Greta woke with a start at six in the morning. She could not recall the last hangover she’d had that was this bad. Her mouth was filled with the taste of death, and her face looked equally corpse-like when she staggered out of the bed and into the bathroom. Water straight from the faucet alleviated only a fraction of the deep thirst she had.
When had Jon come to bed? She’d lain awake for hours listening to him pull a song together in the other room. If she hadn’t been so pissed and distraught and sad, she’d have told him it was really cool to listen to his process. It wasn’t unlike her painting, actually, working in layers, correcting each one before moving to the next.
God but she’d been a bitch the night before. Did she need to throw up? She wasn’t certain. Remembering a few of the snide remarks she’d thrown Jon’s way definitely made her queasy.
Then she remembered the ones he’d thrown back. All she’d wanted was some goddamn pizza and a bath and maybe a lay. Why did he have to force her into all that stuff she had zero desire to do? Greta missed her old life, the single life, the easy life.
Fucking Bob ruined everything.
Greta ran a hot bath, hoping a soak would relieve some of the tension in her muscles, and ideally a bit of the throbbing behind her eyes as well. She couldn’t find her favorite salts, so that was just icing on her crap-cake. Plain stupid bathwater. She stole some of Jon’s cologne and put that in instead. Sinking into the briny, leathery scent, Greta heaved a large sigh.
She really would miss that smell. She might not have remembered all the things they said to each other last night, but she was as certain as ever that whatever you could call their relationship was on its last legs.
A shrill ring sent sharp shooting pains through her head, and she fumbled around the edge of the tub for her phone. She didn’t recognize the number.
“What?” she hissed into it, furious that anyone would assume she was up at such an hour on a weekend.
“Greta? Is this Greta Steinburg?” a voice asked frantically.
“I’m going to be honest with you. That answer is going to mostly depend on whether or not Greta owes you money.” Possibly that should have occurred to her before she’d actually answered.
“This is Shea Hagen,” the voice went on. “My sister was Mary—her husband was Bob—” Greta sat straight up in the water.
“Are you telling me you’re Mina’s aunt? On her mom’s side? I had no idea you were—well, I had no idea about you at all, actually.” This was an interesting turn of events. Greta had always just assumed there hadn’t been any family on that side.
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. I’m so sorry I haven’t called sooner, only Janice just got around to telling me about Bob. I assume her Yorkies were keeping her too busy to bother before now.” Well they were certainly on the same page about Bob’s sister, then.
“Okay, but … Mina’s never mentioned you.” This was just beyond weird, and Greta’s head was too sore to let her think through it properly.
“She probably barely remembers I exist. Bob and Mary moved to California from Boston when Mina was three. The funeral was back here, but Bob chose not to bring their daughter. I have asked him if I can visit my niece over and over again, but he always had an excuse. After a while, I just thought maybe…” Shea sniffed, tears obviously creeping in. “I thought maybe Bob didn’t want any more reminders of my sister, but that might mean me never seeing the last piece of her again, you know?”
“I don’t know. That seems pretty messed-up to me.” Greta was still not ready to pull any punches. Bob was even worse than she’d thought, denying his dead wife’s family their rights to see Mina. What in the actual hell?
“It hurt, I can’t deny that, but I also can’t deny him his right to grieve in his own way, either. Sometimes it’s difficult to understand what’s in someone else’s heart.” Shea sniffed again. “Bob and Mary were just so in love. I’d never met a couple so happy. When he lost her, I think he just couldn’t cope.”
Greta felt chastened. Everyone kept telling her Bob wasn’t as bad as she thought. Was it possible that she’d only seen what she’d chosen to see? If his sister-in-law could forgive him for cutting her out of her niece’s life, then Greta’s anger suddenly seemed inconsequential. Mina would probably be pretty happy to talk to her aunt again, if she even remembered her at all. Then came the inevitable other shoe.
“I’m so indebted to you, Greta, for all that you’ve done. Bob’s lawyer has filled me in pretty well. I’ve gone ahead and filed the paperwork to begin the adoption process. Of course I’d like to be the one to tell Mina, but she barely knows me, so I think perhaps it would be best to hear it from you.”
“Of course,” Greta said numbly. No more Mina? But—Mina was hers. Shea was still talking.
“… if we can speak again tomorrow, and I could talk to her myself then. Oh, and I know you must be in a bit of a bind, financially, with a sudden dependent, so I’m also arranging for a funds transfer.”
