Yeah, not my best moment.
Which brings me to now, driving Cooper home from school, when I just wanted to be left alone to my internal freak-out. But my wonderful, amazing progeny wants to talknonstopabout the super cool firefighter who was at career day. The one who bandaged up his scraped hands, gave him a sticker, and taught him a secret handshake.
Listen, kid, I know Sawyer Donnelly is hot shit. I do. I know it for my own reasons. And now I know he’s good with kids which, surprisingly, doesnothelp the lady boner going on within me. Listening to my son go on about how he’s justsooo awesomeis not helping my freak-out over seeing him again. Not one bit.
Thankfully, I guess, by the time we get home, I’ve managed to give Coop enough head nods and mm-hmm’s of acknowledgment that he doesn’t seem to realize how badly I’m about to explode mentally. He skips into the house without a care in the world, and I slowly trail after him, doing the usual cleanup as we go. Shoes he cannot for the life of him remember to put on the rack get picked up. The abandoned lunch kit, that at least this time made it out of the backpack, is collected and taken to the kitchen. Remnants of his snack is tidied just in time for my stressed expression to soften as I watch him pick up his tablet with a hopeful look.
“Can I video call Tommy from the tree house?”
I nod, because there’s no better way to get a few moments to myself than to let him talk to his closest friend from Vancouver for a while. “Of course. Say hi from me.”
Once he’s safely ensconced in the tree house, I beeline for the bottle of wine in the fridge. I don’t give a flying fuck that it’s not even four o’clock. Since the wine glasses are still not unpacked, I pour it into a mug. Thank God Willow’s coming soon to help because if I was by myself, those boxes would still be stacked there six months from now.
I briefly consider calling her to talk about Sawyer, but instead, I sink down on a kitchen chair and let my gaze go unfocused as my thoughts turn inward.
Of all the small towns in the world, he had to live in this one? Why? Why, universe, why? My one moment of being wild — since becoming a mom, at least — and it has to come back and haunt me like this? Life is so flipping unfair.
And of course, I had to make matters worse by pretending not to know him. Then again, what else could I do? It’s not like I was going to admit I knew him because he gave me multiple orgasms in one night, right in front of my kid and my kid’s new principal.
Again, I say, not fair.
I haven’t had a man-made orgasm in eight years.Eight. Years.Then Sawyer Donnelly comes along and wrecks me for all other men. I could’ve lived with that, simply used him as masturbation motivation for the next ten years, or until Cooper moves out and I can consider dating again, butno. Oh, no. The universe decides to ruin my new start by throwing the very epitome of temptation in my path.
Damn it.
My internal rant finishes about the same time my mug of wine is emptied, and I push up to stand. Time to get back on track. I’m a single mom, my kid needs me to function and make dinner and do bedtime. Then I’ve got to push out some words or Carol is going to have my head. There’s no more time to be spent wondering how I’ll manage living in the same town as Sawyer and not want to immediately find the nearest bed.
I go through the motions of making a pasta dish Cooper loves. It’s one of the few things in which I can hide some veggies, as long as he isn’t looking. He knows they’re in there, but for some reason, if he doesn’t see me put them in, and there’s a tasty enough sauce masking the flavour, he’ll eat them. Which means we have homemade cheesy spaghetti casserole at least once a week. Cooper comes in the back door just as I’m sliding the casserole dish into the oven and his eyes light up.
“Is that cheesy sgabetti?” he asks, and I hide my smile at his name for it. Memories of the first time he saidspaghettithat way flash through my mind. He was maybe three years old, and it was the cutest thing. Even though he knows how to pronounce the word now, it’s our little inside joke.
God, I love this kid. He’s everything to me. He’s my priority; his happiness and peace of mind with this move are paramount above anything else.
Which is exactly why hunky hottie heroes need to stay away. My energy is devoted to Cooper. Not the man who is probably the inspiration for that cheesy trope of heroines intentionally burning their food just so the fire department will come to their house.
“You know it, bud.” I lift up my salad bowl and tease him with it. “And look at this beautiful bowl of fresh veggie goodness. You know you’re just dying to try some.”
The horrified look on his face as he backs up makes me laugh. Picking up a slice of cucumber, I slowly start to walk toward him.
“Mom. No. Eww.”
“Come on, Coop. One itty-bitty slice.”
He’s fighting back a grin now, too; the routine of this familiar, even in its ridiculousness.
“No way.”
The ringtone of my phone interrupts our game. “Saved by the bell, kid,” I say, arching my brow as I pop the cucumber into my mouth and pick up my phone. “Oh. It’s your dad.”
I watch Cooper’s face carefully, but don’t see any reaction. He hasn’t really shown one since learning his sperm donor was marrying someone and moving to Alberta.
I worry that someday, Tim’s easy dismissal of his own child will hit Cooper. How could it not instill feelings of unworthiness, abandonment, and anger? I know I feel all of that, and he’s not my biological father.
He’s just the man who knocked me up.
I love my kid and don’t regret having him — not for a single second. But do I secretly long for the perfect family with two parents, a cute little house, and multiple kids running around in chaos? Of course.
I never wanted that with Tim; he was a short-lived relationship that never would have gone further, even if those two pink lines hadn’t shown up. But I’m also not going to lie to myself and try to say finding out his whole “I don’t want a family” shtick only applied to us didn’t hurt.
