Sophie cocks her head and studies Mari. “You’re the shrink. Psychologist, I mean.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Cool.” My daughter’s grin is almost bashful as she glances at me. “I was thinking about being a psychologist. Maybe a teacher, but my mom says shrinks make a lot of money.”
Hearing my ex-wife dragged into the conversation sinks my mood like a steel-wrapped brick, and I try to figure out a way to reroute things.
Mari’s way ahead of me. “Great job being open-minded about your future career,” she says. “When I was your age, I wanted to be a race car driver.”
“No kidding?” Sophie brushes her hair off her forehead and scuffs a sneaker over the floor. “If your name’s Marilyn, how come you pronounce it ‘mar-ee’ like it rhymes with…I don’t know—car pee?” My kid’s brow furrows as she replays the words in her head and finds them lacking. “I mean—”
“Yeah, that’s a good question.” I step in to save Sophie so she doesn’t keep twisting in the wind. “Seems like you’d go with ‘Mary’ if you just wanted to shorten things.”
The faintest cloud passes over Mari’s face, which seems odd. Her eyes flick quickly to Lauren, who’s over in the corner bossing the lighting guy. “I—well—” She clears her throat. “I’d been a clinical psychologist for a few years, not really part of the whole Hollywood scene like the rest of my family.” Her throat moves as she swallows, and I wonder what she’s glossing over. “When I started doing more TV appearances, the producers wanted something with a bit more pizazz.”
“Sexier,” I offer, then cringe. Why the hell did I say that in front of my kid? Or to a professional woman, for that matter. I open my mouth to apologize, but Mari bursts out laughing.
“Yes,” she says, swiping a curl off her forehead. “That’s it exactly. Names like ‘Lauren’ or ‘Lana’ just roll off the tongue, but ‘Marilyn’ and ‘Mary’ lack the same zing.” There’s that cloud again, drifting across her smile to drag down the edges of it. “Anyway, we settled on ‘Mari’ as a hat tip to the Latin word—mare—for sea, or Spanish—that’s mar. The producers thought it might resonate better with Latinx viewers, plus I liked it, so—” She shrugs, a gesture I suspect hides more than self-consciousness about her nickname. “What about you?” she asks. “Do you prefer Sophia or Sophie or—”
“Soph.” She slips me a side-eye, challenging me to point out this is the first time she’s asked to be called this. “Some girls at school said Soph sounds more sophisticated.”
My chest tightens at the thought of my little girl wanting to be sophisticated. Wasn’t it last week she wanted to be a hippopotamus?
Or maybe that’s when she was four. I’m not sure when time started moving so fast, but possibly the day I held my new baby girl in my arms and saw her first sweet, toothless smile.
“Soph,” I say, trying it out as the knot in my chest tightens. “That’s nice.”
Mari’s gaze shifts to mine, and for a moment, I wonder if she’s read my thoughts. If she knows how fucking hard I try to be a good dad, the kind of dad Sophie—Soph—deserves.
Mari smiles, and the tightness in my chest uncoils like a knot of twine unspooling. “How are the two of you settling in?”
“Pretty good.” Soph shrugs, and I try to read into it. Is she fitting in okay? Making friends? Did I make a terrible mistake thinking she’d be better off in a tiny, tight-knit community like this?
“The kids at school are really chill,” Soph continues like I’m not standing here second-guessing every decision I’ve ever made. “Not like back home. I’m still figuring out where I fit in, I guess.”
I rest a hand on her shoulder, letting her know I’ve got her back. “As long as it’s not with a street gang or a roving band of drug dealers, we’re good.”
Mari smiles, but she’s studying Soph with her intense brain-scanning look. “It’s challenging sometimes to fit in at a new school. If you’d ever like to talk to anyone, I know several local therapists who specialize in teens.”
I flinch without meaning to, and Mari shoots me an odd look. “Everything okay?”
“Sorry.” I clear my throat. “Just remembered I need to order more lactobacillus for the sour beers.”
She scans my face like she knows I’m lying. Like she can tell I’m leery as hell about sending my kid to therapy after what I went through with Soph’s mom.
Maybe Mari senses my unease, because she turns her gaze back to Soph. “Have you connected with other Juniper Ridge kids at the youth mixers?”
“I liked the one at the bumper cars,” Soph says. “There’s lots of really cool girls here.”
The smile Mari gives Soph is warm and genuine. “I’m sure they think you’re pretty cool, too.” She shifts her gaze to mine. “For the record, we don’t film any of the youth events. Those are strictly for social development.”
“Good.” The risk of Soph being brainwashed by fame was my biggest sticking point with this show, so I’m glad they’re doing their best to keep kids out of the limelight. “There’s another one coming up at the water park next week, right?”
Soph nods and grabs my sleeve. “Yeah. Hey, Dad—can I go to Olivia’s house?”
“Which one is Olivia?”
My aspiring teen gives her best adolescent eye-roll. “You met her parents the other night. Her dad is a lawyer, and her mom teaches yoga. They have all the pets, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember.” Nice couple, and seemingly sane. Two daughters, one younger than Soph, and one the same age. “Her parents are home?”
“Duh.” Soph scuffs her sneaker on the floor. “Her mom’s showing us how to French braid. Can I go? Please?”
“Fine. But I want you home for dinner.”
“Yes!” My daughter starts for the door.
“Six thirty,” I call after her. “And set the table before you go.”
Soph turns around. “What are we having?”
“Why, so you can make up an excuse to eat at Olivia’s if you don’t like what I’m making?”
“Daaaaaad—”
“Spaghetti and meatballs,” I tell her. “And a big Caesar salad because I’m a monster who makes you eat your vegetables.”
Soph grins and bounces back to hug me. “The salad’s the best part. See you at seven.”
“Six thirty!” I shout after her as she bounds toward the exit again.
My daughter just laughs and slips through the door. The second she’s gone, Mari looks at me. “I don’t know what you’re worried about. The two of you seem to have terrific communication.”
“That was the most I’ve heard her talk in weeks. Having you standing here must have put her on her best behavior.”
Mari smiles and adjusts her messenger bag. “It’s not uncommon for kids raised by an opposite-sex parent to seek connection with same-sex adults outside the family. Perfectly normal.”