Chapter 1

Amy

 

They say the first things to go when you hit middle age are your boobs, but they’re wrong—it’s your identity.

Alone in my yoga studio, I bent forward into downward dog and exhaled a cleansing breath to de-stress. It didn’t work.

When I’d opened Good Vibes, I’d found my bliss, my chill, my namaste, but now it was slipping away. Attendance was down, and bills were piling up. Worse still, my kid had grown up and planned to go to college on the other side of the country.

Is the mother of an adult still a mom? Will Jason still need me? Can I stand to live alone?

A throat cleared behind me. “Excuse me, ma’am. Are you Amy Flowers?”

I stood too quickly for my forty-something lower back. Ignoring the jolt of pain, I forced a smile. “That’s me.”

The young man, who couldn’t have been much older than my son, handed me an envelope without taking his eyes off my breasts. “This is for you.”

A knot formed in the center of my chest. I had no idea what this was about, but I doubted it was good news. The last time someone had asked my name and handed me an unmarked envelope, it’d contained divorce papers. “Am I being served?”

“Sort of. It’s an eviction notice.” His gaze dropped briefly to my hips before returning to my sports bra.

I took a step back and held up my hands, as if that would stop another piece of my world from crumbling. “I don’t understand. I made my rent payment this month.”

By the skin of my teeth, but still.

“It’s nothing personal. The owners are repurposing the building. All the tenants are being asked to vacate.” Still staring, he wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

Is he drooling or teething?

“But if you need more time. I can…uh…hold onto it. Tell my boss I keep missing you.” He finally met my gaze.

My spinning brain screeched to a halt. I recognized the smirky-smile. I’d seen it on enough male faces in my lifetime to know what it meant. He’d scratch my back if I rubbed something of his.

The guy rested his hands on his hips, elbows out, legs spread shoulder-width—the Superman pose and the human equivalent to a peacock spreading his feathers. “I could get in trouble, but it’d be worth it to help a woman in distress.”

I could smile. Play with my hair. Buy myself another couple of weeks… What the hell am I thinking? He’s half my age. Flirting with him is desperate and gross. Like a middle-aged man buying a red sportscar and a trophy wife.

“Thank you, but no. I don’t want you to get fired.” I forced a smile and nodded to the envelope.

He let out a laugh that was deeper than I’d expected. When he spoke again, his voice had lowered to a richer baritone, “I won’t lose my job. Let me help you.”

This is the universe testing me. Giving me the are-you-going-to-trust-the-wrong-person-and-get-burned exam. This is my midlife midterm.

Why couldn’t I have a normal midlife crisis? Most women got tummy tucks or chased younger men, but not me. One, I couldn’t afford plastic surgery, and two, the only younger man I had time for was Jason. Unfortunately, he would be leaving for college in a few months, but that didn’t mean I intended to apply for membership in the Cougar Club.

The kid must have taken my silence as agreement because he moved close enough I could smell his cologne. “I’m in real estate. I’d be more than happy to help you find a new studio. Show you some listings over coffee, or at my place.”

His last line snapped me back to the moment. I needed to let him down and take the eviction notice before things got even more out of hand. I squared my shoulders and stared until he met my gaze. “What’s your name?”

“Grant…as in I could grant all of your wishes.” Mr. Clueless reached for me.

“What the hell?” Jason, my seventeen-year-old son, stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips and his jaw on the floor.

Grant glanced between us and widened his eyes. “Sorry, man. I thought she was single.”

I opened my mouth to explain, but Jason didn’t give me the chance.

“She’s my mom.” He curled his upper lip, but I couldn’t decide if he’d snarled or was disgusted. Probably both.

Mr. Clueless held his hands up. “She’s your mother?”

I snatched the envelope from him and hurried to put some distance between us.

Jason glared first at him, then at me. “Yep. So, unless you plan on becoming my stepdad, I suggest you leave.”

“Dude.” The color drained from Grant’s face. “I figured she was like a cougar or something. I didn’t know she was that old.”

I stood shell-shocked as Jason followed him out. It wasn’t until the paper crinkled in my hand that I remembered I had bigger problems than my son walking in on the world’s worst pick-up attempt. Drawing a deep breath, I opened the envelope.

Thirty days? How am I supposed to find a new studio in a month? Better question, how can I afford it?

“How did he get in here? We’ve talked about this, Mom. You’re supposed to lock the door when your students leave.” Jason stood to his full five-foot nine height and stared down his nose, the same way his father had for most of our marriage.

