Page 36 of Wild and Bright

Oh God, I’m going to do it.

My conscience barely even prickles as I pull up the app and press “share location”. By the time I’m done, I feel nothing but relief. A quiet voice tells me I’ll regret it, but I push it away. It’s only for six months. And I already told her I was going to do it.

After deciding that I don’t feel thirsty, I grab a mug from the cupboard. I reach for the coffee carafe and pour the now lukewarm liquid into the mug. This whole thing had better work. Six months better be enough to expunge her from my system. If not, I’m in trouble.

She makes me do crazy things.

“Uncle Cam!”

I jump, spilling coffee on my white undershirt.

“I made slime!”

When I turn around, I see Cadence standing at the entrance of the kitchen, a pile of purple sludge in her hands.

Good God, how could I have forgotten?

How could I have forgotten that my obsession is so out of control that I invited a single mother with a child to live in my house? I’m not good with children, and this particular child has always been a bit of a sore spot for me. I make an effort to give her a warm smile, not wanting her to sense how I feel. None of it is her fault.

“You made it? How do you make slime?”

“Mommy bought a kit!” She rushes to the kitchen table, where an array of plastic cups, spoons, and bottles are spread over the surface. “Grammy hates slime, and she never lets me make it, but we live in your house now, so Mommy says I can make slime all the time. Do you want to play with it?”

I open my mouth, about to tell her I can’t. I’ve been so distracted all day thinking about her mother that I’ve hardly gotten any writing done, but something about her question gives me pause. There’s something so sweet about her earnestness, as if she can’t imagine why a twenty-five-year-old man wouldn’t want to play with slime.

“I’d love to,” I find myself saying. I walk over to the kitchen table and pull out the chair next to hers.

“What color do you want?”

I glance at the two piles of slime sitting on my table. God, it looks disgusting, like brightly colored snot. And I can see that she’s handled it quite a bit from the specks of dust and fuzz clinging to it. I have to keep myself from cringing. I forgot how messy kids can be, but I’m going to have to get used to it. She lives here now.

“I’ll take pink.”

She smiles brightly. “That’s my favorite one. I made it for Mommy because she loves glitter.”

“Are you sure you don’t want it then? I can take the purple.”

She stares at me for a moment, a concentrated frown forming on her brow. “You can play with it first, and then I’ll get a turn.”

The authority in her tone fills me with warmth, reminding me so much of Lauren when she was a little girl. “That’s a great idea. You’re way better at sharing than I was at your age.”

“Mommy says you’re sharing your house with us. She said it’s not our house, but you’re letting us live here for six months. She told me I have to say thank you for my new toys, but I forgot.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I want you to feel at home here.”

Sensing someone’s gaze, I glance up to see Lauren at the kitchen entry, and the sight of her makes an involuntary smile tug at my lips. She’s standing there with a laundry basket at her hip and big headphones around her ears.

I love it.

I love having her in this house. I love that she prances around in that baggy sweatshirt and yoga pants and sings shitty pop songs loud enough for me to hear all the way in my soundproofed studio.

But all warmth vanishes when I notice that she’s staring at me with her lips slightly parted, her eyes wide. She looks utterly shocked.

Like she can’t even imagine that I’d be nice to her daughter.

“We’re playing with slime,” I say, the words feeling foreign on my tongue.

“I thought you were writing.”

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