “Thanks for the ride.”
“No problem,” Kai says, giving me a salute. “See you around, Lucy.”
I make a concerted effort not to trip over my own feet as I cross the yard, and I’ve almost made it to the front door when Kai, tires squealing as he circles out of the cul-de-sac, lowers his window.
“Hey, Lucy Rourke!” he calls, causing Joey Macoroy from next door and Mrs. Elgine two houses over to look up from their front porches. “Fruit fly swarms! They’re just massive orgies! I win!”
Kai zooms off like a madman, leaving scandalized Mrs. Elgine’s mouth shaped like a perfect O.
When I step inside the house, still laughing, I find Trudy and Nona playing a round of rummy in the sitting room.
“What happened to salsa?” I ask, dropping my purse.
“Canceled tonight,” Nona explains. “Enrique broke his fibula. What was all the ruckus outside?”
“Oh, nothing. Just a friend dropping me off.”
“It sounded like a man,” Trudy says, peering at me over her cards. “Was it Nick? Are you two getting back together? I hope you’ve come to your senses about him, because he is such a nice young man.”
It’s a stark contrast to my conversation in the car with Kai, and annoyance prickles my skin. “It wasn’t Nick, actually,” I tell her. “And you know what? I don’t want to hear about him anymore. If you think he’s so great, you ask him out. It might just work, since you share the same taste in shoes.”
And before her jaw even drops in response, I turn on my heel and stride toward my bedroom. I’ve got work to do.