Marc Nassar

In my circles gossip often floats around like unwelcome dust—you don't want to see it but it somehow lands on you.

There was a man who used to live in the neighborhood who got caught cheating on his wife with the maid. His actions tore his family to shreds and eventually he was ostracized from the community with none of his children with him.

While I don't often care much for community events and the particles that fly over them, I still force myself to attend to network for new clients, and connect with existing ones. By doing that, it didn't take long before I cemented myself in the community and saw my law practice blossom and grow into the booming law firm it is today.

But now, as I watch Celeste and the girls paint together in the art studio, I can't help but wonder...What would be in store for me, my family, and my business if I pursued Celeste fully?

On the one hand, I can already hear the crowds speaking in hushed tones, quiet enough to deign cordiality but loud enough to not actually care: "Marc's sleeping with his cook, in the same house as his daughters. What kind of values is he teaching his daughters?" or "Marc's taking advantage of a young woman who's barely into adulthood. Stay away from him." Would clients still knock on my door everyday, begging me to take on their cases? Would my daughters be caught up in the drama and hate me forever for ruining their lives? These are the types of outcomes that can't be ignored. 

But on the other hand...Celeste.

Everything about her glows so brightly I can't look away. She's like a beaming red gemstone in a dark, cavernous cave. Her beauty, wit, care, and playfulness are like the glittering facets on the sides of the diamond, and the way she loves my daughters is like the jewel's crown. As I take in the rare beauty, my heart squeezes so tightly, it borders on pain.

She's sitting on the stool next to Nina who's trying to explain how to watercolor but is having trouble with her words. Celeste is patiently listening to her, helping fill in the missing pieces where needed. She's in her white t-shirt and denim shorts, a leg pulled up to her chest. Her hair, now dried from the pool water, cascades over a shoulder in waves and her sun-kissed skin looks smooth to the touch.

She was supposed to be invisible—hidden among the rocks in this grotto. She was supposed to just be the cook.

But who was I kidding?

She's not just a rare gemstone. She's also the judge, jury, and prosecutor, deciding the fate of my family's trial.

"You okay?" Her raspy voice pulls my focus back up and I find a warm smile across her face.

I want this woman. In every possible way. And I have no fucking idea what to do about it.

I smile back as a response while I lay across the couch in the TV side of the room. The space we're in has an arts and crafts station on one side that we call the art studio, and a den on the other side with couches and a TV. The sun has started its descent and fills the room through the large windows along the wall. This is yet another space that's been coated with Celeste's presence. I need her in every room of the house.

Shifting her lips, Celeste sets her paintbrush down next to Nina. And after whispering something to my daughters, she gets up from her seat and walks over to join me on the couch.

I tried resting on the couch while the girls painted, but my mind kept turning over and over again. All I could do was watch and listen and think. I raise my torso against the arm of the couch, making room for Celeste who sits next to my feet and leans into the back of the cushion.

"Thanks for including me in your day off today, Marc," she says while crossing her legs.

"Thanks for including me in yours, Celeste."

She smiles and leans back, watching my daughters who are quietly creating their masterpieces. "What are your thoughts on us ordering pizza for dinner while we all watch a movie tonight?" she asks in a hushed tone.

"Pizza?" I rub my jaw, immediately thinking about the amount of grease that comes on it.

"Don't worry, we can order a veggie one." She squints playfully.

"Isn't that so greasy still, and don't they put sugar into the crust?" I scratch the back of my head and her eyes shift to my bicep. I flex instinctively before setting my arm down. "They had chicken tenders and fries for lunch today so I don't know if they should have two bad meals in a row."

Celeste's eyebrows shoot up and she tilts her head back. "Woah."

"What?"

"You let them eat chicken tenders and fries?" Amusement moves over her lips.

"The zoo didn't have anything else. Besides, today is a special day. I'm all about doing new things," I say and she smiles wider like I've already given her my answer about the pizza. I chuckle. "Alright, I dug myself deep with that. Let's order pizza." The weird thing is, I don't really care all that much about the grease right now.

"I'll make the order online now." She pulls out her phone and I pull out my wallet. I try to hand her my credit card but she ignores me. "This can be my treat."

"No, Celeste. You're not paying for us. Please, take my card. Otherwise, no pizza." I place it up on her phone screen so that she has no choice but to hold it.

Her face scrunches for a moment and then she takes the card. "This card weighs a ton. I've never seen one like this." She flips the black metal AmEx in her hand, inspecting it. A part of me wants to tell her to keep it, use it on whatever her heart desires—buy a million water slides if she wants. She has the type of power to bleed me dry and I wouldn't bat an eye. "Thanks, Marc," she says before handing the card back to me. I tuck it back into my wallet and settle back into the couch. "Can I ask you a serious question?" she says, dropping her phone down next to her.

"More serious than pizza?" I respond before giving her a smirk.

She smiles and nods. "Well it kind of has to do with pizza and the whole healthy eating thing."

