Alex: And then she asked you to reciprocate?
Me: For the most part, yeah.
Stone: And you did.
Me: Fairly certain the screenshot explained that.
Sebastian: Did you ever call that therapist from the RMRRMC meeting?
Sebastian: I’d say he’ll have a lot to unpack about this.
Me: It’s nice to know you hate me, Seb.
Sebastian: What? No, I don’t!
Luca: YOU’RE GOING TO A THERAPIST?
Dom: Oh, that tracks. You could use one.
Alex: I don’t want to shit on you right now, and I also don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I’m proud of you. It takes a lot of guts to admit you need someone to talk to.
Luca: This might be the best day of my life.
Sebastian: Now I understand.
Sebastian: My bad.
Me: I really hate you all.
Me: Except Stone. He stayed quiet.
Stone: Appreciated. Next haircut is on me.
Leo Santo has left the chat.
ELLA
Idon’t hear from Leo for a week, and I welcome the reprieve. I can’t wrap my head around everything that has happened between us recently. Memories I buried long ago are resurfacing, mixing with the Leo of today, and it’s confusing the hell out of me.
“Auntie Ella, when can Leo come over again?” Oliver asks from his perch on the couch. I’m making his favorite dinner, boxed macaroni and cheese, while cooking a sweet potato for Violet to try. The pediatrician suggested I try solids with her again, but we’re taking it slowly. Ember saved this high chair that fits onto a kitchen chair, and it’s perfect for Violet. She looks quite confused as she watches me at the stove, her bottom lip stuck out in an adorable pout. Whitley got her a set of six-to-nine-month sleepers, each featuring a different fruit, and today’s sleeper is covered with raspberries. No one can convince me that sleepers, especially the fleece ones, aren’t one of the most brilliant inventions for parents. It’s horridly cold today, with a fierce wind that sucked the breath from my lungs when we came home from Oliver’s preschool earlier.
“I don’t know when Leo will come over again. He was helping us out before. Right now we don’t need any help,” I finally answer.
“We could make stuff up. I like playing with him. He lets me have all the good Play-Doh. And he doesn’t tell me to be quiet.”
“That is very nice of him,” I comment. “Has someone told you to be quiet?”
Oliver nods. “Teacher gets mad at me cuz I talk a lot. And that man who Mommy brought home a bunch did too.”
This is the first I’m hearing about Ember bringing a man home in front of Oliver. I wish she were here, because I’d rip her a new one for that fact. “Oh? Did Mommy bring him here a lot?”
“No. I didn’t like him.”
“And what about your teacher? Do you like her?”
“I do!” he shouts. “She’s the best. She gives me smelly stickers on my hands every day.”
I open the fridge, pulling out the half gallon of milk, and measure enough for the mac and cheese. “Where are these smelly stickers? I’ve never seen them.”