“I understand your concern, but I knew you were coming. I didn’t want to lock you out.” I took in his perfectly pressed slacks and white button down. Other than the eighties style skinny tie, he looked like he belonged at a Young Republicans meeting not on his way home from high school.

What happened to the little boy who used to follow me around in a tie-dyed kaftan?

“How was school today?” It was a weak attempt to change the subject, but it was all I could come up with.

“It sucked, thanks in no small part to your meeting with the vice principal.” He glared and brooded like only a teenager could. “You promised you wouldn’t make a big deal about this.”

“I didn’t mean to break your trust, but I had to do something. The bullying is getting worse.” I’d assumed the vice principal would hear my concerns and handle the matter quietly. It seemed I’d assumed wrong.

“Yeah, well, Mrs. Stanley called me to her office and demanded I tell her who was harassing me.” He folded his arms. “And why.”

“Did you tell her?” I hadn’t been able to get the details out of him. In fact, had it not been for the third broken laptop in as many weeks, I doubted he would have told me about the situation at all. And that hurt. Once upon a time, not that long ago, Jason and I could talk about anything.

“No. End of discussion.”

“I’m sorry. I should have told you I was going to speak to someone at your school.”

“You should have, but it’s done now.” He motioned to the paper in my hand. “Why did that jerk offer to help you find a new place? What’s that?”

I hated to pile more stress on him, but I needed to parent by example. How could I expect him to share his secrets with me if I kept things from him? “It’s an eviction notice. The owner of the building is throwing everyone out.”

He balled his hands at his sides. “That can’t be legal.”

“It is. I’ve been on a month-to-month lease here for some time.” I forced a smile. “I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry.”

His shoulders slumped. “I have money saved up for Cornell—”

“No. I appreciate the offer, but no. The universe will—”

“Provide.” He shook his head. “Things don’t always work out, Mom. Sometimes life sucks.”

A little piece of my heart broke off. I hated the new cynical side of him. “About the bullying…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He nodded toward my office. “I’m here to fix your computer.”

“Okay. Just know I’m here if you change your mind.” I managed to keep my chin up until he disappeared down the hall. Then I wrapped my arms around my middle and allowed myself a few moments to feel my feelings.

Fear, confusion, uncertainty, but loneliness most of all.

Shaking it off, I put away the last mat and glanced around my empty studio. And Good Vibes was mine. For another couple weeks anyway.

What the heck am I going to do when I lose this place? Who am I without it? How do I start over at my age?

Focus. Breathe. I’m grateful I have a son who is generous and kind.

I didn’t recognize this new stressed-out version of myself. She complained and felt sorry for herself and forgot how to trust that everything would work out. That she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Rather than hanging streamers for my pity party, I pulled my phone out and logged into the SoCal Single Parent Support Group app. As soon as the screen name GirlDadInterrupted popped up in my chat window, my mood brightened. That alone should have sent up warning flags. I didn’t need a man to make me smile, or complete me, or anything of the sort, but Henry was different. Our relationship was different.

For starters, we’d never met or spoken on the phone or exchanged photos. We’d spent the previous five years giving each other parenting advice. Without Henry’s help, I never would have survived Jason going through puberty.

GirlDadInterrupted: How’s Jason doing? Did my suggestions help?

That he’d asked about my son warmed me in ways no man ever had, let alone a man I’d never met. A couple of weeks back he’d suggested I have Jason spend some time outdoors and away from the computer. I absolutely agreed. A little fresh air and sunshine could improve even a teen boy’s mood—most teen boys, anyway.

AmaryllisMom: He seems okay. No luck getting him to venture into the wilds of SoCal.

GirlDadInterrupted: How’s the bullying?

Biting the inside of my cheek, I debated how to answer. I enjoyed Henry looking up to me like I was some sort of super-mom. Admitting I’d royally screwed up could change that. Then again, I believed honesty was always the best policy.

AmaryllisMom: I don’t know. He refuses to tell me anything about it since I reported it to the vice principal.

GirlDadInterrupted: …

Yep. My thoughts exactly.

AmaryllisMom: I know. I know. It was a mistake, but it’s easier to see that now.

GirlDadInterrupted: You’re not going to like what I have to say.

AmaryllisMom: With a lead in like that? How can I not?

GirlDadInterrupted: He needs positive male role models. You’re a great mom, but I’m a firm believer boys need a man to teach them how to be good men.

He was right. I didn’t like what he had to say. At all. Not only was it insulting, and maybe a little sexist, it was impossible.

AmaryllisMom: You’re right. I don’t like it. I told you, Jason’s dad isn’t in the picture.

