CHAPTER 25
Asher
“M-o-m-m-m-m-y,” Hope yells from her new bedroom. “I need help.”
Hannah and I are standing side by side at the L-shaped kitchen counter, each with our own box of stuff to unpack.
I’m more than pleased with Hannah’s choice of place to live. It’s in a much safer area, and she’ll be a little closer to me.
“What do you need?” Hannah calls as she shoots me a side grin.
I reach into my box and pull out a stack of plates that are individually wrapped in newspaper. Sitting them on the counter, I start to unwrap each one, dropping the paper to the floor. I listen to Mom and daughter converse back and forth.
“My iPad,” Hope yells. “It’s stuck.”
“Are you trying to buy something in the App store?”
There’s a long pause. “Um… never mind. I figured it out.”
Hannah laughs. “I thought Nelson was crazy for buying a five-year-old an iPad, but admittedly there’s a lot of neat learning games on there.”
“What’s she trying to buy? Porn?” I ask.
When Hannah shakes her head, her ponytail swings back and forth, making her look like a teenager. All makeup scrubbed from her face and wearing a ratty t-shirt with shorts cut from sweatpants and feet bare. Sexy as fuck. “The games have levels. To advance, you have to buy it.”
Makes sense. It’s all about monetizing.
As for Hope and the iPad, I have no clue whether it’s appropriate or not. I don’t know much when it comes to kids.
“So,” I drawl a bit hesitantly, which gets Hannah’s attention. She shifts to look at me. “What does Hope think about this thing between us?”
“This thing between us?” she teases with a grin.
She gets a censuring smirk back from me. I return to unwrapping the plates. “Yeah… I mean… what does she know about me? And you? As in together? Like, should I refrain from giving you affection in front of her? I don’t want her to feel threatened by me, especially since you living full time together is kind of new again.”
Hannah doesn’t answer so I give her my attention. She’s staring at me with a dopey smile on her face.
“What?” I ask.
She shakes her head, putting a hand on my forearm. “It’s just… that you would even care to ask… Or that you just inherently know that could be an issue with a kid. Her own dad never got that.”
“So we play it very cool for a while,” I suggest.
She doesn’t respond directly. “When I got the flowers from you, she asked who they were from. I told her they were from you, and she wanted to know right away if we were getting married.”
My eyebrows shoot up so high and fast that Hannah laughs.
“Relax,” she croons with a jab to my ribs. “At her age, all women are princesses and they get swept up by their true love and get married. She doesn’t understand what dating is, but she’s a smart girl. She’ll figure it out.”
I lean over and give her a kiss on her neck. “So we’ll definitely play it cool.”
“No hot kissing or heavy petting in her presence,” she says with a glitter in her eyes.
“I’ll follow your lead,” I mutter dryly.
“Welcome to ‘dating a single mom’.”
“I’m up for the challenge,” I warn.
She gives me a warm smile. “I’m glad.”
Grabbing her empty box, Hannah carries it into the living room where she breaks it down and lays it on a pile of flattened cardboard we’d started.
“I’m going to go look for the box that has all the sheets so I can make the beds,” she informs me. “It’s going to be time for Hope’s bedtime soon.”
I nod. “Go. I can finish the kitchen. And maybe after Hope falls asleep, we can fool around?”
“Damn right we will,” she replies tartly, then blows me a kiss before disappearing down the hall.
I finish the box of dishes and move on to one containing glassware. I’m halfway through when Hope comes in, glancing at me shyly. The night I took her and her mom trick or treating, she’d warmed up to me significantly, fueled by the magical excitement of the evening and tons of candy.
But today, it’s kind of starting over again, and we’ve never talked by ourselves. Frankly, I’m a bit terrified because if the kid hates me, Hannah and I are done. I know enough about her as a mother that it must work out between me and Hope if it’s going to work out between me and Hannah.
I’ve figured it out these last few weeks, and I absolutely want to see where this goes with her.
I decide to face the situation. Try to develop a rapport with her child. “Need any help with the iPad?” I ask Hope as she walks to the fridge and opens it.
“No,” she says in a lilting voice. “Mom won’t let me buy stuff on there.”
That conversation falls flat. But because I’m an entrepreneur and I got my successes from diving right into the deep end, plus flexing the power of money, I decide to take the same tact with Hope.
“What are some of the fun things around here that you might like to do?” I ask. “Maybe I can take you and your mom somewhere next weekend.”