“Of course,” she repeated. “Thank you, okay. Of course. Um, I have to…” She hung up and dropped the phone back to the bath mat rather than finish the sentence. Greta took a deep breath and sank beneath the water.
This couldn’t be happening. She was going to adopt Mina, and they were going to be together forever; it was her plan, even though she hadn’t thought it much through yet. A little more time, that was all she’d needed, to get back on her feet. Then she’d be ready to provide, to give her the childhood she deserved, the attention she never got from Bob.
Her and Mina against the world.
Running out of air, she surfaced again to see Jon had come into the bathroom and was crouched beside her with painkillers and a glass of juice.
“If you feel half as shite as I do, you’ll need these,” he told her, running a hand over her wet forehead. She opened her mouth to reply, but burst into tears instead.
Greta had spent years of her life learning how to swallow her emotions, but this past fortnight, as Jon would say, had really broken down her walls. Through her sobs, she told Jon how terrified she was to let Mina go.
Aunt Shea was going to send her payment, and she was going to send this stranger the child who had her heart.
And gratitude that she wouldn’t be borrowing more money from Jon, thanks to the blood money that was soon to be in her account. Because that would make her a shitty person. And Greta wasn’t a shitty person. She was just confused and hung over and blindsided. That was all. She closed her eyes and let the melodic sounds of Jon’s soothing voice wash over her along with the sea-scented water. After a while, he wrapped her in a towel and carried her back to bed for a nap.
Did it count as a nap when you’d only been awake less than an hour? She supposed it did when that almost-hour had been as eventful as hers.
She woke with a start at the crack of noon. Again, the shrill ring of her phone, but this time her head only gave a dull thump instead of the knife-pains of earlier. Another unrecognized number.
“Hello?” She attempted a perky ‘been awake all day’ voice, but what came out was more of a croak. I am never drinking again.
“Greta? Is that you?” A man this time. She considered asking if she owed him money before confirming, but then decided in her newly less-deathly state that it was unnecessary. She’d simply hang up on him if that were the case.
“It is, and whom may I ask is calling?” Still croaky, but getting better with a bit of use. There was some water on the nightstand; she took a large swig.
“Greta, its Jacob Anheier.” Oh. The author, the children’s book guy. Oh God, he’d hated her paintings so much he had to call her and fire her? This day was not improving after all. Maybe she should still hang up. Turn her phone off. Just deal with everything later, after she’d mentally prepared.
Her finger was on the end-call icon when he continued.
“Got some really good news for you, so I wanted to call instead of email.” Her finger hesitated.
“I’m listening.”
“Your illustrations were amazing, Greta, you truly outdid yourself.” Well. She had thought so, right up until she was positive he was firing her. “All of the publishers we submitted to agreed. We’ve gone to auction!”
“That’s amazing!” she squealed, and then paused. “What’s that?”
“It means there’s a bidding war. The last bid was six figures. They’re expecting this to be the big children’s book for next holiday season. Everyone’s including offers for merchandise and tie-ins along with the advance money.”
She could no longer speak. Six figures? That was a far cry from the two grand she’d received on their last collaboration, even once it was split and Matthew’s agent paid out.
“I, uh. Wow. I need a minute to…” She hung up on him.
Mina and Jon were chattering in the other room, meaning he’d gone and picked her up while she was recovering. That was fine, she wasn’t quite ready to talk about this yet. Her portion of the advance was like—real money. Get-your-own-apartment kind of money. Support yourself kind of money.
Move-out-of-your-fake-boyfriend’s-place money.
Adopt-your-ward money.
But that was off the table. Wasn’t it?
This was a weird day. Greta sat on the bed a moment longer, and then made an important decision. The only decision she’d been truly confident in for weeks now. She went back to sleep.
* * *
Sunday seemed like a halfway decent day to deal with important issues, also there was the fact that Greta had slept through Saturday altogether. So Sunday was the day Jon and Greta were going to break the news to Mina about her Aunt Shea. If there was a protocol to this sort of thing, Greta did not know it.
If only she hadn’t sworn off drinking. This would a most excellent time for a wine or three. Perhaps there was some sort of Bloody Mary loophole? It bore more thinking about.
“How about at dinner?” Greta hissed at Jon as they passed in the hallway.
“She needs more time than that to deal before she goes to bed. Lunch!” he hissed back on his way up from the basement laundry room with a basket of clean clothes.
