What the hell just happened?
Chapter 7
CONFESSIONAL 702
Judson, Marilyn, PsyD (Psychologist: Juniper Ridge)
So many patients blame perceived failings on a lack of self-control. Addiction, debt, overeating. Like you can flip a switch and fix it. There’s an excellent study connecting low glucose levels to poor performance on tasks tied to self-control. By replenishing glucose—say, with honey or sweet corn or fruit juice—the percentage of improvement on—what?
It’s grape juice, Lauren. No, you can’t have some. I don’t care if you’re thirsty. I’m trying to explain how—fine. It’s wine, okay?
I avoid Griffin as much as possible, pouring myself into event planning and coaching sessions with other community members.
But there’s only so much you can do to dodge someone who lives a literal stone’s throw away in a community designed to maximize interaction between residents.
“Hey, Mari.” He strides up to the coffee shop counter just as I’m ordering a butterscotch bran muffin. His eyes sweep me from head to toe, and I hate how much I love it. “I’ve been meaning to call you.”
“Oh?” Accepting my tea mug from Patti, I pick it up and blow on my Earl Grey. “I’m happy to schedule an appointment.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Should I make an appointment to discuss the Cox’s parrot?”
Patti and Colleen exchange a look behind the counter. “There’s a euphemism I’ve never heard.”
“It’s not a euphemism,” I insist, though the heat rising in my cheeks leaves some doubt. “It’s just—” Shaking my head, I gesture to a corner table. “How about we sit over there?”
Griff grins and scoops up my muffin plate. “Let me get this.”
We walk together to the sunny corner table under a west facing window. Easing into the seat across from me, he watches as I take a sip of tea. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
There’s no question mark, so I don’t bother denying it. “I’ve been busy.” I clear my throat. “There’s news about the parrot?”
“Unfortunately, yes. They need to find a new home for Leonard right away.”
“Something happened?”
Griffin nods grimly. “Jaya baked Cornish game hens for dinner. I guess both birds were in the kitchen watching when she pulled them out.”
“That seems…unnerving.” I cut the muffin in half and push the plate toward his side of the table.
“Not as unnerving as Leonard turning to the other bird and chanting ‘Paco’s dead’ until they freaked out and moved his perch to the next room.” He picks up his half of the muffin and takes a bite. “This is great, thanks.”
“Of course.” I sip my tea and fight to keep my focus off Griffin’s mouth. Instead, I consider the pitfalls of adopting a pet with sociopathic tendencies. “They’re looking to rehome Leonard soon?”
“Immediately. I’m walking over now to drop off a book Soph borrowed from Olivia. They asked if I’d take him temporarily until they find a new home.”
I see where this is going. “And you’re afraid Soph will take that as a sign you’re keeping him.”
“Bingo.”
He finishes his half of the muffin, then rests his hands on the table. I definitely do not look at his fingers. Or his forearms. Or— “You’re inviting me to come with you?”
“Yep.” He grins, and my belly turns a cartwheel. “I thought you’d like to meet him.”
This is a bad idea on many levels. Despite days of trying, I still haven’t managed to make contact with Griffin’s ex-wife. I’ve rattled every cage and called in favors with a dozen Hollywood pals. Until I reach her and get that consent form signed, I have to keep my distance.
“I do need to drop off some show notes for the Coxes.” Why the hell did I say that?
Griffin lifts an eyebrow. “So you’re still interested?” He smiles. “In the bird, I mean.”
No sense pretending this isn’t awkward. “Griffin, I—I’m sorry if I’ve given you mixed messages.”
A slow grin spreads over his face. “Your messages have seemed clear to me.”
God, I hate how that smile sends bushels of butterflies zinging through my belly like drunk little demons. It’s a struggle to keep my voice calm as I remind myself of the reasons to keep things professional. “What message are you receiving?”
He shrugs. “You want me.” Still grinning, he leans forward over the table. “I want you, too. But for some reason you’re determined to keep up this weird, professional distance, so I can roll with it.”
I swallow hard, grateful he can’t read my mind. Grateful he doesn’t know I spent three hours last night filling a notebook with ideas on how to contact Elle Julia. I even called in a favor from a director I once slept with, hoping he might have an in.
“They keep ‘em locked down tight on that set,” he said when I mentioned the name of her reality show. “Doubt I could reach her even if you made it worth my while.”
The implication set my skin crawling and reminded me why I’m glad to be out of Hollywood. “I appreciate you trying.” I hung up and took a long shower.
Now, I take a deep breath as I study Griffin across the table. “I’d love to meet Leonard.” I pick up my half of the muffin to keep my hands busy. “Do I need to join you now or come by later?”
“Now’s great, if you’re free. I wanted to pick your brain about Soph, actually. There’s…some stuff going on.”
Now he’s got my attention. “Is everything okay?” I bite into the muffin, hoping the girl isn’t in trouble. “She’s struggling with something?”
He watches me as I finish the muffin, and I’m annoyed by how much I love that he’s mesmerized by my mouth. “We’re coming up on the anniversary of her mom leaving,” he says. “I’m expecting that might be rough.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize…I mean, yes. Of course.”
I hate myself so much for how easily the lie slips out. I do know the exact date Griffin’s ex-wife left because she told me the day she planned to do it.
“I’m just going to rip the Band-Aid off.” She swiped her eyes with a tissue and glanced out the window. “It’s the kindest way, don’t you think?”
The irony of being asked that question is no longer lost on me.
Griffin runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been wondering if I should say anything to Soph about the date or just let it slide.”
I get to my feet, needing to walk and talk so I stop staring at Griffin and start focusing on his mental health needs. On the needs of his child. “Are you fairly certain Soph remembers the date?”
Griff looks grim as he follows me to the trash can in the corner, then out the door into the bright afternoon sunshine. “The day Gabby left, Soph started marking her calendar. Marking each day her mom’s been gone. I just saw she’s up to seven-hundred-and-twenty. Almost the two-year mark.”