Page 20 of Love Like This

Russell Adair sat comfortably at the kitchen table with hiscustomary pile of magazines in front of him, likely chatting away with hermother about his day. It wasn’t an unusual sight to see the two of themtogether, shooting the breeze. They weren’t married anymore, and hadn’t beensince Spencer was thirteen, but remained steadfast friends. Her pop lived a fewblocks over but spent a good chunk of his time doing odd jobs around hermother’s house and eating as much of her food as she’d allow before kicking himout. They bickered and joked and carried on the way close relatives did,leaving her grateful for their evolved relationship. Some people just do betterminus the romance over time. Her parents were the perfect example.

“How’s the paper?” Spencer asked him absently, as she set thetable the same way she had since she was five years old: knives on the inside,spoons on the out.

“Same as ever,” her pop said. “Did you know Mr. Goodrich died? Hewas the assistant coach on your soccer team when you were about here.” He heldup a hand, indicating the height of a first grader.

“Oh yeah? I hadn’t heard. I know his daughter, Mika, from school.I’ll have to check in on her.”

“Wrote his obituary today. Makes you see how precious life is. Howprecious thepeopleinit are.” He reached out and squeezed Spencer’s hand, making her stop herprogress and squeeze his back. “Life’s too short, Sparky. Do all the things youwant to do now. No waiting.”

She smiled at his childhood nickname for her, originating from herprecocious self-expression and refusal to follow rules simply because they wererules. She’d always been an independent thinker, quite often to her owndetriment. She’d gotten better about holding her tongue. Well, mostly. “Workingon it. In fact, last night I met with that assistant manager from that store Itold you guys about on Rodeo Drive. I think she’s gonna help me get my line inthe door after all.”

Her mother carried the plate of white wine chicken to the tableand set it down alongside a fresh green salad hopping with ripe tomatoes fromthe garden out back. “If my child is designing clothes for Rodeo Drive, I mightbe taking out an ad in that paper myself, Russell. Get your pen and paperready!”

He chuckled and served himself several forkfuls of salad. “I canget you a discount.”

“No, no, no. We’re not there yet,” Spencer said, waving her hand.“But I think things are starting to happen. I just have that feeling you alwaystalk about, Mama. Like when you know you’re going to sell a house that day.”

“Sometimes you just know. That’s quite true. And this assistantmanager? She knows what she’s doing?”

“I think so. Her suggestions aren’t…awful.”

Her mother shot her father a knowing look. “Sounds like someone isfeeling defensive about their artistic integrity again.”

“Not a bad thing,” her dad said. “You’ve always had a good eyethere, Sparky. You know what you’re doing.”

“I do,” Spencer said, digging into the chicken. “But she knows thespace more than I do, so I’m trying to make mental accommodations for that. Theclientele is different from those I usually sell to. Uppity, and opinionated.So I’m trying to be open and listen more.”

“Is this my daughter?” her mother asked, glancing around thekitchen, her hand covering her heart. “I wish she’d been more open to listeningwhen I raised her. One too many arguments about the paint colors in her room.”

“We raised a knucklehead,” her pop said fondly, nodding along.“But she’s workin’ it out, sounds like. Maybe she’ll be less knuckleheadishsoon.”

“Call me a knucklehead all you want,” Spencer said. “But I standby that bright purple paint. All my friends were jealous of my room.”

“Mm-hmm,” her mother said, behind her glass of iced water. “That’swhy you painted over it a year later.”

“Knock, knock,” a voice called from the entryway.

“Kendra!” Spencer said, and leapt up. Her childhood best friendwas still her mother’s next-door neighbor after having inherited the house whenher own mother had sadly passed on.

“I saw your car,” Kendra said, walking in and making herself athome. Automatically, her mother added a fourth plate to the table. Kendra wasjust a second daughter as far as the Adairs were concerned. She and Spencer hadgone back and forth between the two houses for the entirety of their childhood.No one knew Spencer the way Kendra did.

“I was about to call you.”

“No need. I have presented myself on cue. What’s for dinner?” sheasked, with wide eyes. “Oh my God, did I come on white wine chicken night? Ilove that sauce.”

“It’s your lucky day,” her mom said, making Kendra a heapingplate. She did love to feed people. “How are the babies? It’s not fair that youget to see adorable children all day and I’m playing open house hostess tolooky-loos.”

Spencer suppressed an eye roll, because her mother loved her joband made a killing doing it. But the baby-snuggling life didn’t sound so badeither.

“Adorable and fussy as always,” Kendra said. “We had a delivery oftwins earlier this week, though. A boy and a girl. Stole my heart. I swear thelittle boy was flirting with me.” Kendra had worked as a labor and deliverynurse since graduating from nursing school and loved every minute of her job.

“He knows a pretty girl when he sees one,” her father said.

“Kendra’s taken,” Spencer told him, referencing her new romancestill in the hot and heavy stages. She’d had starry eyes for the past threemonths. While Spencer was happy for her, it was a lot to stomach.

“Not true.” Kendra tucked a section of dark braids behind her ear.“I need to catch you up.”

Spencer sat back in her chair with a whoosh. “Get out. You andTucker broke up? Why didn’t you call me?”

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