“Then, some things should wait until a child’s eyes aren’t within seeing range.”
Forget it. This won’t end up anywhere good, and I’m just going to drop the conversation and hope she does the same.
I pull out of the parking spot in front of the school where we just hosted another infamous bake sale. I’m thankful this is the last year for her in this school because I’m about done running the show with the PTA.
The words, “Joining the PTA, and becoming an active member will have a distinct impact on your overall parental appearance during the trial. You’re already in decent shape, and this will make winning a breeze.” This is how my shark of an attorney spoke about winning full custody of Hannah. She was a prize at the end of a tiring game in his eyes, but her well-being was what matters in the end. I took his advice and not only joined the PTA but became the damn president, as well as the only dad on the board. It bodes well for me and has done so for the past couple of years since I won the custody battle.
As I reach the intersection where the main road and school parking lot meet, I watch Journey Milan, formerly known as Journey Quinn, peel out of the lot with my niece, Parker in tow. The questions have risen. Where is Brett? Why did he send Parker to a school event with Journey Quinn of all people, and why wouldn’t he tell me or ask me to take Parker, knowing I’d already be there? I could call my little brother and rip into him, or I can follow Miss Journey to wherever the hell she’s taking Parker. “I’m helping Brett out,” she said.
No. Something is off.
“Where are we going now?” Hannah groans. I took a left when I should have taken a right.
“I want to make sure Parker gets home all right,” I respond, while trying to hold my focus on Journey’s taillights. I don’t want to get too close or she might see I’m following her. Can’t have that.
“You are following the woman you just kissed in the school parking lot where you oddly assumed children’s eyes shouldn’t be, and it’s so you can make sure Parker gets home all right?”
“Hannah. Do you know that woman, Journey?” I ask, huffing with frustration.
“She looks similar to Mr. Quinn’s other daughter, Melody. Plus, she’s with Parker and Melody and Brett are pretty much dating now, so … this is too complicated to figure out.”
“How do you know any of this? No one said anything to you about the two of them dating. Where are you getting your information?”
“You’re getting too close to her Jeep. She will recognize the truck,” Hannah continues.
If I don’t suffer from blood pressure issues before I turn forty, it will be a literal miracle. I step on the brake, acknowledging my tween might be correct this time. “I asked you a question.”
“The answer is grandma, and even if she didn’t outright tell me they are dating, it’s a little obvious by the way they stare into each other’s eyes like they’re hypnotized or something.”
I guess I haven’t noticed the gazing looks, which is better for everyone involved. Brett has been slowly beginning the wooing process of his old high school crush, but I wasn’t aware it had surpassed the flirtatious looks stage. Usually, that lasts about three months with Brett. Then, when he feels he has dealt enough longing stares, he might ask for her number.
“Interesting,” I reply.
“Not really. Grandma said they liked each other in high school. So, technically, it’s old news.”
Why am I still asking questions or hearing my ex-wife come out of my flesh and blood’s mouth?
“Did you finish your math homework before we left for the bake sale?” It’s a brilliant way to change the subject and probably start the second battle round of this twenty-minute drive.
“How could I? You said we had to leave when I was halfway through. You know, so you could be at the bake sale a half hour early to set up with all the moms.” I hear another eye-roll. Hannah hates that I’m on the PTA. I guess I could have called it quits last year after everything with the divorce settled, but I didn’t want it to look like it was just a court-con, and I wasn’t hating the evening events with the dozen women who have a desire for attention when their husbands aren’t looking. I never crossed a line, but a little flirting hurt no one. Plus, I get what I want with the PTA. It’s a win-win situation.
“Great, well I asked you to bring it to the school so you could finish it while I was setting up the event. So, there’s that, but you can either do it when we get home or wake up an hour early tomorrow morning. Either way, you’ll be tired tomorrow, so it’s your burden to bear now.”
A quiet hiss tells me she’s done speaking for the rest of the ride, and it’s probably for the best. I lost track of Journey’s Jeep two street lights ago, but I’m fairly positive she was heading to The Barrel House, where Brett has been spending late nights helping the Quinn family pick up the pieces after Harold passed away. I haven’t been as much help, I suppose, but as it is, I’m hardly able to manage my daily schedule with Hannah. I sent Mrs. Quinn a card and flowers, but they probably all think I’m a dick for missing the funeral, but custody rules demanded I drive Hannah three hours south to meet Kristy for her forty-eight-hour bi-weekly visitation rights.
I enter The Barrel House from the truck entrance, hoping to avoid a run-in with Journey. Maybe I can just spy from across the lot that Parker arrived in one piece. With a flick of my headlights to hide my existence, I watch the exchange of Journey lifting Parker out of her back seat and handing her to Brett. They’re goodbye is quick and Journey leaves the parking lot as fast as she likely pulled in.
I flash my headlights back on and pull around to the few empty parking spots. “Come inside with me for a minute,” I tell Hannah.
I hear her head hit the back of the seat. “Seriously, are you trying to torture me tonight? You just said I have to finish my math homework and we’re just making random stops now before we can go home.”
“I told you to bring your work to the school. You ignored me and I don’t owe you an explanation for our stop. Get out of the truck and come inside with me for a minute. Please.”
I’m not sure what I did to make Hannah hate me over the last two years; if it’s because of the divorce I didn’t cause, or that she has teenage hormones raging through her body, but she’s making things tough as of late.
She stomps behind me, her hideous two-million-dollar Ugg boots clunking every inch of the way. The back door is unlocked, and I usher Hannah through, finding Brett holding Parker, who is slouched over his shoulder half asleep, and Melody, Journey’s angelic sister.
“Dude,” I bellow, announcing my entrance as if they didn’t see me bolt through the door. “Why didn’t you have me bring Parker tonight. You knew I would be at the school anyway.” As the words are spewing from my mouth, I realize I’m more than likely offending Melody whose sister was nice enough to volunteer her time tonight. Something must have been in it for Journey. I don’t know anyone who would volunteer for a night at a PTA event without a child involved.
