Our household is falling into a routine, and I find it thrilling since it enhances the we that I hope we are becoming. A team.On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Marissa makes dinner, whereas on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I prep something during my lunch hour while she’s at the pool. On her pool days, I usually find her asleep on the couch. My girl likes naps. Looks like she’s been tired for a long time.
I’m getting less annoyed at people stealing her time from me because her joy makes it worth it. After she spent all of Saturday evening gushing about the playdate she and Jameela had with the boys, I remembered the day when Jameela called about it.
Marissa was so flustered, and all I could think was, I never want her to be surprised at an invitation again.
Chapter 19
Marissa
There are so many better ways to spend a Friday morning than thinking about the trauma your separation might be causing in your child’s brain. ’Cause that’s all I’m getting from these parenting classes.
Court-mandated or not, they’re shit if your coparent is shit. As simple as that.
At least I don’t have to deal with Daphne’s attitude.
However, it also means not seeing Hawk walking around the office in his gear. At work, Hawk is so authoritative. It does something for me, which I noticed when we were at the grocery store.
“Don’t even think about it,” he whispers into my ear in a soft but decisive tone while his big hand covers mine to prevent me from grabbing my wallet at the grocery store checkout.
Goosebumps erupt all over my forearms at the memory, and I quickly shake it out of my stupid head.
“How was it?” My tiny friend asks me as we walk down the courthouse steps.
“Useless,” I say bitterly.
“Bad enough to warrant the mood you’re in?”
“I might have spent the last ten minutes on the phone with my ex.”
The look on Mushroom's face makes it clear what she thinks of Dylan. She wordlessly gestures towards the car, and we start walking.
I’m so glad I made plans with the girls. I need to get my mind in order before going home to DJ.
A few minutes after we merge into traffic, Shroomie asks, “So what did hypnoneck want?”
“I called him, trying to arrange pickup and drop-off for his weekend with DJ next week.”
“You’re a saint. I could never,” she responds honestly.
“I’ve been close to giving up, believe me. But I grew up without a father, and I don’t want that for DJ.”
Mushroom doesn’t say anything at first.
“Blood isn’t everything,” she breaks the silence more than ten minutes later. “I’ve never met my birth parents, and I don’t think I’ve missed out on anything. My adoptive parents are the best. There she is,” she says as she points to Lucy, who’s waving at us from the Rat Park gate.
“The catch is that I have no way of knowing whether DJ will process things the way I did or the way you did. Maybe, when he’s 16, he’s gonna beg me not to send him to his dad’s, but until then, I have an obligation to keep the relationship between them.”
Lucy opens the back door.
“He’ll beg even sooner, believe me. His dad is a piece of work,” Mushroom says, and I feel ashamed. “Is this the first time DJ’s sleeping over?”
“Don’t let something as trivial as social niceties get in the way of your interrogation, Alice,” Lucy teases her, and Mushroom, whose name is apparently Alice, rolls her eyes.
“Hi, Luce,” I say apologetically. “Yeah. Dylan hasn’t even seen him in a month.”
Lucy’s grimace is all sympathy. “Oof. I remember those days. The tension at pickup and drop-off. I used to cry and watch trashy TV in my bed every second my babies were away from me. Nowadays, I enjoy having some time to myself when they’re with him. Oh, don’t give me that self-righteous face, Shroomie. Talk to me when you have kids.”
“I didn’t say anything!” Mushroom exclaims, looking offended.
