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“He okay?”
“You know what? No.”
“Sorry to hear that. Can I drop you somewhere?”
“Nah, I’m way out of your way. And I feel like I need a good long walk. Then a good long nap. It’s
been that kind of night, and morning.”
“Everything all right?”
“Baby’s fine, mom’s fine … the dad’s fine. It’s Will I’m worried about.”
“I thought … So he’s not the father?”
I winced by way of an answer.
“Ho boy. How about you? You okay?”
I said I was fine, just tired, but I hadn’t really taken my own personal temperature just yet.
Hospitals have a way of taking the focus off anyone not on a gurney or bed. But what else could I say
to Jesse in that moment? I couldn’t tell him I was happy to see him but that I was also harboring a
darker, deeper joy at this sudden turn of events that had left Will free. I was happy to see his face,
Jesse with his blue-tinted sunglasses, his hands with their rugged backs, and smooth, soft palms from
being elbow deep in coco butter and marzipan all day, the same hands that had begun to make their
brilliant acquaintance with every inch of my body. I wanted him even now, my body automatically
drawn towards the door of his truck like a big magnet, my face inches from his. He put his hand on the
back of my head and pulled me in for a long kiss that tasted like good coffee.
“Okay, babe. I’ll call you later,” he said, and drove off, leaving me with a new round of thoughts
now buzzing to life.
I want Jesse. I want Will. Do I want Will? And who’s to say Will even wants me after all this
drama, or that he’ll want any woman, for that matter? Besides, he probably thinks I’m now swimming
in men. First, a lanky musician comes by the restaurant, and now some other punk drops coffee off for
me. I had to laugh right then and there. Imagine if Will thought I was a “player,” or worse, a “slut,” a
word that Matilda banned … but still. There was something in his eyes just now that had sent a chill
my way.
So I did what I always did when I couldn’t think about a thing straight. I started walking. I walked
the ten blocks towards the Mansion and the only person who’d ever offered me clarity.
It was a Sunday, but Matilda was there. And she was alone.
“Know anything about corporate charitable tax deductions?” she said instead of hello.
I followed her into her office, where half a dozen ledgers lay spread out on her desk.
“’Fraid not. Are you in the middle of something?”
“Oh, just cooking the books. Trying to figure out operating costs. How much longer we can stay
afloat. How’s the baby? Is she just dreamy?”
“Tiny and cute, yes.”
“Has Dauphine called you yet?”
“My phone was off, the battery’s dead. Oh my god! Her Mark fantasy was last night! I completely
forgot! How did it go? Did you talk to her?”
“She left here about an hour ago.”
I noted the time. Almost two in the afternoon.
“An eighteen-hour fantasy? So … I take it went well?”
“Maybe a little too well.”