She shrugs and pulls a bottle of water out of the fridge, which is all that’s in there except for a pizza box with the two slices that were left from our dinner.
“How about the Hoover Dam?” I suggest.
Another shrug, but definitely a slight wrinkle to her nose at the suggestion.
“Hiking?”
She shakes her head.
“A hockey game?” I suggest.
Another shrug with enough disinterest in her expression to tell me I’m completely on the wrong path.
I have a slight moment of panic that maybe I can’t do this, but then it strikes me. “How about Disneyland? Ever been there?”
This time, Hope’s eyes widen and sparkle with excitement. “Really?”
“Sure,” I say with a casual smile. It would be an easy weekend trip to Anaheim.
But just as quickly, Hope’s face clouds over. “My dad always had a girlfriend around, and he never paid attention to me.”
Something about that strikes deep because I can relate in a way. My dad was wrapped up in business and pretty much ignored me and Christina for much of our formative years. Luckily, I had a wonderful mother who more than made up for it, so I know in that way Hope can relate.
I kneel in front of her, get eye to eye. “Your mother loves you more than anything on this earth, and that will never happen. You will always be first with her. I’m okay with that, just so you know. Okay?”
She nods, looking a bit flustered.
“I’ll never take her away from you. I respect you and your mom too much to do that. And if you don’t want me along, you tell your mom and she’ll respect that, too.”
Hope considers what I said, and then dips her head to look at me shyly. “I think you should come to Disneyland with us, though.”
I laugh, because she doesn’t understand she’s not going to be able to go without me since I’d be paying for it. But I keep that to myself because she never needs to know that. Instead, I extend my fist out for her to bump. She curls her tiny hand and taps it against mine.
Hannah bustles into the living room, looks at us over the island that separates it from the kitchen, and dumps more cardboard. I stand up, and she arches an eyebrow.
“What are you two talking about?” she asks while narrowing a fake suspicious look at us.
I shrug, but Hope gives us up. “Asher is going to take us to Disneyland next weekend.”
“What?” Hannah gasps, shooting me a look of disbelief laced with censure.
I decide to own it. It will get me in faster with Hope anyway. “Quick weekend trip. On me. It will be fun.”
Hannah purses her lips, shaking her head at me in mock disapproval for not discussing it with her first. Then she turns to her daughter. “I suppose we could go if your dad will agree to it.”
“Yay,” Hope screeches. To my surprise, she throws her arms around my waist and gives me a quick hug. My hand drops and awkwardly pats her on the head.
“Okay, come on, bug,” Hannah says to her daughter, holding her hand out. “Let’s get you into your jammies. I have your bed made, and it’s time to get to sleep. Say goodnight to Asher.”
Hope tips her head back and grins at me. “Goodnight, Asher.”
“Goodnight, Hope,” I murmur back as she runs to join her mom, feeling like I’m on a good path right now with her. So what if I bought my way there.
“Be back in a little bit,” Hannah says as she starts leading Hope away. Then she looks over her shoulder and gives a pointed nod to the couch. “Meet you there.”
My mouth curves into an evil smile, and I wonder what things I can do to her that would not be a danger to waking Hope up.
I’m determined to finish the kitchen before Hannah returns, and there’s only four boxes left. I dig in, removing tape and paper around breakable objects. I make decisions on where her cutlery should be stored and which cabinets to place all the plates and bowls. If she doesn’t like it, I’ll move it later.
I make it to the last box, which is smaller than the other ones and a lot lighter. It says in black sharpie on the front, “Odds and Ends – Kitchen”.
Peeling the packing tape off, I open the flaps. It’s a hodgepodge of stuff that Hannah apparently threw in there that belonged in the kitchen but weren’t big enough or breakable enough to be wrapped.
I start pulling stuff out, putting everything where I think appropriate. A set of screwdrivers, a measuring tape, a small plastic spoon holder, a set of dish towels, a cork screw, birthday candles, matches, toothpicks, and tons of magnets that go on the fridge. At the bottom of the box, there’s a piece of paper folded in half that I imagine she’d had stuck to her fridge with a magnet.
Without thought, I flip it over and read it.
It’s an appointment reminder for Hannah from Las Vegas Hematology and Oncology set for week after next. I stare at it a moment before I grab a magnet and stick it to the fridge. I continue to stare at it with an almost dispassionate eye, refusing to believe Hannah could be sick in any way.
