Don't You Wish (30 page)

“You can do that?” Lizzie squeals, hugging me. It feels so good to hug her again, I think I would promise anything at this moment.

“I’ll try,” I say, squeezing tight. “If I tell him what it is, I have a feeling that he’ll be here very soon.”

“Then, call him,” Ms. K. says. “And while you do that, I’ll phone the girls and tell them I’m going to be late for the shower.”

“No, Barb,” Mel insists. “I’ll stay here with Ayla if her dad can come over. You can’t miss your own wedding shower.”

“Not a chance I’m leaving until we know if he’ll talk to you.” She grabs Mel’s arm and pulls him close. “This could be the best wedding present ever. This is the most brilliant idea you’ve ever had, and you’ve had quite a few doozies.”

That’s for sure.

Mel stares at her, a little lost, like he used to look at Mom on Sunday mornings when she’d make coffee with her pajama top on inside out. “I love you so much, Barb,” he tells her.

My whole body kind of dissolves.

“Ooookay,” Lizzie says with an uncomfortable laugh. “Awkward!”

“There’s nothing awkward about love,” Ms. K. tells her, pulling away just enough to put her arm around Lizzie and face me as part of a threesome. “Nothing awkward about being a happy family. Right, Ayla?”

“Right.” I already have my cell out, so I wave it and step away. The power of all this happy love is almost too much to take. “Why don’t I call my dad, then?”

I dial in the other part of the basement, perched on the armrest of the cushy leather sofa. No pleather in this universe for Mel. My eyes are drawn to a wall of certificates and awards. A diploma from Penn State College of Engineering.

That’s what he always wanted, but never had the time or money for. But without a surprise kid—
me
—he was able to achieve his dreams. He’s got everything now.

Lizzie comes out to stand next to me while I’m dialing, giving me that big old Lizzie smile. The one she gave me in second grade when the other kids made fun of the ribbons my mother had put in my hair. The one she saves for me after school when we get on the bus and dive into a day’s worth of gossip. The one I love.

“What is it, Ayla?” Jim Monroe’s voice breaks into my thoughts.

“Oh, um, Dad, I need to tell you something.”

Lizzie steps away to give me privacy, but Jim says, “I’m very busy.”

“But this is important. You know that—”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Whatever it is, just buy it. I’m in a meeting.”

“I don’t want to buy anything. I need you to meet me some—”

“Ayla, I am too busy to turn this into some kind of vacation trip. You’ve got what you need. Now let me—”

“It’s about the mirror.” I turn away and whisper the last word.

Silence. Then, “What about it?”

“I am looking at a much larger, much more refined, much more impressive version.”

A longer silence. “How is that possible?”

“Because it is,” I say softly, making sure the others can’t hear me. “This one not only changes what you see but shows you your ideal weight and body mass index. This one is even better than the one you have.” Which, it occurs to me, he will return to me once he sees Mel’s mirror.

“Holy shit. Where are you?” Jim asks.

“I can send the limo for you,” I tell him.

“All right. I’ll come and see it.”

I go to the other room and give them a thumbs-up, causing a frenzied cheer.

“What is that noise, Ayla?”

“It’s just a family.”

A really happy family. I try to ignore my jealousy, but it’s not easy.

Mel convinces Ms. K. and Lizzie to go to the wedding shower, sealing the deal by suggesting that the limo driver drop them off on his way to get my dad.

I wait in the kitchen, looking around at the world this man has made of his bachelor home.

It’s clean, organized, spare in décor, but what’s there is obviously high quality. The house needs a woman’s touch, that’s for sure, but not to make it any neater. Just to make it less austere.

“So,” he says, bounding into the kitchen. “Can I get you a soda, Ayla? Water? Something to eat?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks. Your house is pretty.”

“Probably not as pretty as yours.”

I shrug. “Ours is fancy.”

“Well, I’m a confirmed bachelor, so mine’s not so fancy. But now? Guess that will change with two ladies living here.” He gives me an easy smile, then opens the fridge and grabs a cold bottle of water, holding it up. “You sure?”

“Okay, I’ll take water.” Because my throat is dry, closed up with words I want to say but know I shouldn’t.

“So, what do you do, Mr. Nutter?” I know the answer, but it seems appropriate to make small talk.

