“A good smarty-pants, or a bad smarty-pants?”
“Both!” I say, making a dive for her. I swoop her up in a giggling hug.
—
I NEVER TAKEclients to my storage space. It’s air-conditioned—that’s a necessity with the New Orleans heat and humidity so that upholstered items don’t get moldy and delicate woods don’t get warped—but I always bring items to the store, because I understand the importance of setting. Today, however, I’m breaking my own rules. I’m pressed for time, the client is young and chill, and the upholstered spoon-back chairs I want to show her are at the very front of the storage unit.
I’ve just raised the garage-like door and pointed out the chairs when my phone buzzes. My heart skips when I see Zack’s number. It’s out of character for him to call instead of text. “Excuse me a moment,” I murmur, and step into the hall to take the call.
“Do you have a moment to talk?” he asks.
“I’m with a client now,” I say. “But do you want to come by and see Lily this evening?”
“Sure. What time?”
“If you can make it around six thirty, you can join us for shrimpétouffée.” I’d doubled the recipe and frozen half the last time I made it, and I’d pulled it out of the freezer this morning to thaw in the fridge.
“Sounds great.”
“See you then,” I say, thinking the call is at an end.
“There’s, uh, something I need to tell you,” Zack says. “Probably without Lily around.”
“All right. Do you want me to call you back, or do you want to just talk after Lily goes to bed?”
“I’ll tell you quickly now, and we can talk more later.”
“Okay.”
“Jessica—well, she’s filed for divorce.”
“Oh!” The word comes out fast and startled.
“That was my reaction, too.” His tone is sardonic. “Anyway, I’m staying here. In New Orleans, I mean. I’m not moving to Seattle.”
I’m shocked. I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything.
“We need to talk about how much you do or don’t want to have me in your life,” he continues. “In Lily’s life, I mean—and the baby’s.” He pauses. “And in yours, too.”
“Yes.” My voice comes out oddly breathless.
“Come to think of it... maybe it’s better if I don’t come to dinner. Until this week, I’ve been seeing Lily a lot because I was trying to forge a relationship before I relocated, but now that I’m staying here...” He draws a breath. “Well, I don’t want her to think I’ll be around all the time if that’s not how it’s going to be.”
“No, come to dinner. She’s been wanting to see you.”And I have, too.
I hang up, feeling dazed.Divorced.Zack is going to be single! My heart starts to dance against my ribs.
Stop it, I tell myself.Get a grip.Just because his marriage is unraveling doesn’t mean he and I will end up together. Didn’t Brooke always warn me that fairy-tale endings only happen in children’s books and Disney movies? When something seems too good to be true, it usually is.
Still, my mind is fizzing with the possibility that he and I could...
Stop it!Look at the facts, I advise myself.He’ll need time to get over a broken marriage, and you don’t want to be a rebound romance.
Besides, he’s the father of Lily and my baby. If we get involved and it doesn’t work out, it will affect them for a long, long time. Far better not to start anything than to risk having them go through anything like I experienced as a child.
Manage your expectations and you’ll manage your disappointments. I’d read the advice in theReparenting Your Inner Childbook before I even knew I was pregnant, then again in a parenting guide this morning. The topic had been potty training, but it seems applicable all the same.
And just last night I’d read something else that fits this situation:Everything requires money, time, or energy. Evaluate the costs before you set your heart on anything.