GirlDadInterrupted: I didn’t say he needed a father. Just a decent guy to set an example for him. A teacher? Coach? Honorary Uncle?

I knew a few good men, but I couldn’t imagine asking them to babysit a seventeen-year-old.

AmaryllisMom: I’ll see what I can do.

GirlDadInterrupted: How about a mentoring program? He’s into computers, right? Check at local colleges and larger businesses.

The storm clouds parted, and a trickle of light shined through. Henry had given me a great idea. There was a movie studio a half a mile from Good Vibes. Not only was it the largest employer in our little beach town, they made huge movies with tons of special effects. Jason would love that.

AmaryllisMom: I’m not too far from Stewart, Myers, and Holbrook Studios. I wonder if they have a high school internship program.

The three little dots letting me know he was typing bounced around for what seemed like an eternity.

GirlDadInterrupted: Cool.

Cool? That’s it? It took him five minutes to come up with a four-letter word?

I loved texting with Henry, but it had its limitations. I couldn’t hear his voice or see his expression. I had no way of knowing if he’d received a call while replying or if something else had caused the delay.

AmaryllisMom: Have you heard from Anna? When is she coming home?

GirlDadInterrupted: Tomorrow. Can’t wait to see her.

AmaryllisMom: I bet. A month is a long time to go without them.

GirlDadInterrupted: Tell me about it. Don’t know how I’m going to handle her going away to college in two years.

My heart shuddered. Every time the subject came up, I couldn’t help but wonder what our kids leaving home would do to our relationship. Would we still talk? Would he leave the group? Would I?

GirlDadInterrupted: How do you feel about sharing phone numbers and texting directly? We’ll need to find a new way to communicate once you’re officially an empty nester.

This time my heart didn’t shudder, it did an entire sun salutation. As usual, Henry and I seemed to exist on the same wavelength. I didn’t know his last name or his face or any of the typical first date stuff, but we were soul-twins. We had a connection, one neither of us wanted to end.

Be cool. Breathe.

AmaryllisMom: I’m good with that.

“Mom!” Jason called from my office. “I need your credit card.”

“One second.” I gripped the phone tighter and willed Henry to reply faster.

GirlDadInterrupted: Next September we’ll exchange digits.

I’m such an idiot. This isn’t about him wanting to hear my voice. It’s about helping each other parent college kids.

“Mom? Are you okay?” Impatience, or maybe concern, thickened his voice.

“Coming.”

 

 

Chapter 2

Hudson

 

Two things I hated most in the world—press conferences and reporters. My earliest memory was being pulled from my mother’s arms and nearly trampled by overly eager paparazzi. Believe it or not, that wasn’t my worst experience with the vultures. No, that happened about the time I hit puberty.

Nothing scars a kid like being a thirteen-year-old child actor getting caught whacking off in a soundstage bathroom. My relationship with the news media hadn’t improved in the subsequent thirty-five years.

I’d thought when I stopped working in front of the camera the press would back off. Wrong.

I’d thought when I lost my wife and newborn son, they’d respect my privacy. Wrong again.

I’d thought launching a new movie studio would make me a boring suit jockey, and they’d move on. Still wrong.

“Mr. Stewart! Hudson! Over here.” The young female reporter bounced in her chair.

I nodded in her direction.

“With Myers in the hospital, Holbrook on leave, and Dave Tango checking into rehab, you must be under a lot of stress. Are you concerned you’ll be the next to have a heart attack?” She had the audacity to smile.

Milton Myers, my business partner, had suffered a heart attack. He’d undergone surgery and was recovering. Which meant Ansel Holbrook, Milton’s husband and our third partner, had taken time off to be with him.

In their absence, our brightest star and biggest pain in the ass, Dave Tango had gone on a bender and injured himself on set. Rather than taking responsibility for his actions, he’d claimed the accident was the studio’s fault. He’d spewed some bullshit about toxic environments, unsafe work conditions, and drugs on set. It was utter nonsense, but the media had scented blood in the water and all but written off our movie studio. My workload had tripled, and our stocks had plummeted.

I flashed the reporter my best leading-man grin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name or who you’re with.”

“Candy Chase with the Daily Inquisitor.”

I wasn’t sure which surprised me more, her name or that she’d said it in an evening news anchor voice. “I’m not concerned, Miss Chase, but I am curious… Are you suggesting I need to hit the gym or that I’m old?”

To drive my point home, I clasped my hands behind my head and flexed my biceps until the seams of my designer shirt strained.

