I look up, detecting the emotion behind her words as moisture wells in her eyes.
“Aww, sis…” I wrap my arms around her and pull her in for one of those heartfelt sister hugs, the squishes you feel clear to your soul.
“It’s just bothering me because they’re planning this weekend getaway where everyone’s supposed to bring their kids.”
I pull back a bit. “Who’s they?” I ask.
“The forty-something singles board, which I’m part of, mind you, so it’s not like I think it’s a bad idea. And it’s notonlyfor parents either. If you don’t have kids, you’re encouraged to come because it’s likely your partnerwillhave kids, and you can, you know, see if they’re terrible brats you want to avoid.” She chuckles and sniffs.
I can’t even imagine showing up to an hour-long event, let alone an entire weekend. The mere idea of having my kids there, too, nearly triggers a panic attack. I’d be constantly worried about what wild, snarky comment Lucy might spit out next. Or Martin, who hasn’t exactly channeled his quiet voice when it comes to observations in public.
“Sick neck tat on that guy,”Martin said about our waiter at a restaurant last night. Sick, meaning good, by the way. It wasin earshot of the guy, but since it was a compliment, I kept my comments to myself and prayed inwardly that Martin would never get a cobra tattooed on his neck. Then Martin finished his thought,“Too bad it’s going to look ridiculous when he grows more chins.”
Thanks to Martin, I had to double tip. Not in nod to the impending chins, mind you, but so he could afford tattoo removal if the notion suddenly struck.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” I say, “that sounds like my literal definition of hell.”
Annica grins ruefully. “Says the woman cooped up in a condo with Nini the Grouch.”
I laugh. “Hey,” I say, remembering something I overheard. “Do you think Mom’s serious about getting a tattoo?”
Annica shrugs. “She could be. I hope she does it. We’ll finally have one of those cool moms.”
We share a laugh, and I give my sister one more hug, along with a word of encouragement. “You’ll meet your man. It’s all about timing. And it sounds like you should go to that family thing and weed out the guys with bad seeds.”
“Ha, maybe I will. And if I were you,” she says, backing up to fix her eyes on mine, “I’d give Ross my notice, tell him I’m buying whatever place I’d like, and tell him I’m selling the car too. If he likes the Camry so much,hecan have it.”
With that, she climbs into her BMW, makes that engine purr like a kitten, and peels off. The tires give out an appreciative squeal. I watch her coast down the street, but I’m not really seeing her. Instead, I’m stuck with the image of my stronger self, doing all the things Annica suggested.
A dart of longing sinks deep into my chest, where it pulses, swells, and prods.Do it, Ashley. Just do it.
“Yeah, right,” I say wryly as I snap back into reality. Even my stronger self knows that’s not going to happen.
CHAPTER FIVE
Liam
I stare blindly across the crowded café, willing Callie to walk through the doors, somehow knowing she won’t.
“I wouldn’t sweat it, Dad,” my son Cam says, sensing where my thoughts are. “Callie’s been a real pain in the butt for Mom lately, too, so it’s not just you.”
I nod, drop my gaze to the table, and fiddle with the napkin-wrapped silverware in front of me. “Yeah, but she lives with Mom, so…” I die off, not sure what else to add. It’s bad enough that Callie stopped coming to stay with me on weekends when she turned nineteen a few months ago. Now, she’s not even showing up for Wednesday dinners at the diner.
Of course, my divorced friends say I’m lucky she ever came at all, seeing that she was seventeen when her mom and I divorced.
“I told her she could bring Link,” I say.
“Seriously?” Cam asks. “Man, you reallydowant to see her, don’t you?”
I shake my head. “You’ll understand one day. When you have kids, you just…you want to spend time with them. You can’t imagine your life without them.”
I set my eyes on the loose, rowdy curls on his head. Since Cam grew his hair out, I’m reminded of his toddler years every time I look at him.“C’mon, Dad, c’mon,”he’d say, leading me to his latest discovery—the big grasshopper he saw in the yard, the cool sticker he put on Pug-Pug’s head while the smelly dog slept, or the way he could glide from one end of the slip and slide to the other beneath the sprinkler’s spray.
Cam wanted to stay with me after the divorce, and Gabrielle didn’t argue. I hated that it split up the kids, of course, but I could never have argued. I did, however, tell him he could stay at his mom’s as often as he wanted. Eventually, he started doing the half-and-half thing—one week at my place, the other at his mom’s. He said it was to spend more time with Callie since Mom was rarely home, but I hadn’t taken it personally. I had, however, missed him terribly when he was gone. I still do.
The waitress comes and asks if we’d like our regular. We both say yes, and the waitress snatches the neglected menus off the table. “Be right back with your drinks.” The monotone reply has me wondering if our routine is getting stale.
I lean back in the booth seat and stretch my arms to either side. “You still like this place?” I ask.
