Her mahogany tresses frame her face in thick subtle waves, and my fingers twitch with the need to get tangle among the strands. Her lips are painted the same color as her top and I have the sudden desire to press my own to them, eager to find out if they taste as sweet as they look.
My body heats up and I have to swallow down the desire in my throat before I say her name. “Rachel, it’s nice to see you again.”
Her eyes meet mine, and for a brief moment, I see my own feelings mirrored in them. “Thank you. It’s nice to see you, too.”
“What about me? Is it nice to see me, too?” Anastasia asks.
“It is so very nice to see you. The highlight of my entire day.” Rachel says enthusiastically, giving Anastasia a quick tickle. She laughs hysterically and wiggles around before Rachel sets her back down and she runs into the house.
“Come on in.” I say.
I give Rachel a tour of the house, showing her where all the rooms are and important medications, first aid kit, along with Anastasia’s favorite books and stuffed animals. Once she has the layout, we sit at the table and I explain to her the details of Anastasia’s daily routine.
By the time we’re finished, it’s nearly noon. “I really should be going,” I say, standing from the table. “I have meetings this afternoon.”
Anastasia, who had been coloring quietly up until now, bursts into wildly overdramatic tears. “No, mama, don’t leave! I’m too scared from yesterday for you to go to work today!” She inhales shakily, as huge tears streak down her round cheeks.
My gaze darts from my daughters’ tear-filled eyes to Rachel’s face which is etched with concern. My shoulders sag. This isn’t a battle I’m going to win.
For the first time ever, I call into work and have Jordan postpone all my meetings. “Why don’t we go get some lunch?” I say. Anastasia sniffs, wiping her eyes with her fingers, before she grabs mine and Rachel’s hands and leads us to the door.
Nine
Rachel
I’m still mad at Tiffany for her behavior regarding paying off the debt and her callousness at offering me money for saving Ana. Watching her interactions with her daughter, however, are making it increasingly difficult to keep my mind wrapped around that anger.
Tiffany is actually kind of sweet, which surprises me, to say the least. It’s so blatantly clear that she only wants what’s best for Ana, and my heart melts just a little towards her.
The car ride to the restaurant is uneventful. Ana chatters away as Tiffany drives. The conversation between them is simple, with Ana asking about Tiffany’s work and new projects that are coming up.
It’s surprising to see that Tiffany speaks to Ana, not only with deep affection, but as if she’s an actual human being, capable of learning and understanding. I’ve noticed at the bookstore that so many parents speak to their children in such a ridiculously condescending way, as if they’re too young to merit any real respect.
That’s always been something that irks me beyond belief. I find that I’m glad Tiffany isn’t one of those parents. Kids are people, too. They deserve to be treated as such.
Before I know it, we’re pulling into a small Italian restaurant near the town square. Tiffany helps Ana out of the car and the young girl immediately latches on to both Tiffany’s and my hands, pulling us towards the door.
“Come on, Rachel. This place is the best,” she says cheerfully.
“I hope you like Italian. This is Ana’s favorite restaurant, and with how upset she was earlier, I thought this would be best.” There’s genuine concern in Tiffany’s voice, as if she really wants me to enjoy it here, as well.
“Italian is fine,” I reply, unsure what her angle is. I don’t want to believe that she’s really interested in my opinion. Then, I might have to change my mind about her completely, and I’m not ready to do that just yet.
As we walk through the door, we’re greeted by two Italian women. They’re older ladies, the lines on their faces telling the tale of the long lives they’ve lived. They share the same gray head of hair and perceptive eyes. From the way they talk, I’m sure they must be sisters.
Their eyes light up when they see Ana walk through the door. There accents are thick as they each hug her and take her face in hand, kissing both of her round cheeks. They repeat the same movements with Tiffany, and when they see me, they’re eyes dart from Tiffany’s face and back to mine several times.
“This is Rachel,” Tiffany says, waving her hand between the women and myself. “Rachel, this is Francesca and Luciana.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, holding out my hand.
They both look at my hand as if they’ve never seen one before. Sharing the kind of look that holds an entire conversation, they hold each other’s gazes for a moment before turning beaming faces towards me.
“It is so very nice to meet you,” Francesca says as she wraps her arms tightly around me. She kisses both my cheeks before relinquishing me to Luciana who does the same.
> They usher us to a booth in the back corner and before I even have time to blink, they’re piling the table full of rich smelling breads and creamy pastas. My mouth waters as the delicious aroma wafts to my nose.
The conversation is easy and relaxed, the atmosphere friendly and comfortable. Ana is too busy stuffing her face to do much else, but as Tiffany and I sit across from each other, I find myself opening up to her more than I would have expected possible.