“That’s too soon for me to prepare my speech,” she muttered as she grabbed Mina’s pile for her to fold and put away.
“You have a speech?!” he followed her to grab Mina for the chore.
“Ssh. Obviously. So we’ll do dunch.” She stared at him for a long second. “And it’ll be pizza.”
“What is dunch?” Honestly, it was like Jon was new sometimes.
“It’s like brunch, but between lunch and dinner,” Mina said. “Are we doing dunch?”
“Yes,” said Greta.
“I always thought we called that linner,” Jon said. “But yeah. Pizza okay?”
“Pizza is always okay,” Mina said, and Greta knew it was not very super mature to stick her tongue out, but she did it anyway because pizza really was always okay, especially on important dates. So there, DJ Fancypants, she thought.
Time seemed to drag on for an eternity while she waited for The Meeting.
“Hey Mina. Do you remember when I met you?” She hoped she sounded offhanded.
“Yeah. You let me eat candy for dinner.” Mina certainly sounded offhanded. Although in retrospect, that wasn’t one of her finer adult decisions, nothing won a kid over like a candy dinner. Perhaps pizza shouldn’t be on tonight’s menu? But no, she wanted the pizza. It was going to be the only cure to the intense craving she’d had since the disastrous date night.
“That’s when you knew I was awesome, right?” She kicked Mina gently.
“Actually I thought my dad was going to fire you. And that made me feel sorry for you. So I lied and told him you made me eat spinach and that it made my tummy hurt and that was why I was sick all night.” She kicked Greta back.
Well that was a surprise. She’d just assumed they’d been partners in crime that first day, but Mina actually was the brains of the operation. The good news was, she had gone on to force plenty of spinach over the next few years.
Watching Food Inc. with Amy had been a nanny life-changing experience.
“That was nice … hey Mina. Remember when I moved in with you?” Another kick.
“Yeah. You couldn’t sleep so I came and cuddled you and we watched Dr. Who until you finally fell asleep.” Hm. Again not quite how Greta had remembered it. She’d thought having a little slumber party would get Mina used to the idea of having her in the house. But come to think of it, maybe it hadn’t been her idea. Memory was a funny thing.
She headed into the kitchen to grab some water and ran into Jon.
“Are you ready to go pick up some pizza and wine?” he asked.
“Nah. You just go.” She turned on the tap and filled up her glass.
“Come with,” he urged.
“I really don’t feel like it. I’d have to put on real pants.” She gestured down at her sweats. Obviously not going out clothes. Men knew nothing.
“Greta, love. Are you serious? Just put on some trainers.” Was she serious? Of course she was serious. The most serious variety of serious.
“I’m not going. But don’t forget the pineapple on mine. And did you say wine?” Perhaps never drinking again had been a rash decision. She’d simply stop drinking multiple bottles at a time. That was a reasonable, grown up decision.
“I did say wine.” Jon folded his arms. “I’m going to pick up pizza and wine, and when I get back I will eat my pizza and drink my wine.” Oh, two could play that game.
“And while you do, Mina and I will take my television into her room and watch my DVR episodes of Antiques Roadshow.” Jon’s eyes widened and he held his hands up in contrition. Bingo.
“Let’s not be territorial, then, shall we? I’ll go pick up our pizza and our wine. Then we’ll watch our show together. And after we put Mina to bed we’ll play with our boobs.” He gave her a quick honk, a wink, and headed out the door.
“What’s so funny?” Mina called.
“Nothing,” Greta yelled back, once she was certain she wasn’t going to choke on her water. It really was hard to stay mad at a guy like him. She felt a little rush of warmth in her chest. Jon and Mina. They’d had a really good run together, the three of them.
“Hey Mina, remember when we met Jon?”
“I knew you were lying about the kissing when I saw you look at him,” Mina said. “You were already in love with him.” Still offhanded. Now there she was wrong, though, because Greta was not and had never been in love with Jon Hargrave. It was slightly, slightly possible that kissing had been considered that day. Slightly. Memory was a funny thing.
When Jon walked back in with pizza and wine, Greta felt her tummy start to squirm like she’d been the one to eat a full meal of candy, or spinach. How had she been cast in the permanent role of Bearer of Bad News? At some point, Mina was likely to shoot the messenger.
More importantly, an upset tummy meant Greta wasn’t going to be able to even eat her long-awaited pizza.
