“Fine.” She leads the way to the kitchen.
We work in silence, Paige hunched over her laptop, me throwing together a chicken Caesar salad.
Let’s try again.
“How was your game?”
“We won.” Her words land flat. Emotionless.
It’s hard to reconcile her coldness with the girl who once told me everything. Back when we still lived under one roof, my kids were my world. Recitals, tournaments, homework, heartaches—all of it. Now? I’m lucky if Paige strings three words together when talking to me.
At least Drew, my eldest, and I are still solid. He doesn’t know every detail of my failed marriage, nor does he want to. And frankly, neither of my kids deserve to know everything. Sure, it impacts them too and I was fully transparent without maligning their father. But all the gory details…
That’s between me and Pete.
Throughout everything, Drew didn’t pick sides. That’s all I could hope for. And once or twice, he’s even hinted at understanding why I left.
I miss him. It’s been over a month since we last saw him. It was his nineteenth birthday. The good thing is, he’ll be back afterexams so it isn’t much longer now till I see him again, and I can’t wait.
Time to try something else. “Honey, if you don’t want to talk about volleyball, you pick the topic.”
Her brown eyes—so like mine—stab right through me. “I don’t want to talk. I’ve got to get this done.”
“Paige, I’m trying here. Can’t you meet me halfway?”
Her little snort says everything.You didn’t meet me or Dad halfway in the marriage.As much as I wished I could give her what she wanted, I simply couldn’t.
I won’t compromise my happiness or sanity again. I can’t.
“Why are you dressed like that?” Her question throws me for a loop.
What is it with this outfit?
“I was working. I met with a hotel owner and landed her as a client.”
Eliza Preston loved my proposal for her hotel. The account is beyond my wildest dreams, a financial lifeline.
“It’s nice. You look pretty.” Her voice is low, near a whisper, as if she’s reluctant to offer the compliment and hopes I don’t hear her.
“Thanks.” My smile is instant, unstoppable. A crumb of connection. Better than the Preston account itself.
In my excitement, I slice the knife through my flesh. “Ouch.”
Blood gushes from my thumb.
“Mom.” Her tablet hits the table as she rushes to my side.
She cradles my finger with surprising tenderness and presses a dish towel on the cut. Paige takes over like a tiny field medic, her brow furrowed as she instructs me to apply pressure while she fetches a bandage. It’s barely a nick, but I bask in her care like sunlight.
When she returns, she drops into a ridiculous deep voice. “Moon of my life, are you hurt?”
A goofy grin covers her once worried expression, and her terrible Khal Drogo impression cracks me up. Her smile widens at my laughter and she joins in as our giggles echo off the kitchen walls.
When the laughter fades, I cup her cheek and kiss her nose. “Thank you.”
She kisses my thumb dramatically. “There you go.”
“I need a Drogo hit.” I beam, invoking our shared weakness. “Up for some?”
