ADRIAN COMES OVER with a bucket and some kind of graffiti-removing soap he picked up at the hardware store. As we erase the horrible accusation from the hood of the Mazda, I can tell he’s not happy to be playing this role again: my rescuer, my support system, basically, my husband. Tori must be furious. Adrian is probably wondering why Theo isn’t helping me do this, but he doesn’t ask.
When the job is done, we stow the supplies in Adrian’s SUV and walk down the street to a dank bar, a mainstay despite its incongruity with the rest of the neighborhood. We are both alert for suspects, any unusual or dangerous characters watching me, but there are a lot of unusual people in this city. None of them pay me any mind.
It’s a beautiful, sunny evening so the rooftop deck is full, but the dark bar is sparsely populated. We choose a back corner table with maximum privacy and order two glasses of lager. We drink in silence for a few moments, and I note how comfortable we are together. It’s muscle memory. Despite all that went wrong between us, our physical bodies are still content in each other’s presence; we feel no pressure to force conversation.
Eventually, Adrian sets his pint glass on a coaster. “Liza came home from school early today. She said everyone saw your video and they were all whispering about her.”
The beer in my stomach turns acidic, and I feel sick at the thought of my daughter suffering because of my actions.
“She’s pissed at you, Cam. She doesn’t want you to come to her graduation ceremony.”
The words pierce my heart like a blade. “She doesn’t mean it.”
“She says it will be too distracting if you’re there. That everyone will be looking at you, and talking about you, and it will ruin her big day.”
Tears well in my eyes, because she’s not wrong. If I go to her graduation, I’ll be the sideshow attraction. Instead of a bearded woman or a fetus in a jar, I’ll be the deranged author who attacked an innocent woman over a critical email. The parents will whisper and judge; the kids will stare and snicker. And Liza will hate me even more. Because of my own stupid choices, I’m going to have to miss my only child’s graduation. Grabbing a rumpled tissue from my pocket, I dab at my eyes.
“Maybe things will have died down by then?” Adrian says kindly.
“I doubt it. It’s only a couple of weeks away.”
“Sorry.”
I lean my head on his shoulder: strong, solid, familiar. Adrian strokes my hair, as was his habit when we were together. There are no romantic remnants between us, but if anyone saw us, they’d think we were a couple. If Tori saw us, she’d be livid. If Theo rode by and looked in here, he’d be even angrier than he already is. I sit up and compose myself, blow my nose into the tissue. “I’ll be okay.”
“Good.” Adrian reaches for his beer. “Liza wants to stay alone at our place when Tori and I take Savannah to the UK. But given all that’s going on, I told her I’m not comfortable with that.”
“Me neither,” I say. “There are no images of Liza on my socials, but I might have mentioned her in an interview or something. It’s too risky.”
“She wants to stay at Sage’s house,” my ex continues. “Apparently it’s fine with Derek and Amber.”
“She can stay with me,” I say, feeling territorial. “I know I screwed up but I’m still her parent.”
“Your place isn’t safe. Someone got into your secure garage. Who’s to say they won’t get into your building? Why don’t you move to an Airbnb for a while?”
Because I can’t afford to pay two rents, I want to snap. Because I don’t have rich parents to bankroll such indulgences. But instead, I make a suggestion. “I could stay at your place while you’re away. Take care of Liza and the garden.”
“I thought of that, too, but Tori’s not comfortable with it.”
I roll my eyes, but Adrian lets it go. “Okay, I’ll rent an Airbnb,” I say, though I will struggle to afford it. “A secure apartment that nobody knows about. I’ll keep Liza safe. I promise.”
Adrian’s nod is infinitesimal, but he’s in agreement. He knows I love our daughter fiercely, that I would bow out if I was worried about her safety. My ex changes the subject.
“I met the girls she’s traveling with,” he says, sipping his beer. “They seem nice. Tori invited their parents over for dinner.”
“I heard,” I say, and I’m grateful. Even if I wasn’t a pariah, it would have been awkward for me to host this get-together. Most of the parents at Liza’s private school live in massive single-family dwellings, not cozy apartments. They have professionally decorated interiors, not pieces cobbled together after a divorce. Tori is a far better cook, a far better hostess. And Liza is not ashamed of her.
“You need to look at this trip as a reset,” Adrian says. “Let Liza go and have her fun. When she comes back, everything will be water under the bridge. And she’ll have missed you so much, it won’t matter anyway.”
I nod, lips pressed together to hold my emotions in check. “I don’t want her to leave here hating me.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” he assures me. “She’s just mad.” He drains the rest of his pint. “You’re her mom and she loves you. She’ll come back to you.”
I wish I had his confidence.
Adrian escorts me back to my building and up to my apartment, even coming inside to ensure that it’s vacant with a quick tour. “Thanks for your support,” I say. “Sorry about all this.”
“We’re still family,” he says. “We’ll always be Liza’s parents.”
I smile. “I hope this doesn’t cause any problems with Tori.”
“It’ll be fine,” he says, effectively shutting the conversation down. “I’ve got to go. Lock the doors. Call if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Adrian.” A quick hug, and then I’m alone.
The draft beer is leaden in my belly and my brain feels fuzzy. Despite the afternoon nap, I’m groggy and tired. I should pounce on this feeling, catch a few hours’ sleep while I can. Because I know the anxiety is still there, under the fugue of alcohol and exhaustion. Someone got into my parking garage. They can probably get into the building. I need to be alert.
I make a piece of toast and eat it standing at the counter. Then I put the plate in the dishwasher and bumble into my bedroom. Digging through the drawers, I find a comfortable pair of sweats and a baggy T-shirt and put them on. I move to the attached bathroom to wash my face. But when I flick on the light, I pull up short.
Gelatinous blobs of a milky substance are splattered on the mirror, covering the tiles, oozing into the sink. It looks bodily, sexual, but there’s so much of it. It’s everywhere. I shrink back in disgust and my back foot slides out from under me. I hadn’t noticed, but the slippery stuff is coating the floor, too.
With a shriek into the emptiness, I fall hard into the revolting puddle.