The heat of that moment with Will still lingered like a flame I couldn’t quite put out, but as the adrenaline of the encounter started to fade, I was left with something colder, thoughts of Jason.
Jason came home tired and hungover from his trip. He was not usually one to drink, but I noticed he’d been drinking more lately. Did he drink with Shannon?
I felt a wash of self-righteous outrage, but then I started thinking that what I was doing was just as wrong, if not worse.
How did we even get here? And where could we go from here?
Jason spent most of Saturday sleeping off the hangover. I made cookies with the kids, letting Bebe dump way too many sprinkles onto the frosting.
“Mom, she’s ruining them!” James cried, his voice thick with mock horror.
“Stop being so dramatic,” I said, laughing. “Sprinkles never hurt anyone.”
Later, I let Bebe give me a makeover. Her small hands tugged at my hair while she caked on glittery eyeshadow. She insisted I looked “fabulous” as she swept a sticky, bright pink gloss across my lips.
“You’re the most beautiful mom in the whole world,” she declared, her little face beaming with pride. The simplicity of her love was a balm to my frayed nerves. It was a reminder of what I was trying to protect.
We finished the night with a movie, curling up on the couch, the kids and I together, while Jason passed out at the other end. Every so often, I’d glance at him. Even in casual clothes he looked striking. I mean he had a sense of fashion even then, in a fitted Henley that clung to his toned chest, and dark joggers that highlighted his lean frame. His olive skin had a natural glow from his last golf trip, and his jawline was as sharp as ever. Jason was the kind of man who aged like fine wine, and yet, recently, the wine had turned sour.
The whole situation with Will shook me up, especially the way it reminded me of my own parents’ divorce. My father remarried a woman named Veronica, and I couldn’t stand my stepmother when I was a teenager. The fights, the passive-aggressive remarks… I didn’t want to put Will’s kids in that position, not to mention my own kids. And there was always a chance it could end up that way.
And Shannon… Could I bear the thought of Shannon as their stepmother? My sister sent me more of the woman’s highly coiffed Instagram photos. The very idea of her in my place was enough to make me want to scream. Maybe that was what jolted some clarity into me. Shannon couldn’t raise my kids. Shannon wouldn’t raise my kids.
I texted Camille that evening, asking if I could come over once the kids were asleep. Jason was still sleeping, but I left him a message that I was heading to Camille’s.
Once there, I didn’t bother easing into the conversation. I came right out and told her how Jason was hungover and annoying me, and how even more I was annoyed with myself. I told her I’d let things get too close with Will Parker. She tilted her head, her face taking on a sardonic smile, a look she always had when she was trying to make light of something heavy.
“Maybe don’t fight it. If Jason is distancing himself and hanging out with that twenty-something coworker, you better have someone in your back pocket.”
I laughed, but it was bitter. “His daughter came home yesterday just as we were about to kiss. It was like a sign that she walked in, a reminder that no one likes the stepmother. It even took Julia Roberts forever to get respect inStepmom.”
Camille poured us some wine, nodding at me to keep going.
“I just don’t see myself taking care of someone else’s kids,” I admitted. “Especially not four kids. I love my own, but the idea of adding four more to the mix feels… I don’t know. Impossible.”
Camille raised her eyebrows. “Mon Dieu! Four? Oh, no, you’re not a saint,” she laughed. Then Camille’s tone shifted, growing more serious. “Kids are usually with their moms. You’d only have to deal with them a little. Every other weekend is the standard.”
I knew Will spent more time with his kids than that. He told me how much he valued his time with them, how he fought to have them half the time.
But I wanted to stop talking about him now. We drifted over to lighter topics, the latest on TV show reality dramas and other favorites. The ordinariness of our conversation felt like a relief, a temporary escape from my own chaos.
By the time I glanced at the clock, it was eleven-thirty and I needed to get home.
As I pulled into the driveway, I felt that familiar ache settle into my chest. My house didn’t feel like coming home. It just felt like I was arriving somewhere else. I didn’t want to go inside yet.
I sat there for a moment, staring at my phone, where Will’s text still sat, unread.
Finally, I went inside. The house was dark, except for the faint glow of the kitchen light. I kicked off my shoes and stood in the silence for a moment, debating what to do. My phone felt heavy in my pocket, like it was daring me to text Will. I wanted to, but honestly he wasn’t the only thing on my mind. I also wondered if Jason still wanted me.
I decided not to text Will. Not tonight. Instead, I tiptoed into the living room, where Jason was stretched out on the couch. His head was tilted back, and his breathing was steady. He looked peaceful. His features were softened by the dim light.
“Jason,” I whispered, leaning in to kiss him softly.
His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, I thought he’d push me away, but then he kissed me back—hard. The kind of kiss we hadn’t shared in years. He pulled me onto the couch, his hands sliding under my shirt. I hesitated for a split second, wondering if this was really the right move, but then he tugged me closer, and my body took over. His strong hands slid my shirt off, then my pants, and the intensity of it all caught me off guard. His body, solid and lean, pressed against mine.
Suddenly, all the confusion in my head disappeared. It felt like we’d awakened a part of ourselves that had been asleep for too long. We both needed it.
Afterward, we headed upstairs to bed, and for the first time in a long time, we slept close to one another. My head rested on his chest, his arm draped around me, and I let myself enjoy the warmth of it.
