Page 100 of When We Believed in Mermaids

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Mari

Over dinner, I finally find a way to let go of my held breath. Kit is so tender with Sarah, and she laughs at the jokes Leo makes trying to impress her. She’s dazzling, a fact I hadn’t expected and should have. She has my mother’s slim shoulders and robust cleavage, my father’s laughter and wide smile. Together with the confidence she lacked in her younger days, it’s quite a package. Both my husband and my son vie for her attention, while Sarah simply worships, rapt, at her side.

As does Javier. He looks at her as if she’s the sun, as if she might command flowers to bloom and birds to sing. It’s clear that he’s trying to hide it, to be cool, but he’s smitten with her.

It’s less easy to read Kit. Over the years, she’s created an urbane but kind shell that lets little of her true self leak through. I catch sight of the real Kit every now and again, when she listens to Sarah and she leans close. When Javier touches her arm or shoulder or pours her a little more water from the pitcher.

Mainly I see her when she engages with Simon. As if she wants to know and like him, which gives me hope.

But it’s also Simon who is making me fret. Every so often, he looks perplexed or surprised. In his smooth, lovely way, he nourishes the conversation, asking Javier about his music, Kit about her passion for medicine. But every now and then, he gives me a glance, a little frown. Is he looking at her tattoo?

Leo notices. “Hey, you and my mom have the same tattoo!”

Kit holds up her arm. “One difference, though. Can you spot it?”

He peers at it, frowning. “Oh! Hers saysbigsister.” He frowns. “But you’re bigger.”

She glances at me. “I wasn’t always. She grew tall first, and then I did.”

Javier says, and I get the feeling he does it to distract from the tattoos, “I expect you’re going to be quite tall one day. Do you play sports?”

“Yes.” He sits back down and dives into his pasta. “Lots of them. Lacrosse is my favorite, but my dad likes us to swim because he has the clubs.”

“Hey, now. You’ll give me a bad name,” Simon protests, but he laughs. “You’re free to give it up anytime, son.” He takes a slice of garlic bread from a plate. “But that will guarantee that Trevor will take the lead this season.”

Leo scowls. “I’ll never beat him. You know I won’t.”

“You can do what you believe,” Kit says calmly.

“You don’t know how this kid swims. Everybody says he’ll be going to the Olympics one day.”

“He might,” Simon said. “You may as well give up.”

Leo shoots him an evil glance, and Simon chuckles. “That’s what I thought.”

It all goes remarkably well. Leo and Sarah clear the table while I make coffee. The other adults settle in the more comfortable lounge, and Simon cues some music from his phone, some midcentury jazz and pop that set a mellow stage. These are our habits, the dance we have created. When he comes into the kitchen, all feels completely normal until he asks quietly, “Why does this feel so stilted tonight?”

“Does it?” I look up at him guilelessly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You’re as jumpy as a cat. She must know a lot of secrets about you. Where all the bodies are buried.”

“Don’t be silly.” I wave him away. “Get back in there and entertain them.”

His fingers brush the top of my back, and then he’s gone. Laughter spills out in the other room. Leo asks if he can play Minecraft, and I dismiss him. Sarah isn’t finished circling the sun of her new idol, and she helps me by carrying a plate of petits fours into the other room.

“Don’t tell me you made these as well,” Kit says.

“No way. Simon picked them up at a bakery on the way home.” I pour and pass cups of coffee. “It’s decaf,” I say.

Sarah sits next to Kit, who says with some humor, “Your mother was the worst cook ever when we were young.”

“Really?”

Kit gives me a look and settles her cup on the table. “Really. Like, couldn’t even cook bacon.”

“Why didn’t you just put it in the microwave?”