“Okay… she’s asleep. Went right down, tired little monkey.”
I glance over my shoulder at Hannah as she comes into the kitchen. She grins and slides up to me, putting her arms around my waist from behind. Resting her chin on my shoulder, she teases, “Want to make out?”
It’s the furthest thing from my mind right now. I point at the appointment reminder I just put on the fridge. “Why do you have that appointment?”
Hannah steps around me with a frown to see the paper. She smiles, as if there’s not a care in the world. “It’s just a routine follow-up. Nothing big.”
“Follow-up for what?” I ask, my voice clipped and filled with tension. I can’t quite explain the feeling of dread inside of me, but it’s starting to overwhelm me.
The smile drops off Hannah’s face when she realizes I’m upset. She softens her tone, as if it will ease the weight of her news. “I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma three years ago. It was the earliest stage and very treatable.”
My teeth involuntarily grind together. It’s a visible sign of upset to Hannah so she tries to soothe me. “I’m completely fine now. My prognosis is excellent. I feel the best I’ve ever felt.”
“Except your immune system is a little shot,” I accuse.
Brow furrowing, she’s hesitant in her response. “Yes. I told you that.”
“But you didn’t tell me why, did you Hannah?” I clip out. “How come you never told me this?”
“It didn’t come up,” she says defensively.
“It’s cancer for God’s sake,” I snap. “It should have been brought up. By you.”
Hannah flushes red. Narrowing her eyes, she steps into me, speaking in a low, cold tone. “Listen, Asher. For four weeks, all we did was fuck and I cleaned your house. I was your paid whore. You took me on our first date last week, and we talked for three hours. I’m sorry, but that’s just not enough time to cover my entire life. It never came up. I didn’t think it was important enough to bring up as I’m in remission and I’m doing fine. I don’t get why this is such a big problem.”
“How can you minimize this?” I ask, astounded.
“Maybe because it was never a big deal,” she snarls, keeping her voice low. “I had a small child and a husband who didn’t seem to care I had a disease. I drove myself, with Hope in tow no less, for chemo for four months. I had a family back home I didn’t want to worry, so I didn’t let them know I was doing it all on my own. I went through it with only Hope for comfort, so maybe you might understand a little why I don’t share. It’s something I’ve had to minimize in my mind so I could get through it.”
She’s breathing hard, her eyes flaming with anger and righteous indignation.
“Christ, you married a douche,” is all I can think to say as I step back from her and scrub my fingers through my hair in agitation.
“Agreed,” she clips out. “But I can’t seem to figure out why you’re mad at me about this?”
I shake my head, disgruntled and off kilter. “I’m not.”
“You clearly are,” she retorts.
“You should have told me.” It’s the only thing I can seem to pinpoint right now as the source of my fury. “You kept it secret.”
“Again,” she says with a hefty dose of sarcasm. “I was just a fuck to you for most of our time together. Why would I share?”
“You were not just a fuck, and you goddamn well know it,” I growl.
“Do I?” she asks, and I can hear the near hysteria in her voice. She’s really worked up, and I’m just… feeling betrayed.
Because Michelle betrayed me by not letting me know what was going on with her. She held something so deep and secretive she never gave me the opportunity to help her. She denied me my right to worry, and she demeaned my right as a husband to try to save her.
It appears to my psyche that Hannah is no different. She certainly had no problems handling the cancer on her own.
She’s a secret keeper, too.
She doesn’t need me or anyone it seems.
“Look,” I say, the lack of strength in my voice showing I’m exhausted of this conversation. “If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to head out. I can come back tomorrow and help finish up.”
“No, that’s okay,” Hannah says, crossing her arms over her chest and raising her chin. “I can manage on my own.”
“You’re good at that apparently,” I can’t help but remind her. I soften the sting of my words by leaning in and kissing her on the cheek. “Call me tomorrow if you want me to come help some more.”
“Sure,” she says, sounding as equally defeated as I am right now. She pats me on the chest before stepping back.
I let myself out. I don’t look back at Hannah to see if she’s watching me, but I think I can feel the weight of her stare.
It’s accusing, and I feel wretched about it all.
But in the end, the only thing I can take with me as I make my way down the stairs to the parking lot is that Hannah confirmed a long-held belief of mine since Michelle died.
People can never truly know someone because it’s dependent on that person to actually give the truth. And most people never do—at least not all of it.