I fucking hate this.

The room erupted in laughter and camera flashes.

Merilee, my publicist, frowned, and Miss Candy Chase glared.

“All jokes aside. Stewart, Myers, and Holbrook Studios takes the health and wellbeing of our employees very seriously. But we’re here to discuss our new movie.” I pointed to the next reporter. “Yes?”

“Has production of Night Raven been delayed due to Dave’s accident?”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“No.” I nodded to a woman in the front row wearing a navy-blue suit.

She pushed her glasses higher on her nose and glanced at her notes. “What was it like making the transition from actor to studio executive?”

Really? She had to remind herself of the question I’d been asked a million times?

Merilee smiled wide enough to be cast in a toothpaste commercial.

Message received.

I mimicked Mer’s expression. “Hard at first, but it gets easier with every blockbuster we release.”

The woman fired off another question before I could signal to one of her peers. “What do your parents think of your achievements?”

Ah yes, the old parent question. Next, she’ll ask if I have a special lady in my life.

I forced a smile. “Brock and Judy are like any other parents. They’re thrilled by my success.”

She blurted out another question, “What is your personal motto?”

Live long and avoid press conferences?

I opened my mouth to respond and came up blank. A quick glance at Merilee told me the question had stumped her, too.

Ms. Navy-Blue pantsuit tapped her pen on her notepad.

“Who are you with?” I squinted to read her badge, and camera flashes went off.

Great. More shitty pictures.

“Suzanna Clark with O magazine.”

Oprah? Huh.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I said, “Make great movies and enjoy life.”

Lame, Hudson. Real lame.

Merilee motioned to her watch.

“Thanks for coming,” I stood. “But that’s all we have time for today.”

The reporters shouted more questions. Some about the movie, some about my business partners, and some about the studio’s financial situation.

I ignored them all or tried to.

“It’s the five-year anniversary of Evangeline’s death. Rumor has it the Academy is giving her a Lifetime Achievement Award.” Miss Candy Chase’s Minnie Mouse voice rang out over the crowd and stopped me cold. “Are you and Zarah planning to attend the ceremony this year?”

I made the mistake of turning back toward the cameras. A lightning storm of flashes blinded me. Disoriented and more than a little pissed, I muttered, “No fucking comment.”

I should have expected the question. This time of year, the vultures circled over anything to do with my deceased wife and newborn son, mine and our daughter’s grieving process, or whatever bullshit Hollywood was doing to remember Evangeline.

I got it. I did.

The world had lost an American sweetheart, but that didn’t give them the right to poke at my wounds to see if they still bled.

Forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other, I got the hell out of there.

Merilee caught up with me in the hall. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I strode to the car waiting to take me to the airport. “I need to go. Zarah’s plane is landing any minute.”

She followed and climbed in beside me. “We need to talk.”

The last thing I needed was a lecture on my lack of social skills when it came to the press. “I know. I screwed up. I shouldn’t have reacted back there.”

“No, but that’s not what I want to speak to you about.” Her eyes softened into something entirely too close to pity for my liking. “Are you going to attend the awards ceremony?”

Hanging my head, I whispered, “They’re honoring Eva. I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“You always have a choice.” She sighed. “But it’d take the wind out of their sails if you attended and showed the world you and Zarah have healed.”

“Zarah isn’t part of this.” I hadn’t meant to shout, but there was no way in hell I’d subject my daughter to that kind of trauma. “Look, you and I both know they’re going to put together some sort of tear-jerker remembrance montage. I’ll be damned if I force Zarah to sit through it with cameras zoomed in on her face.”

Merilee pressed her back into the seat as if to put more distance between us. “Fair enough. Maybe Brock and Judy could go with you?”

“Maybe. If they’re back from Aruba by then.” Needing some distance of my own, I pulled out my phone and logged into the Single Parent Support app. If anyone could improve my mood, it was Amaryllis, my parenting mentor, and one of my best friends.

Granted, she’d gone radio silent since I’d asked for her number. While it wasn’t unusual for either of us to get busy, we generally got back to each other within a few hours. I hadn’t heard from her since the previous evening.

GirlDadInterrupted: Everything okay?

Her avatar illuminated, letting me know she was online. However, she didn’t respond.

The warning light in the back of my skull came on. I’d likely said something stupid, or she’d misinterpreted my meaning. This was the problem with communicating via texts. No body language to tell if she was into the idea of being friends offline.

GirlDadInterrupted: I apologize if I crossed the line by asking for your number. I’m good with keeping things professional if that’s what you want.

