Derek

“Who’s Serena?” My mother doesn’t greet me with her traditional “hello, my love” when I pick Haven up Friday after work. She pulls the front door wide, her hands on her hip. “Haven hasn’t stopped talking about the ‘girl with the mermaid hair’ since Royal dropped her off earlier.”

“Oh, yeah?” I glance down at my daughter, perched at the foot of the steps, her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth as she tries to maneuver her feet into fluorescent light-up shoes.

Preschoolers.

Can’t keep a secret for anything.

“Yes, Derek. So who is she? And why is she staying at your house?” My mother’s stare is unrelenting.

“She’s a friend. And it’s temporary.”

My mother knows me too well, which is why her lips mold into a deep frown in response to my casual answer.

“Come on, Haven.” I reach my hand out. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t shut me out when I ask you a question.”

“You’re making something out of nothing.” I look past her. Haven’s skipping around my parents’ foyer “Come on, baby. Let’s go.”

“You’ve been divorced two years. You haven’t so much as mentioned a woman in my presence. And now your daughter says some woman is living with you.” Mom’s arms fold. “I’m allowed to pry. I’m your mother. It’s kind of my job.”

“Kind of.” I meet her gaze with a smile.

She swats my chest. “Don’t get smart with me. Who is she?”

“She’s a client.”

Mom takes a step back, slack-jawed. “Does . . . does your father know about this?”

“No, and I’d appreciate if it stayed that way until I get a chance to explain.”

“So you’ll tell him?”

My hesitation elicits a gasp from her. “You can’t keep things from your father. He’ll find out, and he’ll be very upset. And you know how he gets.”

Haven squeezes between my mother and me and slips her hand into mine.

“Which is why,” I say, “it’s in your best interest to pretend like this conversation never happened.”

We step onto the front porch, and Mom follows.

“Can I at least meet her?” she calls out. It’s a test.

“No, because it isn’t like that.” I tug Haven’s hand and we make a beeline for the sidewalk.

Mom stands on the front steps, watching me load my daughter into the backseat. “All right, Derek. I’m done prying. For now.”

“Grandma asks a lot of questions.” Haven wrinkles her nose. “Why does she ask so many questions, Daddy?”

“Because that’s what grandmas do,” I say, kissing her on the top of her head and breathing in the scent of her peach shampoo.

“Grandma Karen doesn’t ask that many questions.”

“Grandma Bliss is special.” I shut the door, finding my mother suddenly standing behind me.

“You will tell your father.” Mom gets the final word and struts back to the sidewalk before I can protest.

* * *

“Daddy?” Haven asks when we’re a couple of miles from my place.

“Yes, baby?”

“Do you think Serena has a pretty heart?”

I squint, stifling a smile. Kids ask the most random questions, but this one feels a little heavier than what I’m used to from Haven.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“Serena says a pretty heart is when you’re kind and nice to people.”

I could give her the complicated answer: the truth.

I don’t know Serena that well yet. I don’t know if she’s kind and nice to people. But she’s been nice to me. Nice enough, at least.

It’s been a long day, and I’m exhausted, so I give her the easy answer. “Yes, Haven. Serena has a lovely heart.”

“No, a pretty heart.”

“Okay. A pretty heart.”

“I gave Grandma half of my cookie today. Does that mean I have a pretty heart?”

“Yes. Yes, it does. That’s called sharing. It’s a nice thing to do.”

“Can Serena come to my birthday party?”

Haven’s question catches me off guard, and I almost blow through a four-way stop. We come to a hard stop, and I take a deep breath, wrapping my fingers tight around the steering wheel.

“I don’t know, baby,” I say. “Your birthday party is in two weeks. Serena might have plans then.”

“I asked her last night and she said to ask you.”

Damn it.

“All right. I’ll talk to her about it and let you know.” Lying to my soon-to-be four-year-old daughter isn’t a bright and shining moment in my life, but I’m not going to bother Serena about coming to my kid’s birthday party. Shit. I don’t even want to be there. Kyla chose a princess theme this year, and made damn sure no fewer than five of Haven’s favorite Disney princesses will be there in full costume.

If it were up to me, I’d take her to the zoo, let her feed a giraffe and ride a camel. Just the two of us.

“Aunt Demi invited us over for dinner tonight,” I change the subject.

“Yay! Aunt Demi!” Haven squeals from behind me, kicking the back of my seat. “Can Serena come?”

“What is your obsession with Serena?” I laugh.

“What does subseshon mean?” she asks.

“Never mind.” I shake my head and pull into the parking garage. Fuck it. We’ll invite Serena. The girl’s got to eat, and she’s technically a house guest. I shouldn’t make her fend for herself.

I pull into my spot and text Demi to set another place at the table. She’s going to freak out when she sees who I’m bringing. Wouldn’t be surprised if she stroked out. She’s never met a celebrity, as far as I know, and she seemed to know an awful lot about Serena last week.

The engine dies down, and I climb out and grab Haven, taking her hand as we head inside.

Haven skips, swinging my arm as we walk.

By the time we reach my apartment, gone are the sounds of the TV drifting from under the door. When the door pops open, the place is eerily silent.

“Serena,” I call.

No answer.

“Daddy, where’s Serena?”

The pit of my stomach is heavy and hard. We haven’t spoken since last night, when we fucked like two hormonal teenagers incapable of keeping our hands off each other. I haven’t experienced that little restraint since I met Kyla—when Kyla was someone else entirely. When Kyla was some kind of wonderful.

Or, as I like to say now, when Kyla was false advertising.

“Serena.” I try again.

Still no answer.

“Hang on, baby.” I release Haven’s hand and trudge down the hall. The room to the guest suite is open. All her things are there.

Except Serena. Serena is gone.