My mind turns over her words and I think back to our conversation about sugar on the day of her interview here. "Are you going to ask me why I freak out about what my daughters consume?"

She shrugs. "Something like that. And I'm just genuinely curious. I swear I won't judge this time."

Celeste isn't the first person who's asked me about why I limit my daughters to certain things, but she's the first person I want to give an honest answer to. "Well, I want the best possible life for them and being healthy and active is important to me." I sigh before continuing, "I used to be overweight. I didn't deny myself of anything that went in front of me. I would get addicted to certain foods and then gorge myself in them, eating until my heart's content. Growing up, I got bullied by kids at school and then reprimanded by my dad who wanted picture perfect children." Celeste remains quiet, unmoving, as if she doesn't want me to stop talking.

I glance up to the ceiling, picturing my Dad who I love so much, but is also one of the most frustrating people on the planet. "My siblings and I all had our own things to deal with when it came to Dad. With my sister Talia it was as if he desperately wished she was born a boy. He treated her differently than other dads with their daughters, forcing her to compete with boys through academics. My younger brother Sami, who lives in LA, is the creative one who is trying to break into film—a career that my Dad will not speak of to anyone in Lebanon because it's not in medicine, law, or finance. And then I was the heavy one—the one who didn't look like most other kids and who hated being outside.

"It wasn't until I went to college and started talking to girls more when I decided to hit the gym and shed the pounds. I saw what a difference it made in my life. People started being nicer to me, started giving me things, and started to notice me. My dad wouldn't stop praising my figure.

"And when I got into law, I had never seen my dad prouder of me. I loved it but also hated it—hated that I had to work so hard to get his approval. Over time I learned not to care as much. I found other ways to indulge in the pleasure that life had to offer, like partying and then sleeping around recklessly." I think back to the one night stand I had with the girls' mother. I don't regret it because it means I have my daughters now, but the hardships with having children with a stranger are too great not to be weary about. I sigh again. I've never really talked about this with anyone before. "Everything has consequences. I've seen it in my life and in the lives of my clients. And it's important to me that my daughters know how to avoid those consequences so they don't make the same mistakes I did."

Saying it all out loud is strange. I feel lighter, like I could float upward any second. But, Celeste has a crease in between her brow...What does she think of me? "Am I an awful father?" I ask.

Her features soften and she reaches a hand over to my open palm. My stomach flips as her fingertips gently caress my palm. The touch barely covers my skin, but it feels like it's reaching through to every ligament in my body. She shakes her head and smiles. "No, you're a human father who's just trying to figure out this shitty world like the rest of us."

"Do you think I'm too strict with them?"

She's pensive for a moment and then says, "I think you worry too much about things we have no control over." She sighs, leaning back on the other side of the couch, keeping her fingers resting on my palm. I grasp her smooth, warm hand, and start to caress the tops of her knuckles, relishing the way she lets me. "Before my mom died, I promised her I would take care of my brother. I've taken care of him most of his life, and so it was a no brainer. I would keep doing what I was doing—finding work when I can and then supporting my brother with whatever he needed. Then my brother got his girlfriend pregnant, and things got harder. Money grew thinner, and all of the sudden my baby brother wasn't a baby anymore. He got into some trouble and now..." She pauses and shifts to look over at me, her blue eyes commanding my soul and I sit up, processing her words. "I know what it's like to want to control things, but in the end you can't. It's literally impossible. I'm sorry you had to deal with all that growing up, Marc." She continues in a sharp whisper, "And fuck everyone who made you feel like shit because of how you looked. Fuck that. This is a new era where shit like that can't fly."

"What's happened with your brother? Is everything okay?"

"No," she says before a gulp bobs over her throat.

"Will you talk to me about it?"

She glances over at my daughters, who are still on the other side of the room, chatting with each other and painting together, before nodding. "I will, soon."

I remember her saying something about her brother before, but things didn't seem as serious as it does now. My stomach sinks and I'm about to push for more information, yet before I can, Laila drops her paintbrush and holds up her artwork. "I finished!" She's beaming next to her soaked water colored picture of what looks like two small girls and two adults in a blue ocean. "This is me," she points to one of the small stick figures. "This is Nina, Baba, and this is Celeste. We're at the swimming pool and having fun."

My heart is picking up speed as I take in the picture and my daughter's missing tooth grin next to it. "Wow, you did such a great job, Habibti."

"I made one too!" Nina holds up her artwork. "It's all of us at the zoo!"

"But I didn't go to the zoo," Celeste says softly. I glance at her and can't read the expression on her face.

"That's okay! You can go with us next time," Nina says matter-of-factly. "Okay," she sets down the artwork. "We're done! Can we have another snack now?"

Celeste and I glance at each other and exchange a look that carries a million unspoken words. She knows it and I know it—we've gone into the deep end, and now there's nothing to do but swim.

And pray that we don't drown.