“Mommy’s not fair!” Liam wraps his arms around my mother’s leg and buries his face in her thigh.
My mother bends down and gently rubs his back. “If you stop crying, Liam, I’m sure we can find a compromise. Do you know what a compromise is?”
Liam looks up at her, and by some miracle, he stops crying. “No.”
My mother’s clearly pleased that she’s been able to talk him out of a tantrum. “It’s when you and your mommy don’t agree, but you try to find a solution that will make you both happy.”
There’s a beat of silence while Liam thinks about that. “I want to watch TV, but Mommy said no.”
The change in my mother’s expression is comical. She’s convinced that screens are responsible for the decline of kids’ fitness, eyesight, attention spans, mental health, and probably a few other things I can’t remember.
“Liam, there are so many things we could do that are more fun than watching television,” she lectures. “We could play in the backyard, or go to the park?—”
“That’s STUPID!” Liam yells.
“Liam, that’s not a nice thing to say to Grandma,” I tell him. “Come on. We’re going to the park.”
“I want a cookie!” Liam says.
“You can have one on the way to the park. Put on your jacket and shoes.”
Once he’s ready to go, I give him one of the peanut butter cookies we made last night (I couldn’t convince Luke to take the whole two dozen) and offer one to my mother. As expected, she declines, and it takes all my willpower to put the lid back on the tin without taking one for myself.
We set off down the sidewalk, with Liam skipping ahead. I often wonder where that kid gets his energy.
“How was teaching this morning?” my mother asks.
I was bullied by the twelfth-grade mean girl. I can’t believe anyone thought I was qualified to do this. I want to quit.
“It was great!” My voice is way too perky, and my mother looks skeptical.
“Did you have Pilates this morning?” I ask, in an effort to change the subject.
My mother brightens immediately. “Yeah. There’s a new instructor who just moved from Australia, and she runs a really challenging class. Fitbit says I burned six hundred and twenty calories.”
“Wow.”
“You should come to a class with me on the weekend, while the kids are in Toronto.”
“Oh. Thanks, but I’ve got a ton of stuff to do around the house this weekend, and Pilates isn’t really my thing.”
My mother frowns. “You should really make time forexercise, Melissa. You’ll feel better, and when you want to start dating again?—”
“I’m not planning to date again, Mom. And I’ll get back to exercise, but not now, and not Pilates.”
I could tell her I’m going to a running group with Sophie on the weekend, but I don’t. Probably for the same reason I don’t want to tell her that I’ve started a low carb diet—it feels like admitting she’s right. I want to get in shape because I decided to, not because my mother pushed me to do it. And definitely not because I’m trying to attract a man.
The rest of the week flies by, and before I know it, I’m loading the kids in the car to take them to Toronto for the weekend. Troy and I agreed I’d drive them to Toronto on Fridays and he’d bring them back Sundays. Troy gets the better end of the deal, since Toronto traffic is hellish on Friday afternoons, but since I was the one who wanted to move, I can’t really complain.
When we get to the house, there’s a Volkswagen Jetta parked in the driveway behind Troy’s BMW, and I realize Olivia’s probably there. This shouldn’t surprise me—after all, I knew she and Troy were still together—but somehow I didn’t expect her to be there for the kids’ first weekend with Troy.
Since there’s no room in the driveway, I find a parking spot on the street. I paste a smile on my face as I walk to the door with Claire and Liam.
Troy answers the door immediately, still dressed for work in a sharply tailored suit and tie. He’s always looked good in a suit, and it used to be a huge turn-on for me. It drove me crazy while we were divorcing; even when Ihated his guts, the sight of him in a suit would occasionally spark a flutter of desire in my belly.
To my relief, the suit does nothing for me today. I’ve realized I prefer surgical scrubs.
As Troy hugs the children, Olivia emerges from the kitchen, wearing a frilly red apron over a fitted T-shirt and tight jeans. Her hair’s up in a sloppy bun, and she’s wearing glittery eye shadow that makes her look incredibly young.
