Page 11 of And It’s Still You

Regardless of anything, one thing I could never deny was how handsome Shea was and would always be.

Taking a step closer to me, O’Shea walked over and planted himself in my personal space. I yanked my head back with the middle of my eyebrows wrinkled as I placed my hand on his chest and pushed him away.

“You’re too close, sir.”

O’Shea chuckled and took an extra step back with his palms raised. “My bad. I just wanted to talk to you ’bout the trip, but I didn’t want Ocean hearing everything I had planned. I know how you are when it comes to him being away from you, so I wanted to give you an itinerary to clear yo’ mind.”

“Thank you, Shea.”

“You’re welcome. You could just come with us. Be present and see what’s going on.”

I mugged him. “I already told you I can’t do that, and I don’t appreciate you calling my father and saying something to him about it.”

“I only called him to let him know ’bout the trip since we were already texting. I only brought you up because he said you were going to feel some type of way. Don’t think I call him to only talk ’bout you, Moya. Regardless of us, I still love yo’ father like my own. Just like you do my mother.”

“She’s still family and Ocean’s grandmother.”

“Exactly. It can’t be a double-standard when all the same rules apply.” Shea tugged on his chin hair, a clear indication he was getting frustrated with me. He grabbed Ocean’s bags and walked away.

“Shea, wait. Aren’t you going to tell me what y’all are going to do?”

“You’ll find out whenever I send you pictures.”

I smacked my lips and trailed behind him, not wanting to press any further. No matter what, our conversations ended on a sour note. Either he pissed me off or vice versa. One would think we’d know how to effectively communicate now, but it seemed to get worse as time passed, which was one reason we couldn’t be around one another long.

Ocean was standing by the front door, playing with his toys. He was a mama’s boy, but when it was time to go with Shea, he was eager. His eyes lit up as Shea approached him with his bags. Gathering his toys, Ocean held them against his chest and stared up at his father with such an immense amount of love in his eyes. To him, Shea could do no wrong, and I prayed it stayed that way forever.

“You ready, Bubba?” Shea questioned.

Eagerly bobbing his head, Ocean ran over to me and almost knocked me over from how hard he pressed into me. I gave him love, kissing the top of his curly hair.

“Be good, Son. Don’t give your father a hard time, okay?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us, Mommy? It’ll be fun.”

I glanced up at Shea, who was looking at me as well. For a moment, the thought crossed my mind, but it exited just as quickly as it came. Being alone with O’Shea for a week would be no good for me, mentally or emotionally. I’d kept my distance from him over the years for a reason. We were divorced for a reason, so I declined again.

“I’m sure, Ocean. You and your father need some alone time,” I assured him and kissed him again. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

One last squeeze, and Ocean skipped over to Shea. I watched them walk to Shea’s truck, feeling my chest tighten. Silently, I prayed over them both. Shea gave me one last glance after Ocean was secured in his car seat. I waved and watched them leave.

Closing the door behind me, I leaned against it with a heavy heart. Anytime Shea and I had a slight disagreement, I felt guilty. I wasn’t trying to be in a bad space with him, especially not when Ocean was around and could sense it. For me, it was just hard not to be snippy with him. Daddy told me it was because I hadn’t fully let go of everything, and deep down, I knew he was right.

Inwardly groaning, I made sure the door was locked before dragging my feet across my wooden floors to Ocean’s room. I grabbed my phone, called Shea, and put it on speaker phone while I cleaned.

“Did you change yo’ mind, Love?” Shea answered, and I rolled my eyes while biting back my smirk.

“No, I didn’t. I was just calling to apologize for having an attitude. I’m working on it.”

“It’s all good.”

“It’s really not. It’s just . . .” I ran my hand through my pixie cut, stopping myself from oversharing my feelings. “I’m going to do better. We need to be able to have a civil conversation without me being a bitch about something.”

“I think we’ve gotten better, Moya. It’s not perfect, and it never will be. I have my days, too, so it’s not all on you.”

Accountability.