His lips thin even more, like it’s a crime to feed his kid. Hey, buddy, I didn’t spit in her food or anything gross like that. Disgusting food toppings are your specialty, not mine.
Wyatt nods once at me, then leaves with Vi.
I look out in the hall, just to make sure he actually leaves. He says something to Vi quietly enough that I can’t make it out, then opens his apartment door and they vanish inside.
I pull my head back in and shut my own door. Then, as I’m cleaning up the dirty plates…it hits me. Wyatt really did move in next door! He really is my neighbor. But why? Doesn’t he want a mansion to show off his billion bucks? And why is Dane giving him a statue that’s going to end up looking ridiculous in that apartment? It’s going to stand out like a Porsche in a pigsty.
I cross my arms and think. Wyatt can’t possibly want a thing that costs, like, a million dollars in his apartment. And it’s going to take up too much space. And unlike Dane the Iciclehog, Wyatt will probably be slightly more amenable to a trade, especially since he really needs a date. If his assistant were any good, she would’ve taken care of it by now.
I narrow my eyes and strategize. Because no matter what happens, I’m getting that damned statue.
Chapter Fourteen
Wyatt
Vi hasn’t said a word to me since yesterday evening when I dragged her out of Kim’s apartment. Which is fine, because talking might just end up making things worse. According to a lot of parenting books, angry words are not the way to go with ten-year-olds who are trying to cope with multiple upheavals. My divorce, Geneva’s new marriage, the move, the new school… It’s a lot to take, and on top of everything else, I’ve been busy with the Sweet Darlings deal.
The silence continues as she leaves to go to school. I let out a sigh. Maybe I should take Daddy-Daughter Communication 101. Because this sucks.
Just as I’m on my way to work, I get a call from Dad. Smiling a little, I pick it up. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, Wyatt! How’s your new place?” he booms.
“Wish we were there to help you move,” Mom says. He must have finally figured out the speakerphone function.
“The apartment is great.”
“Are your new neighbors nice? Big-city people can be a little brusque. You remember how it was in New York,” Mom says. She hates the Big Apple. Says it’s a misnomer because apples are wholesome.
So I give her the only reassurance I can. “L.A. is nothing like New York.”
“Oh, that’s good. I don’t want Vi to have trouble adjusting.” Mom’s voice is full of grandmotherly sympathy. My parents adore Vi, although they don’t feel the same way about her mom.
“Vi’s fine.” But she isn’t fine. She’s going through a difficult patch. I really hope going to the damned wedding and getting some closure helps her get over…whatever she’s having issues with, because I’m tearing my hair out. Probably going to need a toupee before the year’s over.
“The witch is in town,” Dad says. He only calls Geneva a witch when Mom’s listening. When it’s just me and him, the B-word comes out, among other more colorful ones, depending on his mood and if he had any alcohol. “And she hired a baker who looks like she should have been in that Warrior Princess series.”
Warrior Princess? “You mean Xena?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Barely dressed and fighting with swords.”
“I don’t understand why Geneva wants to marry here in Corn Meadows when her grandpa groom lives L.A.” Mom sounds positively peeved.
“Exactly. And what kind of man marries a woman a third his age?” Dad asks.
The rich, old kind?
“Better yet, what kind of woman leaves Wyatt to marry a man four times her age!” Mom adds, bristling with outrage.
I almost laugh. They’re still mad on my behalf, and their math is charmingly creative. I swear, every time I talk to them, Geneva’s fiancé gets older. The only thing I know for sure is there’s a big age gap, he doesn’t like children, is allergic to cats and this is something like his sixth marriage. I wish he’d met Geneva earlier, though, so I wouldn’t have wasted so much time with her.
“That woman is probably a werefox,” Dad says.
“A what?” I say, wondering when Geneva went from being a witch—or a bitch, depending who’s around—to some kind of mythological fox.
“A werefox. I’ve been trying to expand my horizons a little, so we were watching some TV shows from other countries. And they say werefoxes are shape-changers. Female shape-changers. They lure you in with their beauty and the promise of sex…and then they eat your liver.”
“Which kills you,” Mom adds helpfully.