“Thisispie,” Pearl tells him, putting on a large oven mitt.
I open the toaster oven. She slides the tray in. The oven is cool, but the mitt is fun, and it’s a good habit for her to learn. I turn the knob to five minutes.
“I thought pie was round.”
“It is round. See?” Pearl brings him the plate with our previous efforts. Some of the bite-sized disks are a little crispy around the edges. We’ve fine-tuned our process with each batch.
“Oh, yes. So they are.” Adrian pops one in his mouth.
Pearl looks at him expectantly.
“Delicious,” he says.
She grins with pure delight.
A few weeks ago, my insides would be as melty as a warm chocolate chip cookie at this point. I’d store the memory, and later, when Adrian and I were in bed, him on his laptop, me scrolling my phone, I’d summon it up.
I’d catch his eye somehow, and he’d read my face. Thecorners of his mouth would curve in a bemused smile, and his dark eyes would glitter. He’d put his work aside, roll over on top of me, and kiss me while I’d sink into the mattress under his weight, feeling safe and delicate and wanted.
I remember it all perfectly, but I can’tfeelit anymore. There’s nothing in my chest but cold air, nothing in my veins but ice.
He ruined everything, and now he’s smiling at our daughter and helping himself to our pies like he has every right, and my eyes burn, but I can’t cry in front of her. Or him. The pressure growing in my head threatens to explode.
“Pearl, it’s quiet time.” I don’t mean to sound so sharp, and I immediately smile to erase the sting, but Pearl still blinks at me, thrown. Quiet time isn’t for another hour, and she can’t read a clock yet, but she knows her schedule.
“But, Mommy, Daddy’s home.”
“And I’m sure he’ll be here when you get up.” I’m actually not sure. I don’t know what he’s doing here in the middle of the day in the first place, but my nose is burning, too, and I don’t want to lose it now when I’ve held it together around her so far.
“But Mommy—”
“No arguments,” Adrian interrupts in the firm but calm way that usually has us all falling in line, Winnie included. “I’ll tuck you in while Mommy straightens up.”
“And you’ll be here when quiet time is over?”
“Absolutely. I’m home for the day.”
Shit. For a second, I thought I could give him the slip while he’s taking Pearl upstairs and keep a low profile until he heads back out. What is he planning on doing around the house on a weekday afternoon? Probably work in his office.
As soon as he leaves with Pearl, I get started straightening the kitchen, and I would have been out of there beforehe got back, but the container of flour slipped through my fingers and went everywhere. The broom wasn’t cutting it, and it took me forever to find a vacuum, so when Adrian reappeared in the kitchen, it looked like I hadn’t done anything.
While he was upstairs, he took the opportunity to change. He came home in his usual suit and tie, but now he’s wearing a pair of low-riding sweatpants and a dark gray T-shirt that hugs his pecs and biceps. He must be planning to work out. He only dresses this casually when he’s going to spend time on the rowing machine.
Leaning a hip against the island, he watches me sweep little bits of dough from the counter into my palm. He’s still the handsomest man I’ve ever seen in real life, despite the dark smudges he’s sporting under his eyes, and the worst part of this is that he knows I love him in his workout clothes. He’s posing there all nonchalant because he knows I’ll look.
Before, I’d play along and bend over at the waist to pick up a dishrag from the floor or blot spilled sugar with my finger and lick it clean. I’d lure him to me, and he’d come, smirking, with his dark eyes smoldering, and I’d feel like a fairy princess in a dream come true.
What did Delaney do to get him to come to her? How naked did she get before he deigned to sit his ass on the sofa so she could ride him?
His handsome isn’t charming anymore. It’s mocking. It’s a waste.
He keeps leaning there, though, watching me. If he’s waiting for me to speak, he’s going to be waiting a long time.
Eventually, he reaches into his pocket and drops something onto the island. My eyes instinctually dart to the counter. Another key fob.
“I’d be obliged if you didn’t give this one away,” he says.
“I don’t want it,” I say immediately.