I wasn’t good with that at all. I wanted to talk to her without the hassle of going through the app. I wouldn’t have minded meeting her for a cup of coffee. That was it. Neither of us were interested in a relationship. We’d both made that crystal clear early on.

AmaryllisMom: No lines crossed. Just busy with work.

I stared at my phone as if expecting Google Translate to pop up and tell me whether she meant what she said or if she’d used woman-code.

GirlDadInterrupted: Are you sure?

AmaryllisMom: Yes, Henry. I’m sure. It’s been a stressful day.

I winced every time she called me Henry or referred to my daughter as Anna. I’d lied to Amaryllis out of necessity. It wouldn’t take much to figure out who I was. How many widowed single dads were named Hudson with a daughter named Zarah?

When Amaryllis and I had first started talking, I hadn’t known if I could trust her. The last thing I’d needed was for the woman I went to for parenting advice to sell my texts to the Daily Inquisitor. So much time had gone by, I didn’t know how to come clean. One thing was for certain, I needed to do it face-to-face.

The car came to a stop, and I gave up trying to figure it out.

“The plane is on the ground.” Merilee leaned forward and stared out the window. “I see Zarah. At least, I think that’s her.”

“You think?” I’d had enough of trying to understand the fairer sex for one day. What I needed was some time with my friends, beers, and a ballgame. Scratch that. I needed to do something to get my adrenaline pumping.

I glanced from the plane to my…daughter?

What the hell did she do to her hair? And what’s she wearing?

The teen in question walked toward me like a Paris Fashion Week model, but her jeans and T-shirt looked like she’d stolen them out of the bottom of a lost and found bin. And that wasn’t the worst of it. She’d butchered her hair.

Putting on a poker face, I stepped from the car.

Zarah gave me the same crooked smile she’d given me since she was a few months old, sprinted across the runway, and threw herself into my arms. “Dad! I have like a million and seven things to tell you. You won’t believe how different things are in Columbia.”

I pulled her tighter and caught a whiff of something awful. My baby girl smelled like she’d soaked her clothes in Kimchi and rolled in a pile of sweaty gym socks. Did they not have showers in the hotel?

“I can’t wait to hear all about it.” Working to keep my voice neutral, I said, “When did you cut your hair?”

“Last week.” She pulled back, brushed her fingers across the inch long strands at the nape of her neck, and dipped her chin. “Do you like it?”

“It’s different…” I turned her head from side to side inspecting what was left of her gorgeous dark curls. “You remind me of a young Audrey Hepburn.”

She rolled her eyes and huffed.

What the hell did I say wrong now?

“Honestly, Dad, everything isn’t about movies and Hollywood. You should travel more. Expand your worldview.” Her attitude vanished when she noticed Merilee sitting in the limo.

My publicist stepped from the car, wrapped her arms around Zarah, and gushed about how good it was to have her home.

Don’t get me wrong. I appreciated the fact Zarah had good, strong, women in her life. But I couldn’t help but feel like a toy from Christmases past, lost and forgotten in the back of her closet.

That’s it. I’m calling the guys. We need an epic Dads’ Day Out.

I glanced at the private jet and formed the beginnings of a plan. Not only would I shake off some stress. I’d remind Zarah exactly how cool I could be.

 

***

Zarah: I’m home! I have so much to tell you. How’s school?

Jason: My mom had a conference with Mrs. Stanley.

Zarah: NO! OMG What’s the fallout?

Jason: The usual stuff. Nothing I can’t handle.

Zarah: I’m sorry.

Jason: It’s not your fault.

Zarah: It kinda is. You shouldn’t have stood up for me.

Jason: I’d do it again. I’m not just your math tutor. I’m your friend. In other news, my mom is seriously considering moving to Ithaca.

Zarah: When you go to college?

Jason: Maybe sooner.

Zarah: You can’t move before graduation. I won’t let you.

Jason: I don’t want to, but she’s losing her studio. No money. No apartment.

Zarah: Can she get another job?

Jason: Probably. But she just gave up. I don’t get it. She loves it here.

Zarah: Does she have friends in San Sera?

Jason: Good ones

Zarah: Is she dating anyone?

Jason: Not since my dad left like 100 years ago.

Zarah: Same with my dad. He never dates.

Zarah: We should set them up.

Jason: Uhhhhh

Zarah: It could work. Give her a reason to stay.

Jason: I don’t know.

Zarah: Let’s at least get them in the same place at the same time.

Jason: Are you suggesting we parent trap them?

Zarah: Yes! And OMG I love that movie.