So kind of Parker to send flowers. I couldn’t remember the last time Mitch had sent flowers. Now I got a bouquet after making Parker do all the work? I inwardly bloomed at his thoughtfulness.
Either that or he thought you were hitting on him.
I froze at the thought.
Mitch accused me of flirting with other men all the time. I’d done my best to convince him I was just being nice to all the waiters and busboys and salesclerks of the world, but he didn’t seem to believe me. But if he was jealous of my flirting, then why would he want to leave me?
It made no sense.
That said, he had been going to the gym more. He’d bragged about losing ten pounds, something I’d done my best to forget so I wouldn’t accidentally smother him with a pillow in the middle of the night because he’d said, “Come on, Viv, it’s easy! All you have to do is cut out bread and wine for a couple of weeks.”
As if. Bread and wine were essential. Jesus told me so.
Someone was on the other side of the front door. Someone with a key. Someone who forgot which way to turn that key in order to move the dead bolt.
I sucked in a breath.
I hadn’t had time. I was wearing yoga pants and a baggy shirt, no makeup. I wasn’t ready.
The door opened.
Dylan walked in.
My tall baby who wasn’t a baby anymore grinned at me, but that grin faded. “Mom, are you okay? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
I had seen a ghost. Every time I looked at my son, I saw the ghost of who my husband had once been. Not only was Dylan lanky with those same blue eyes and that same cleft in his chin, but he was also kind and funny and just a little shy. I would think he wasn’t my son at all if Ihadn’t been in the delivery room. And if he didn’t have a thick shock of dirty-blond hair that was the exact same color as mine.
“I just thought it might be your father,” I said, forcing a smile to my lips. “And I have a few more things I wanted to get done before he got home.”
Like figure out what the heck I’m going to tell you about his divorce plan.
“Cool. I’m supposed to catch up with some of the guys later tonight. Do you mind doing my laundry?”
“Sure. I mean, not at all,” I said. “I didn’t know you were coming home this weekend.”
He walked over and wrapped his arms around me. “I love you and missed you, too, Mom.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It was a last-minute decision. Tomorrow’s the Georgia-Tennessee game. I transferred my ticket to a friend of mine.”
“That doesn’t really answer my question, either.”
He shrugged. For half a second he reminded me of a certain four-year-old who couldn’t explain why he’d kicked the screen out of his bedroom window. “I thought I’d come home. That’s all.”
Well, your timing is impeccable as always.
I’d gone into labor in the middle of my baby shower, and the kid had been surprising me ever since.
“Okay. Well, bring me your laundry.”
A snide inner voice that sounded a lot like my mother said,You mean you haven’t taught this kid how to do his own laundry yet?I ignored it. I liked feeling useful, and I would gladly do Dylan’s laundry if it meant he would come home to see me.
But what were the odds that Mitch and I could have a discussion while Dylan was out with his friends and get everything patched up before we had to admit to him that anything was wrong?
Even if Mitch wanted to leave me, how could anyone want to leave Dylan?
The child in question placed one laundry basket in the dining room just inside the front door, then went back for another. I’d seen him less than a month ago. Was he hiring someone to wear his clothes so they wouldn’t get lonely? How could one kid have two overflowing baskets full of laundry?
