“Remember,shh. It’s nap time for Holly,” she says, and my boys instantly quiet down.
“Oh, right. I mean,yeah!”Deacon’s whisper isn’t incredibly quiet, but it’s cute, and it melts my tired heart.
“Okay, you can unwind the side hose, and as long as you keep it on the grass, you can run around as long as you want.” She’s barely through her instructions before the boys jet out the door and rush to splash in the grassy mud.
“We need to water the lawn, and it’s hot out today. I think they’ll tire themselves out in twenty minutes. Maybe thirty.” My mom winks at me, this time as if she andIare the ones in on the secret. And we very well might be.
“Where’s the little one?”
I lead my mom into the living room, and she bends down next to Holly’s carrier, balling her hands together and holding them over her grinning lips. It’s hard not to melt when looking at this baby.
“Your dad takes plenty of naps over here, too, you know,” she whispers.
I smirk and sit on the ottoman.
It’s strange having my parents so . . .together.But I like it. I had more time with them like this than my sister Renleigh did, and maybe that’s why she’s been so resistant to their reunion. As much as I like this big-family feeling, however, I would also very much like a place of my own. My parents have been gracious enough to let me crash here for the last few weeks, ever since I caught my cheating-ass husband with another woman. It’s going to be a while before the divorce paperwork goes through, and I’m sure Brandon, my ex, will make custody an issue. Not that he actuallywantsto spend time with our kids. He rarely has since they’ve been born. He’s far more interested in spending time with grad students at his college, it seems. Young, pretty ones.
I shake my head and pull myself out of the mental death spiral that’s been plaguing me for days. It’s time to focus on the good news. Forward movement.My life.
“We agreed on a thousand a week,” I say, drawing my mom’s attention to my face. “It should be enough for me to get a small place and pay the bills, at least to start the boys in pre-school. Then, when they get to kindergarten, I can finally look for something part-time or maybe hybrid.”
“Lindsey, relax. You can stay here as long as you need.” My mom’s eyes drift back to the baby, and her smile inches deeper into her cheeks. She might not think so when Holly is fussy. I’ve heard the set of pipes on this girl.
“I appreciate that. I’d like to be independent, though. You know . . . show Brandon how unnecessary he is.”
My mom glances back at me with a soft, empathetic smile. She knows I’m hurt. We don’t need to say that part out loud. I’d rather move right on to hating the asshole. He stole my spirit, and I’m resentful as hell over it. I had my own dreams, and as much as being a mom was one of them, so were a lot of other things. I feel foolish for giving up my schooling so he could finish his doctorate and climb the academic ladder. I have loved every minute with my boys, even the trying ones that probably cost me some of my hair. But maybe webothcould have found a way to finish our degrees. Instead, Brandon gets to play the part of a cheating, married professor while I’m the advertising school dropout.
“Whatever speed works for you, Linds. Dad and I have your back, is all,” my mom reminds me. She’s said it a few times since I loaded my belongings into the tiny spare room I was sharing with my sister until she moved to Texas with her boyfriend.
Holly begins to fuss, and before I’m able to scoop her up, my mom does, instantly patting her back to sleep as she wanders around the house.
“I’m not saying you won’t be able to do this job. I know you will. But while I’m here to help, and while the boys are outside, why don’t you lie down and shut your eyes for fifteen minutes. You’re gonna need to bank every ounce of shut-eye you can.”
She’s right, because I’m too tired to object. I nod softly and mouth, “Thanks.”
I pull the thin throw blanket from the back of the sofa and wrap myself in it from head to toe, and for a blissful seventeen minutes, I don’t think of a damn thing. I don’t even dream. Life is easy and wonderful, until a bony elbow sinks into my diaphragm, and the urgent voice from one of my sons asks when he’ll get to see his dad again.
I crack an eyelid and meet Deacon’s frowning face.
“I miss him. I want Daddy. I want to sleep in my old bed,” Deacon whines.
He rubs his tired eyes, his tears smearing together with dirt on his cheeks. Riggs is standing just over his brother’s shoulder, and he starts to cry, too. They both need a bath, and their muddy romp didn’t buy me nearly enough time. But for a few minutes, they did have fun. Even if it’s over now. For the time being, that’s the best I can do for all of us. A few minutes here. A few there.
And anything that’s left . . . that’s for me.
Holly is fast asleep, and Deacon and Riggs are finally worn out from climbing everything in sight. It took three trips to the community park down the street, but that last one finally did them in. It did me in, too. I forgot how heavy a three-month-old baby is. They’re too fragile to prop on the hip, and so very hot against the shoulder.
But damn, is she sweet. And I see her daddy in her looks. A lot of people think you can’t see it when they’re this young, but I can. Just like I saw Brandon’s high cheekbones in the twins from day one. Holly has her father’s sweet lips, and I bet it’s a wide smile too. She hasn’t done that much, but her yawn spans her face every time. Brooks has the same yawn. His mouth stretches up on the ends, teetering on a grin before deflating with a heavy sigh. It’s one of the first quirks I noticed when I ran into him in the diaper aisle at the grocery store. I thought it was cute then. I still do.
“Linds, someone’s in . . . the driveway.” My dad has a mirror on the wall opposite the front window so he can spot people coming and going when he’s sitting in his favorite chair. He’s been rehabbing from a stroke and was making great mobility progress, but then a few weeks ago, he fell and broke his leg. He hates being surprised, so my mom yanked the mirror from the downstairs bathroom and put it up on the far wall. It’s ugly as sin, but my dad loves splitting his attention between that mirror and whatever sport he’s watching on TV.
“It’s Brooks. Keep an eye on these two,” I say, pointing toward my now-lazy boys as they hang off the edge of the sofa with their heads upside down. My dad points to his eyes, then to them, making a fierce face as if he’s the cop and they’re the bad guys. They giggle. I giggle, too.
“If he’s hungry, invite him in,” my mom says from the kitchen. She’s making a roast, and the house smells of beef stock and cooked carrots. My mouth is watering. It’s nice to have another cook in the house, honestly. Brandon always preferred to order in, and when my sister Renleigh and Dad were living here alone, they counted on me dropping in to cook a few times a week. Turns out, though, I like being fed without slaving over a stove.
“I’m sure he’s got things to do,” I say, waving her idea off. I don’t need this to turn into anything beyond a business relationship.
I know how my dad is with ballplayers. He was one. If we get Brooks in this house, suddenly he’ll be dropping by for drinks and making himself comfortable. And then I’m going to start getting ideas about him. It’s better to keep the few fantasies I’ve had about the man tucked deep in my head.
