“You did what you’ve always done, Ivy. I won’t have you making Andi all self-conscious about herself. She’s fine. She’s perfect.”
Ivy snorts. “I’d say she’s about ten pounds overweight.”
“Get. The. Fuck. Out.” I point to the door. “My lawyer will handle things from here on out. Don’t ‘stop by,’” I say with air quotes. “I’ll get a fucking restraining order if I have to.”
“All because Andi said—”
“Enough!” I shout loud enough for Isabelle––way over at the Harmon place––to hear. “Get. Out.”
When she finally leaves, I slam the door shut and lock it. I wouldn’t put it past that woman to walk right back in. But I don’t want her here when I talk to my kid.Mykid. Stomping back to the bedrooms, I walk right up to Andi’s door and stop. She’s lying across her bed on her stomach. Her face is on her pillow, and her back is shaking. “Andi?” She’s crying, and I did that.
She doesn’t answer; she just keeps on crying. “Andi?”
I move into her room and sit on the edge of her bed. “Honey.” I run my palm up and down her back. “Roll over. Let me see you. I have something I need to say.”
She slowly rolls over, and what I see breaks my damn heart. Her face is red and already puffy. Tears are rolling down her cheeks and more are following. “Andi, honey, please stop crying.”
“I-I’m sorry, D-Daddy.”
Does she even know what she’s sorry for? I doubt it. I rarely get angry around her, so I’m sure this startled her.
“Do you know why I got angry?”
She nods.
“What? What made me angry?”
Wiping her nose with her sleeve, I wince thinking about laundry. “I called Izzy fat.”
She’s right. That’s what triggered my reaction. “That’s part of it. Why would I be upset about that?” Let’s see if she understands.
“Be-because you love Izzy and you don’t want people to say mean things about her, and I was m-mean.” She starts crying all over again. “I l-love her too. Birth Mother confused me.”
I want to laugh at the last bit, but this is serious shit right now. Wrapping Andi up in my arms, I lift her until she’s in my lap. “It’s not nice to judge someone because they don’t look the same as we do. Isabelle looks like Isabelle. She’s beautiful. And she’s kind and sweet and funny. And she loves you too.”
“You love her, right?” She pauses. “Because she loves you, Daddy.”
I’m not so sure about that. But I look into my kid’s green eyes, and I can’t lie to them––to her. “I do love Isabelle.”
“Then why doesn’t she live here? I don’t want Birth Mother to live here.”
“Maybe call her Ivy instead of Birth Mother.”
Andi shakes her head.
Okay, I guess that’s it then. “Birth… I mean, Ivy isn’t going to live here.”
“I definitely don’t want to live withher.”
“That won’t happen either.”
“So, why doesn’t Isabelle live here?”
“We’re not married, honey. I can’t just ask her to move in with us.” Especially when she isn’t speaking to me. “Plus, she’s needed at her family’s farm right now.” Andi’s thinking. It’s fun to watch her figure things out, but this one is too complicated for her, so I do what I can to help her understand. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think we need to do our own thing. Then when”—or if—“Isabelle has time, she’ll stop over and spend some time with us. She’s got important work to do. She’s in charge of all of Harmon farm.” Which is huge. It really is. “In the meantime, we’ll be right here when she needs us.”