“I’m an engineer,” he says, twisting the top off his water and flipping it easily into the trash. “Dull as dirt compared to your dad.”

I shake my head. “You’re not dull. You invent cool stuff.”

“Never really sold anything, though.”

“What else have you invented?”

He takes a long pull of water before he answers. “Well, my favorite was this device that—don’t laugh now—made sure you got the same amount of toilet paper squares every time.”

“The Rip-Off.” The words are out before I can stop them.

“Excuse me?”

“That would be a good name for something like that,” I say quickly. “The Rip-Off.”

He laughs softly. “Except that has some pretty negative connotations, being ripped off.”

Exactly what he said in that other universe
. “What else?”

“Oh, nothing very special. A beach blanket.”

With flip-flops to hold it down
. “Not a lot of demand for those in Pittsburgh.”

“That’s what they told me.” Leaning against the counter, he regards me closely, an odd smile on his face. “You know, you remind me of someone, and I can’t pinpoint who it is.”

My gut tightens. I know who I remind him of—my mother. I know Mom’s been in touch with him, at least exchanged one email, but she didn’t tell him she’s married to Jim Monroe of Forever Flawless. At least, I don’t think so. Or wouldn’t he have asked her for the introduction?

“Do I remind you of a movie star?” I joke with an awkward laugh.

“No, that’s not it.” He narrows his eyes, tilting his head, studying me like an artist about to paint a portrait. “But it’s someone.”

“I get that a lot,” I say, taking a sip of the cold water. “I must look like a lot of people.”

“Your eyes are green, but you still remind me of …” I see the moment it dawns on him.

“Someone special?” I ask.

He searches my face. “Where did you say you live again?”

He’s going to put two and two together really soon. He’s a smart engineer, and I’m in over my head. “Miami.”

A little color drains from his face. “Ayla …” His voice trails off. Did she tell him her children’s names in the email exchange?

“I’m Emily Zimmerman’s daughter,” I say flatly. “I think you might remember her.”

The rest of the color goes, leaving him pale and a little stricken. “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing,” I say at the accusatory tone. “I wanted to meet Lizzie and—”

“Emily sent you here.”

“No.” I stand quickly, ready to defend my mom. “She didn’t. She has no idea I’m here. She’d kill me.”

“But you’ve talked to her about me.” I can hear the words strangling him. It’s like he’s scared of her. Or me. Or the past.

“Not really. I mean, you are her ex and she has mentioned you.”

“Jim Monroe.” He says the name slowly, and I can practically hear the puzzle pieces snapping into place. “I knew she went to see a guy named Jim … then never came back. I didn’t know her Jim was
that
Jim.”

We both hear a car door slam outside.

That
Jim has just arrived.

“I can make him leave,” I say, but even as I do, I know it would be next to impossible. Jimbo wants to see that mirror, and now I’ve got to deal with this.

All Mel does is shoot me a dark, distrustful look as he walks to the door.

“Mr. Nutter, really, this has nothing to do with …”
You
. That’s not true. It has everything to do with him. “My mom.”

He ignores the comment and heads outside.

“Hello there!” I hear Jim’s boisterous, upbeat used-car-salesman’s voice. “I’m Jim Monroe. And I hear you’ve got a magic mirror, my friend.”

I head out slowly, like I’m moving through water, wishing I could change the last two hours. Two days. Two weeks.

I see them shake hands, Jim like he’s pressing the flesh, Mel like he’s reluctant to touch the other man.

“It’s right in here,” he says, directing Jim back to the basement door.

Jim barely says hello to me, and if Mel notices that, he doesn’t say anything. I follow them through the game room to the workroom, nothing but agony in my head and heart.

My real dad doesn’t believe me. He thinks I have some ulterior motive in coming here.

Well, he’s right, isn’t he?

“This is what we call the Dream Mirror,” Mel says, indicating the mirror with a little less pride than before. He spares me a quick look, his eyes still full of suspicion.

That hurts, so I just stay in the doorway to observe. Maybe if Jim loves the mirror—and how can he not?—then Mel will forget his accusations, or forgive them.

“The concept is pretty simple,” Mel says. “But the execution is actually quite an engineering feat. You see, by programming the—”

“You patent this yet?” Jim asks, practically shoving Mel aside as he circles the mirror on a stand.

