The next morning, I’m awake early despite being exhausted. I couldn’t sleep with Lewis in the house. It was as if every cell in my body was acutely aware he’s here. That he’s just feet away. That this is really happening.
And then there’s the text and the blocking of his number. The second I left Lewis on the couch, I uncovered my mattress and made space for it on my bedroom floor. Then I texted Greta to ask for an explanation and unblocked Lewis’s number to be safe. I won’t be angry with her, no matter her reason. I know she was doing it to help, and that she genuinely thought she was protecting me or keeping us safe somehow, but it’s not okay. She can’t manipulate this process and our emotions this way.
Greta isn’t married and therefore hasn’t been divorced. For so long, we’ve just been Lewis and Corinne, and she doesn’t understand how complicated this is now. We’re still just us inher eyes, still her friends. Her family. Even if she has taken my side, she doesn’t hate Lewis, and I’d never ask her to.
After herself, I know she trusts him the most with me, and I have to admit that I do, too.
As the morning sun floods the kitchen, I stare into the fridge. I’ve always loved to cook. I love knowing that there’s a clear place to start and end with each recipe. That it becomes a simple thing to check off a to-do list. I love that it allows me to be creative and experiment without the risk being too great. There are few recipes I haven’t been able to save. But lately, I’m cooking more than usual and enjoying it less than I ever have.
These days, each meal feels like a test. Like a burned panini or soupy stroganoff would be enough reason for Taylor to decide to leave me for good. After all, the person she looks up to most in the world already has.
I weigh the breakfast options, ignoring the obvious one. Lewis’s favorite breakfast is an omelet with hash browns, but I can’t bring myself to make them. Doing so could cause him to think I want him here, and I don’t. It’s too hard to have him in this house, and as much as I might be glad to see him, it will only make it harder when he inevitably has to leave.
Because he does.
Because we are divorced.
Because he left me.
We left each other.
We changed our minds about all the plans we made, and we walked away. We aren’t meant to know each other anymore.
Him being here right now, him running to us, driving so far to see us, doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t mean anything.
Fifteen minutes later, the scent of freshly baked blueberry muffins fills the house. It’s no one’s favorite, but it’s a safe option that everyone will enjoy. For now, that has to be enough.
The smell must rouse Lewis from sleep, because a few minutes later when I turn around from the sink where I’ve been mixing up the sweet tea, he’s sitting up on the couch. His brown hair is messy, blue eyes red and glassy, face swollen.
He’s so beautiful—so familiar and safe—I have to look away.
I clear my throat. “Sorry if I woke you.”
His voice is gravelly from sleep. “Guess we’re even, assuming I woke you last night.”
I smile a bit to myself, but he can’t see it as I slip the pitcher of tea into the fridge. “I’m making breakfast. I wasn’t sure if you were planning to stay. Not that you have to. Really, I’m sorry you drove all this way. You must’ve been… I’m just, I’m going to talk to Greta about this. She meant well, but it wasn’t okay, and I’m sorry.”
“Are you sure it was?—”
“Dad?” Taylor’s voice carries down the hall. She’s heard us. My heart sinks.
What am I going to tell her? How am I going to explain this?
Moments later, her door swings open and she runs down the hall. Her blonde hair is tied back in a messy French braid as she appears, looking from me to him. Her smile widens—a stab in my chest—and she rushes around the couch, launching into his arms and nearly knocking him over.
He pulls up from the couch, trying to keep from being strangled by her love.
“Hey, Bug.” He kisses her cheek and ruffles her hair as she releases him, and I’m hit with a pang of nostalgia, of missing what was and hating what is. How did we get here?
“What’s going on? What are you doing here?” Her eyes are wide as she stares at him, like she can hardly believe it.
Briefly, I’ve considered that Taylor might’ve been the one to text Lewis, but it was Greta who had my phone when she was shining the flashlight as I changed the lock, and Greta whomentioned calling Lewis to come. Taylor wouldn’t have done this. Not when she’s technically free to leave whenever she wants. All signs point to a meddling best friend, and unless she tells me otherwise, she’s my culprit. She has to be.
“He’s not staying,” I warn her.
“What? Why?” she asks, but she’s only looking at him.
“I…” Lewis’s eyes linger on her for a moment before he looks at me. We are supposed to be a united front here. This is a decision we made together, but somehow, I feel as if I’m standing on a shore somewhere, watching the two of them sail away, neither one sad to see me go. Throughout this divorce, I continue to feel like I’m losing things. People. Myself.
