Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“Trust is earned,” I say carefully. “And you helped your case today by going out with Kyle and coming home on time, not giving him any trouble, and being a good sport about Carter tagging along.”
“You didn’t give me a lot of choice.”
I sigh. “I wanted you to meet people. You’ll be going to school with those kids on Monday. Won’t it be easier if you recognize some of the faces?”
“It would’ve been easier to stay in school in Boston. So if that’s what you’re worried about, you’ve already screwed me over.”
“Dylan . . .” I call after him, but he’s on the stairs before I can get his name out.
“Damn you, Christopher,” I say, letting the licks of anger stemming from my ex-husband’s death burn for a moment.
Chris and I divorced three years ago, when Carter was four and Dylan eleven. Our mutual friends said we had the most amicable divorce they’d ever seen. We tried to explain that we didn’t fall out of love—our love just changed. Instead of being spouses, we were more like friends.
“We’ll still do life together. We’ll just do it from different houses.” Christopher smiles at me with the same goofy grin Dylan used to wear. “You deserve a lover, someone to appreciate all the wild goodness you have to offer. This doesn’t mean I don’t love you, Gabs. It just means that there’s someone else out there who can love you better. And I love you enough to want that for you.”
Tears fill my eyes as I fight back a surge of emotion. I miss him so much too.
“You were supposed to be here,” I whisper to the empty room. “You were supposed to help me with this.”
I look at the ceiling through the fluid clouding my vision and fight to regain composure.
“Mom! My ping is, like, two thousand, and I’m getting killed before I can even render in!” Carter shouts from upstairs. “My ping was two at home! This isn’t fair!”
His little voice makes me smile, even though my heart pulls that he still calls Boston “home.” Of course he does. Give him some time. I wipe my eyes with my hands and clear my throat.
“Speak English, please!” I shout back.
“Our internet sucks!”
I smile. “I can’t help it.”
“I can’t live like this.”
“It’s a travesty, I know.”
His door closes. His steps are a bit heavier on the floor than they were earlier.
I take a breath and spot the old pancake advertisement my mother hung in her kitchen for decades, tacked to the wall above the baker’s rack. My apron, the one Christopher purchased for me the Christmas before he passed, hangs off a hook by the broom closet. The refrigerator holds magnets the boys made when they were younger. School pictures, handprints dipped in paint and laminated for eternity, and one sequined blob I’ve never entirely understood from Dylan’s first-grade year.
Part of me thought I should declutter as we packed up the Boston house. I took each magnet off the fridge, intending to throw them away. But those silly little trinkets help make our house a home. They’re a reminder of the continuity of our life together. And in a way, a reminder that there’s so much life left to live.
The house is suddenly too small. I’m too antsy.
A chilly blast of air smacks me in the face as I step gingerly onto the back deck. I sit on the porch swing and pull my knees to my chest, balancing my bare feet off the edge. I can hear Carter playing his game—and his frustrations with the ping—as I move gently back and forth.
My attention shifts across the lawn and lands on the lit window at Jay’s house. A shadow crosses the pane—a shadow big enough to be him.
Jay.
Goose bumps dot my skin at the memory of his calloused hands against my body. The decadence of his smirk drifts through my mind like a warm, lazy river. The way his gaze penetrated me makes me shiver. Too bad that was all that got penetrated.
“Hey.” Cricket steps onto the porch, tugging her cardigan closer to her body. “Sorry if I startled you. Dylan let me in.”
“He wasn’t sneaking out, was he?”
She laughs, sitting next to me. “No. He wasn’t sneaking out. He had a box of crackers in his hand.”
“He’s very irritated that we don’t have snacks yet.”
“I can’t blame him. I’d be irritable, too, if I couldn’t snack.”
I bump her shoulder with mine.
She laughs. “Kyle said they had a good time at the rec center. He said Carter was the life of the party and that Dylan got off to a slow start but wound up making a few friends. That’s good news.”
“Kyle is my new favorite person in the world.”
“He’s a good boy. Now, what are you doing out here all by yourself? It’s so chilly,” she says, burrowing into her cardigan again. “Aren’t you cold?”