Page 78 of Buttons

“Even Balthazar tried it,” Leo adds excitedly. “He only hissed twice when Dad put him on the bottom platform.”

“That’s progress,” Elowen says, her eyes meeting mine briefly over the children’s heads.

The pasta may be homemade, but it’s better than any five-star restaurant because it was made by Elowen’s hands. I recognize the recipe as one her grandmother taught her, something she used to make in our early days together before I insisted we needed to “maintain our standard of living.”

“—and then the kitten with extra-long whiskers jumped all the way to the tippity-top shelf,” Meredith exclaims, her free hand gesturing to show the impressive height. The movement throws off her balance as she reaches for her cup of grape juice. “Miss Beatrix said she’s never seen a kitten that—”

It happens in that slow-motion clarity of impending disaster. Her small fingers connect with the cup at the wrong angle. Said cup tips, then topples completely, sending a wave of purple liquid spreading everywhere across the table.

“Oh no!” Meredith freezes, forgetting her story.

The juice flows straight to Leo’s project, which he’d proudly placed at the end of the table, “so we can admire it during dinner.” The purple liquid reaches the base of his toilet paper turbine, seeping into the cardboard.

“My project!” Leo cries.

My body tenses with the old, familiar response. It’s that instinct to take control and chastise.Meredith, you should have been more careful. Leo, you should have left the project you’ve worked so hard on in a safe place.Instead, I catch myself. I watch Elowen’s shoulders tighten as she automatically reachesfor the paper towels, her expression carefully neutral, but her body bracing for my reaction. I hate how I conditioned that response in her. Then I notice Leo’s face crumple in anticipation of criticism. The fear isn’t of me now, but of the memory of me. Meredith’s eyes widen in alarm, her gaze sliding sideways to check my reaction.

They’re all waiting for the old Julian, and that realization hits me with actual physical pain. My family is conditioned to expect my disapproval. All for spilled juice.

“No pressure, Mi-Mi,” I say instead, keeping my voice deliberately light. “Accidents happen.”

Now there’s a subtle shift in Elowen’s posture, the slight release of tension in her shoulders even as she continues reaching for paper towels.

“I’m sorry,” Meredith whispers, her lower lip trembling. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Of course you didn’t,” I assure her, already moving to help contain the spreading liquid. “That’s why they’re called accidents.”

Leo stares despondently at his project. A small sound escapes him. He’d worked so hard on it and was so proud.

“It’s ruined,” he says, his voice defeated.

“Not ruined,” I say, carefully lifting the damaged structure. “Just temporarily set back. Let’s get this onto a dry surface first, then we can fix any wreckage.”

“Of course, Leo,” Elowen agrees. “Dad and I will help. I’m sure Mi-Mi will, too.”

Meredith nods eagerly. “Oh, yes! We’ll make it as puuurrrfect as it once was.”

We all work together for the next several minutes. It’s like how we were at the shelter, except better. Here, the common goal isn’t helping cats and dogs, it’s coming together to help one another.

Elowen and I reach for the same lingering purple stain at the same moment. My fingers brush against the back of hers, a contact so intoxicating that the oxygen seems to vanish from the room. The heat from her skin sears through our touch, but I don’t pull back, and neither does she.

I watch as her lips part with a quick intake of air, her gaze lifting to mine with depth. The instinct to reach out is a desperate longing to settle my hands on the curve of her hips and pull her flush against me until there is no space left between our bodies. I want to feel the weight of her, to bridge the distance I created.

“Mom!” Leo yells. “Can I unroll our toilet paper for a new turbine?”

She steps back, erasing the moment. “Go for it, Leo.”

Feeling like my family is within reach, I put my hands in my pockets. “Have coffee with me next weekend so we can talk? Just us?”

My stomach about drops out my toes when she answers, “Yes.”

Chapter 33

Julian

Much too eager to meet her, I purposefully arrive at the restaurant twenty minutes early, coming straight from work. It’s fine. Since I’m here first, she won’t even know how early I arrived. I remember her advice from last week: five or ten minutes is fine, but thirty minutes is inconsiderate. Not those exact words, but close enough. Choosing a table closest to the entrance so I can see when she comes in, I immediately sit and fiddle with my cufflinks.

As Leo pointed out during our dinner last week, I’ve been investing in sustainable energy as of late, and his project has inspired me. I have a meeting with Robert Thompson of the Thompson Architecture Group this coming Monday to brainstorm sustainable housing opportunities.