Page 7 of Waves of Time
“Hi! Sorry.” Aria clinked her champagne flute with her mother’s.
“Are you tired?” Hilary asked. Aria hadn’t come home until after two the night before, which had slightly unnerved Hilary, who found it difficult to remember that Aria was an adult now. She didn’t have a curfew.
“Not really,” Aria said. “I didn’t drink at the party. Just danced.”
“Sounds like a blast,” Hilary said. “It’s been ages since I did that. Maybe we should go dancing in San Francisco!”
Aria’s smile was electric. “Yeah. Maybe.” She paused, looking tentative, then added, “I just can’t believe we’re going to see Dad tonight.”
Ah. So maybe that was what was distracting Aria?She hadn’t seen Marc in quite some time— a year or two, maybe, and had feared his judgment when she’d dropped out of Tufts University. Marc was a very successful CFO at a tech company and believed in the power of education, networking, and pushing yourself out of your bubble. “I met everyone who helped me get to where I am at college,” he’d told Hilary over the phone after Aria had dropped out. “As did you, Hilary!” To this, Hilary had said, “Yeah? I also met you. And we got pregnant and had a daughter who, as it turns out, has a mind of her own. We have to let her live her own life, Marc.” She’d wanted to add:you’ve always lived your own life, no matter what.But she hadn’t.
“He says he’s taking us out somewhere special,” Hilary said.
Aria’s eyes danced. “I can only imagine what that means. Special to Dad usually means the swankiest place I’ve ever been.”
“He likes to impress us,” Hilary agreed. “He was always like that.”
Aria settled deeper into her chair and sipped her champagne. “Back in college, you mean?” Aria always dug around Hilary and Marc’s backstory for clues about their romance. Although Hilary shared numerous details about her life with Aria, she was normally quite hush-hush in the Marc department.
“Yes. He didn’t have much money, but the money he had seemed to stretch further than other people’s,” Hilary explained. “I guess that’s why he’s so good at what he does.”
Aria pressed her lips together, seeming to weigh up whether or not it was worth it to pester her mother for more information. Hilary turned to gaze out the window, then selected a square of vintage cheddar cheese and ate it slowly, crushing through its salt crystals. “This is really good cheese,” Hilary said as a way to change the subject. Aria had lost her chance.
The flight to San Francisco took about five hours, but when they landed, due to the time change, it was only two hours after they’d begun the journey on the east coast. Aria liked to call it “time travel,” which Hilary found adorable. Together, they got off the plane, laughing as they walked through the airport hallways, through streams of light that came in from the floor-to-ceiling windows. When they reached Baggage Claim, their bags were the first two that popped out, which, they decided, meant they were in for a lucky trip.
“That never happens!” Aria cried as she wheeled her suitcase toward the exit.
Just outside Arrivals, with a bouquet of yellow roses in his hand, was Marc Halton— the very first and very last love of Hilary’s life. He was six-foot-two and very fit from morning runs, a habit he’d picked up during college when he’d drunk a little too much beer and developed a gut. The gut had been gone within weeks, never to return, which was proof of Marc’s determination. His dark hair was trimmed short, and his face was clean-shaven. The suit was fit for the most extravagant San Francisco tech office, where he needed to appear powerful and intelligent. He was the CFO, after all.
And when he spotted them for the first time, he smiled in a way that reminded Hilary of hundreds of zealous college nights— ones they could never return to. Not this far on the other side of their lives.
“Dad!” Aria cried, rushing forward to throw her arms around him. Marc closed his eyes and bent down to hold her. For a moment, Hilary could almost imagine that he had a heart of gold, that he hadn’t taken a job across the continent, and he hadn’t been a stranger with a deep pocket for the past twenty-one years of their daughter’s life.
“There she is. My girl,” Marc said, stepping back. “You look great, Aria.”
Aria beamed. “You, too, Dad.”
Hilary sidled up beside Aria and steadied her smile to ensure it wasn’t too big. “Marc,” she said, hating how much she loved the taste of his name on her tongue.
Marc hugged her as well— a friendly hug that had nothing to do with the romantic tension that had sizzled through them all those years ago. “You look fantastic, as usual, Hilary,” he complimented.
“You charmer,” Hilary said.
Marc turned and waved at the driver of a black vehicle behind him. “I had the company’s driver take me,” he explained as the guy got out to place their bags in the back.
Aria was impressed. “I feel like a celebrity.”
Marc laughed and opened the back door for Aria, who slid to the other side. Marc gestured for Hilary to enter as well, which she did, feeling nervous as she bent over in front of him. Although she knew she looked pretty good for her age, it was hard not to remember that when they’d met, she’d been nineteen years old, and now, she was forty-three. If she wasn’t mistaken, Marc dated women in their twenties these days— as was his right, she supposed, as a rich man with no obligations.
She could have dated, too. She knew that.
The back of the company car was situated like a limo, wherein Hilary sat across from Aria and Marc instead of crammed in beside them. Marc smacked his thighs and said, “What luck that you two were assigned a job out here, huh?”
“Totally,” Aria said, wearing a goofy smile.
“Who’s the client?” Marc asked.
“I haven’t met him yet,” Hilary said. “His name is Rodrick Phillips.”