“Patents for some of the individual components are pending, but I—”

“Anyone else see it?”

“Only some family and friends. I thought I’d—”

“No other plastic surgeons?” Jim stops in front of the mirror.

“No, sir,” Mel says, his voice softer. “I was trying to get to Forever Flawless first, since you are—”

“The only franchise of walk-in cosmetic surgery clinics in the world,” Jim interrupts, then beams at the mirror, then at Mel. “You’re smart.”

“I had a heck of a time with your lower-level management. No one wanted to talk to me.”

Jim steps away from the mirror, shaking his head. “Well, I don’t know, Merv.”

“Mel.”

“I just don’t know.” Jim circles again, until he’s crouching behind it. “Looks complicated and expensive.”

Mel inches around to the back. “Well, a prototype is, of course, but if you mass produce … Uh, be careful, Mr. Monroe.”

“What’s this—”

From where I’m standing, all I can see is the mirror shimmying a little, and shaking. Mel lunges forward just as Jim stands so fast that he loses his balance, grabs the side of the mirror, and it topples, everything moving in slow motion.

Mel’s sudden shout is drowned out by the crash and clatter of a thousand pieces of broken glass, wires and tiny semiconductors poking out of the shards.

“Oh, Lord. What have I done?” Jim says, giving the glass and wires a quick kick.

“Dad!” I scream, coming forward.

“Stay back, Ayla! There’s glass everywhere.”

Behind the mirror, Mel is on one knee, a hand on a splintered wooden frame, speechless as he stares at the mess.

The expression is eerily, frighteningly familiar.

I stare at Jim as he gingerly steps over glass. “Why did you do that?” I ask.

“I didn’t do anything on purpose, Ayla.” He brushes his hands over his pants, as if he can wipe the guilt away. Then he bends over and picks up a sizeable chuck of mirror, turning it over like he could find something to blame. “I lost my balance, for Christ’s sake. Really sorry about that, Merv.”

Mel finally looks up, still unable to form a word.

My heart feels a little like the mirror. Shattered.

“What?” Jim asks, pointing at Mel with the shard. “Look, pal, you’re lucky I’m not the litigious type. You got a big fat lawsuit waiting to happen here. And, sorry, I’m not interested in your little fun house mirror. It’s not the kind of thing we could trust at Forever Flawless. We’re not about visualization tricks. I run a medical practice and we don’t need gimmicks, just the finest doctors with excellent skills.”

That nausea rises again, and this time, I really think I might throw up.

Mel is still stone silent.

“Come on, Ayla. The driver’s waiting.” Jim strides by me, but I stay rooted to my spot.

Finally, Mel looks at me. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” he whispers. “Trying to wreck my life like this.”

I am ashamed. So, so ashamed. But all I do is leave.

“You know who you remind me of?” Jim points at me with the mirror shard as I climb into the limo.

The person I reminded Mel Nutter of, I suppose. “My mother?”

He chokes softly. “God, no. She doesn’t have a corrupt bone in her body.”

I’m
corrupt
?

“Ivanka Trump.”

“Who?”

He knocks on the privacy panel. “Let’s move. I want to get out of here, stat.” Then back to me. “The Donald’s daughter.”

“The guy with the bad comb-over?” I curl my lip. “Gross.”

“Not gross. She’s going to run his empire.” He leans
across the open space and carefully hands me the piece of mirror. “Don’t let this cut you. But I want you to keep it. As a symbol of where you’re going and just how far you can get when you walk in my footsteps. I’m proud of you, Ayla. So very proud. You came up with this whole mirror business, researched it, found sources. You …” He grins. “You are my daughter, through and through.”

Oh, God. “Why’d you do it? Why’d you break his mirror?”

He kind of snorts. “Getting me over here to see what the competition is up to under the pretense of buying that mirror? What can I say? Abso-freaking-lutely brilliant. You know”—he plucks at the crisp crease in his trousers—“I’ve had some misgivings about Trent. He’s kind of a weakling. But you? You got a pair, girl.” His eyes are merry. It’s the most affection I’ve seen directed toward me since I first met this guy.

It makes me a little sick. Sick
er
.

“Forget the spy work with your mother; she’s a lost cause. But you’re going to kill it at the helm of Forever Flawless. Would you like to speak tomorrow at the grand opening? You know, just to get your feet wet?”