“Hey Mina, do you remember your Aunt Shea?” Maybe if she kept it casual it wouldn’t be as big of a deal.
“No,” as she tore off the offending crust from the top of her slice. Well, balls. There went keeping it casual.
“So she’s your mom’s sister. From Boston. She called me today. Wants to call back tomorrow and talk to you too.” Squirm, squirm went her tummy, like there were worms inside it.
“My mom had a sister? Weird.” Beyond a mild curiosity, it was apparent Mina hadn’t the slightest idea what was coming. Time to drop another bomb.
“I don’t really know how to say this…” Frustrated, Greta looked at Jon. He grabbed her hand.
“Little one, your aunt wants you to go live with her.” Greta supposed maybe she should have been the one to say it, but all she felt was an immense gratitude for his help. She squeezed his hand back, hoping he understood.
Meanwhile, Mina was making that face again. The one Greta had hoped she’d never have to see again.
“But I don’t want to live in Boston! I want to live with you!” She was clearly on the verge of hysteria. Greta grabbed her and hugged her as tightly as she could without breaking a rib.
“Ssh, ssh, I know. I know. Me too.” Was there never going to be an end to the hurt she’d bring to Mina?
“So tell her! You can fix it, Greta, you fix everything. I’m not going to move, I’m not doing it.” She was sobbing into Greta’s arms by now, the pizza forgotten.
Could she? Could she fix it? If it was what Mina wanted. And what she wanted. And the money changed everything, of course. Made it feasible. How many times had she thought to herself that things would be different if she were Mina’s mother? More than she could count.
The real question was if a judge would deem it allowable for a non-family member to take her. But of course there would be psychologists and advocates and whatnot, and they would talk to Mina and she would verify her preference. From that first candy dinner, which Greta would be sure to remind Mina not to tell any court-ordered social workers about, they’d been together every day for three years.
Every single day.
Countless snuggles, bedtime stories, piano recitals, and little games of what-if. What did Aunt Shea have? A few memories of a toddler. Nothing more. Surely even the court would see that, see how clearly Mina and Greta belonged together. This was a game of what-if she was certain she could win. Especially with all the money. She could refuse the transfer from Shea. Bob’s lawyer was probably pricey, but he was already familiar with the case.
“I’ll see what I can do, okay, kiddo?” Jon met her eyes and made a weird face.
“What?” she mouthed.
“Later,” he mouthed back. It seemed like the idea of Greta’s intervention was sufficient to calm Mina down, because here she was pulling back, blowing her nose on a napkin, and reaching for her half-eaten pizza again.
He sure meant later, too, because no sooner had Mina’s door shut behind her for bed than he rounded on Greta.
“What are you thinking, getting her hopes up like that?” He looked well and truly disappointed in her. It stung more than she’d thought it would.
“I’m not—I mean, it isn’t like I hadn’t thought about it, you know.” Of course she hadn’t mentioned it to him, but did he really think the thought hadn’t crossed her mind? What kind of a guardian would she be if it hadn’t?
“No, I didn’t know. How would that work, exactly, then?” He pulled her into their room so their voices wouldn’t carry.
“The same way it’s been working for three years. Mina and I are a good team. She’s comfortable with me.” Greta wasn’t ready to tell Jon about the book sale yet. After all, it wouldn’t be final ‘til the next day, she rationalized.
“Love, she needs to be with her family now. You aren’t her family.” He sat down with her on the bed, eyes tender. “It’s not fair to put these ideas in her head.”
“But … I have been. For three years I’ve been the most family she’s had.” Should she tell him about the money? Then he might understand why it wasn’t impossible to adopt Mina. Something about saying it out loud was still scary, though, like it might be ripped away at any time. The promise of making a living with her art had been her carrot on a stick for so many years that it almost felt too easy to have just—happened.
“You know what, I don’t really want to talk about this right now.” Her head was too swirly with emotion to have a logical discussion. Surprisingly, Jon nodded.
“Later, then, but I don’t want you talking to Mina about it either.” That was fair. The person she really needed to talk about it with was a lawyer, anyway. It wasn’t as if Jon was going to be part of the process. She watched as his shirt came off over his head and he stretched. He was just pretend. Hot pretend. Really hot, accented, ripped pretend. But he wasn’t family.
“Does this mean we aren’t playing with our boobs?” Greta asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jon said, and yanked her down into the covers with him.