There’s more grunting from Bobby, and if I’m not mistaken, it leans towards skepticism. I choose not to acknowledge it, insteadsharing another positive interaction I’d had with my son recently.
“I didn’t tell Steph this, but when I was over a few weekends ago doing some work in the yard, Matt came out and helped me dig up the grass along the fence to make some garden beds. We mostly worked in silence, but at the end, we sat on the deck for a while, admiring a job well done, and …” I pause, my heart warming all over again at the memory. “He thanked me for making his mom smile again. Said he and Alex had both noticed how much lighter she’d seemed the last few months, how much more often she laughed.”
Bobby grunts in what I know to be a sound of approval.
“I thought I was going to have a long uphill battle to win their favor,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief, “but it turns out they’re a lot more observant and gracious than I would have expected from teenage boys.”
“Sounds like,” Bobby agrees.
I huff out a laugh. “Not only that,” I start, glancing around to make sure no one else is nearby—Steph would kill me if this story got out—“but they knew I’d been sneaking into her room through the window at night.”
Bobby’s eyes widen, and he snorts.
“Steph nearly died of embarrassment when Matt called us out on it,” I add with a chuckle. “But the thing is … they weren’t even angry. Sure, there was an uncomfortable conversation the next morning, but mostly they were amused.”
“They want their mother to be happy,” Bobby observes.
I nod.
“They’re good kids.”
“Yeah, they are.”
And blood or no,they’re mine.
40
Steph
“Thisislongoverdue.”
I sigh, settling back into my chair at the kitchen table, having just poured three tall glasses of wine. I’m hosting the girls for the first time in a while—a feat made easier by Riley, who’d helped me and the boys tidy the house yesterday and even pre-made appetizers for us to enjoy tonight.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Lucy agrees, taking an immediate sip from her glass when I slide it across the table to her. She throwsher head back and moans. “Damn, that’s good stuff.” Reaching for the bottle, she turns it to see the label.
“Etruscan Cellars,” Piper supplies, pleased with her selection. “It’s one of my favorites.”
Lucy nods approvingly and chuckles. “You and your Chianti.”
Piper shrugs. “Well, you just said it’s good.”
“I know, but it’s been so long since I’ve had any alcohol I might’ve said that about BORG. Also, I need to savor it”—she glances at the time on her phone—“I can only have one glass since I’ll need to pump in a few hours.”
“Ah, the joys of breastfeeding. That’s something I don’t miss,” I say with a laugh. Lucy is five months postpartum now, and Cece is so adorable.
She shrugs. “It’s not horrible. It’s our special girl-bonding time, you know? When I feel closest to my little bean.” She smiles softly. “I’m actually kinda sad she’ll be needing it less often now that we’ve started introducing some foods, though Noah is totally psyched about it. He loves watching her discover new things.”
“That’s so cute.” I smile.
“Yeah,” she agrees, then reaches for a slice of the brie from the charcuterie board I made.
“I’m sorry,” Piper chimes in, “but can we please circle back toBORG? What the hell is that?”
“Oh, even I know this one,” I pipe up. “It’s that gross stuff they mix by the gallon at college parties.”
Lucy nods. “Yep. It stands for ‘black-out rage gallons.’”
“Well, that’s … concerning,” Piper murmurs, but Lucy just shrugs.
