Amber lifts her eyebrows and sighs because she doesn’t need a rationale behind my anti-marriage stance. I’m too damaged for that, and it’s no surprise why. What is surprising, however, is how susceptible my heart still is to being trampled on.
An hour later, when my heart rate returns to baseline and I’ve reminded myself one million times that I don’t need anyone’s attention or sappy-sweet feelings clouding my judgement, I make the call.
Jonah picks up right away. “Hi,” he answers. His voice is bright, as always. “Are you ready to come over?”
“I’m not feeling well,” I reply, the half-truth easily falling out. “Would you mind if we discussed the party plans over the phone?”
“Are you okay? Do you need anything? I can—”
“I’m fine. I would just rather stay home tonight.”
“Oh,” he breathes, and I can practically feel his dejection.
Whatever. I will not feel bad about this. I will not feel bad about removing myself from someone who can harm me.
“No problem,” he says. “I have my pen and paper, ready for whatever ideas you have. What is going to make Delta happy, and does it include an inflatable obstacle course? Because I heard you can rent them.”
My icy heart thaws the tiniest amount, and I shut my eyes. “She would love that.”
Chapter 22
Delta's Birthday
Renée
The weather on the day of Delta’s tenth birthday party couldn’t have been better. Not a cloud in the sky and just warm enough for shorts—not that I’m wearing any. Delta insisted the four of us wear our matching sequined jumpsuits that were originally purchased for a roller rink party. Amber insisted on it, too.
Leaves have barely started turning into their autumn palette, and without fail, just as I have done every year since she arrived, I think of her birth. I remember all the trees were green before she was born, then all at once they turned. At least, that’s what it felt like. It’s entirely possible I was so focused on the tiny human that I was madly in love with that I didn’t notice the world around me changing.
I prayed having children with Greg would be my answer to a better life with him. He wanted children so badly, and I hoped giving him children would change him, change our marriage. I thought... maybe I could feel safe again. Through no fault of their own, our kids were not the answer to a better marriage, but having them forced me to find my way—our way—to safety. A better life for all of us.
I finish refilling a bowl of chips inside Jonah’s kitchen only to look up and find Thelma clomping her hooves through the door yet again. Some of Delta’s friends have a habit of leaving the doors open when they’re running in and out of the house, which has led to the occasional goat or duck finding their way inside. The Pyrenees are doing their bestto keep every animal and child wrangled, but it’s a hard job. On top of that, Jonah acquired an old alpaca named Timothy last week, so the dogs’ protection services have grown.
I place the bowl of chips on the dining room table and chat with some parents inside. I have to explain several times, this is not my home, but that of our friend Jonah. It’s easier that way.
Curious eyes and wandering feet meander through the main floor, and I don’t blame them. I myself wandered about when I realized his moving boxes were gone, replaced by upscale decor. Every room has beautiful new furniture, all of it looking like it’s been there forever. Rich leather cushions the color of mahogany. Reds, creams, and dark green sprawling area rugs warm the rooms, and soft throws lie haphazardly across furniture. A solid wood coffee table, end tables, and desk—all stained the perfect shade to complement the home’s stonework.
Very rough-hewn Pennsylvania-winery-core.
I guess he’s really doing it—planting his life right here, next door to me.
As I listen to a few parents talk about their children’s budding sports careers, my eyes catch on a framed picture sitting on a bookshelf. They’re engrossed in their conversation, so I don’t feel bad stepping away to get a closer look.
I would know this artist anywhere. When Lo made this and gave it to him, I don’t know. It’s a drawing of Jonah and all his animals—each one labeled with a name above its head.
Then I notice all the little painted rocks sitting next to the picture. Smooth stones no bigger than a Post-it, all painted like ladybugs and frogs.The work of my girls.I know this because my girls have scattered dozens of them in my backyard and home over the years.
He may not be right for me (no one is),but I can’t deny he’s right for my children.
The crackling laughter of fourth graders leaping through a sixty-foot-long inflatable obstacle course greets me when I walk outside. Limbs peek over the side as kids tumble over each obstruction, racing each other to the end. Rugger sits next to King, the pair of them watching between the obstacle course and the pony rides.
Parents and kids stand along the fence watching kids take turns riding the sweet old mare. Jonah leads them around, encouraging the riders to take in the beauty.
“See?” he says, smiling up at Delta’s friend Clementine. “You’re a natural! And you know what? If you scratch right there next to her mane—yeah, right there!—she loves that.”
Clementine giggles when Ginger huffs appreciatively and bobs her head. “Mom, look!” she hollers.
Her mother, Zoey, calls back. “I can see!” She smiles, and I don’t miss the way she’s watchinghimmore than her daughter. My skin prickles when her gaze dips to his ass as he walks away from her. When she bites her bottom lip, I have to walk away and cool down before I embarrass myself.
