After Evelyn married my brother, everything moved quickly. She was busy packing up her life in New York and bringing it all to Spain.
I had already been here for a month, having bought a stunning villa just off the coast of Aldiz. The exterior was an eggshell white, surrounded by palm trees. Inside, it was a two-story home with hardwood floors, and the master bedroom had floor-to-ceiling windows and a balcony with a breathtaking view of the water.
The first few days after their wedding were a blur. Evelyn and my brother were in the chaotic process of uprooting their lives, so to make things easier, they sent Conner to Spain to join me.
I hadn’t seen her since she was a baby—well, aside from the occasional magazine or tabloid photo. The last time we were in the same room together was thirteen years ago. To say I was nervous would be an understatement.
I didn’t really know what I was to her. I wasn’t her mother, but I wasn’t just one of her mom’s old friends either. Technically, I was her aunt through marriage, but that felt strange given the circumstances.
I also had no idea how much Evelyn had told her about us. Did she know that her mom and I had been together for about ten years, on and off? Did she know that her father was gay and had been in a relationship with my ex-husband? The answer was no. And, as it turned out, I was the one who inadvertently told her.
Conner arrived in Aldiz late one night, and I picked her up from the airport. She was shy around me, keeping to herself during the drive back to the villa.
I carried her bags inside and showed her to her new room.“I know it’s a little bland right now,” I said, gesturing to the empty white walls, “but we can decorate it together once your stuff arrives.”
She offered me a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes and mumbled, “Thanks.”
“Don’t hesitate to ask for anything if you need it,” I added before leaving her to settle in.
The next morning, the questions started. I was downstairs early, enjoying the quiet morning. The sun was slowly starting to filter through the windows as I spread avocado on my toast when Conner came downstairs, still groggy from sleep, and sat down at the kitchen counter.
I offered her some breakfast and poured coffee into two cups. As I handed one to her, she asked, “You knew my mom before this, right?”
I looked up, surprised by her directness.
She went on.“You were in Little Women together, right?”
I smiled. “Yes, we met on the set of Little Women.”
“So why did this start now?” she asked, her brow furrowed.
I laughed lightly. “Conner, you don’t know much about this, do you?”
She shook her head. I sat down next to her.“Yes, Evelyn and I met on the set of Little Women, and that’s when we started our relationship.”
Conner stared at me, her jaw slack.“You’ve been together that long?” she asked.
“Well, no. We were on and off for many years,” I explained. “In fact, we hadn’t spoken for thirteen years until just a few months ago.”
Conner continued to stare, shocked. I went on.“You know, we’ve met before. When you were a baby.” I told her, “I used to watch you a lot when your mom was working on Three A.M. We even lived together for a while.”
Her brows furrowed. “Did my dad know this was happening behind his back?”
I burst out laughing, loud and free. “Oh, sweetheart, I was married to a man at the time. John was a quarterback for the Giants, and he and your dad were together. The two of them lived in mine and John’s apartment, and I lived with your mom in hers and your dad’s.”
Her eyes widened, and her breakfast sat untouched.“We had a very practical arrangement,” I added. “We were lucky to have each other.”
Conner finally spoke, her voice quieter. “I remember my dad after John died. I guess it kind of makes sense now.”
I stood up and walked over to my bookshelf to pull out my photo album. I called Conner over to join me on the couch, where we sat next to each other, our thighs touching. I opened the album, and the first photo inside was of Evelyn and me at the Little Women premiere—a picture I’d cut out of a magazine. We looked so young—too young to be doing all of that.
“I’ve seen this one before,” Conner said, pointing at it.
“Yes, that was the night everything started,” I told her. “She kissed me in a laundry room at the after-party.”
Conner smiled a little. I flipped the page, revealing a photo of Evelyn in a black one-piece bathing suit, sitting on the edge of my pool.
“This one was taken at my Palm Springs house, just after we moved in together,” I said, but there weren’t many photos from that time. We’d enjoyed the moment too much to stop and capture it, and when we did take pictures, Evelyn was always so concerned about who might see them that they never got developed.
On the next page were photos of the time we spent with Harry and John. John had taken up photography as a hobby after he retired from football, and he was always talking about pictures. Most of them were candid shots.
I pointed to the next one. “This was your mom’s birthday,” I said, showing a picture of Evelyn and me with our faces pressed together, our arms wrapped around each other. Her eyes were closed; mine were looking somewhere they probably shouldn’t have been.
We continued flipping through the album, each photo telling its own story—vacations, lazy Sundays, moments shared with all four of us. Conner listened intently to each one.
When we reached the next page, it was a photo of her as a baby, perched on Harry’s hip, laughing while he made a silly face at her. Conner paused, staring at it for a long time. I didn’t say anything.
“I miss him,” she finally whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek.
I reached out, pulling her closer, wrapping my arms around her. “Oh, sweetheart. I miss him too.”
We sat there for a while, her quietly crying on my chest while I gently stroked her back. After a long moment, she asked, “Can I keep this?”
I pulled the photo out of the album and handed it to her.
"It's yours."
She held it close, like she was afraid it might disappear if she let go.
Over the next few days, we continued to bond. We’d sit by the water at sunset, and I’d tell her stories about what it was like to be a movie star—without delving into the ugly parts. She’d eventually learn about the fights, the breakups, and my emphysema, some things were better left unsaid for now. Other days, we’d play Scrabble at the kitchen table, bickering like children over the rules.
By the fifth day, Evelyn finally joined us in Spain. Conner rushed to greet her at the door, and Evelyn kissed the top of her head. “Hi, sweetie. How was your stay?”
“Good,” Conner said, her response short.
“Yeah? What did you talk about?” Evelyn asked, turning to kiss me.
“Oh, you know, just stuff,” I replied with a smile.
Conner and I exchanged a look from across the room, and I winked. She laughed, then left us alone.
Evelyn looked at me, her expression a mixture of curiosity and concern.
“Seriously, what did you two do? I haven’t seen her act like that in months!”
I smiled. “We just bonded, Evelyn. That’s all.”
She shook her head, muttering, “Whatever,” as she walked away to unpack her bags.
I couldn’t help but smile, excited for the next few years by the beautiful beach with the love of my life and her adorable teenage daughter.