Page 74 of Freefall

“Sorry,” I say, already reaching for it. “I have to check this in case it’s the sitter.”

Emory slips out to go to the restroom as I check the text that came in. It’s from Nate. No words. Just a picture of him and Daisy holding glasses filled with a pink drink. She probably talked him into making strawberry lemonade. My lips spread before I can stop them.

“Well,” Allie says from beside me. “This night just got a whole lot more interesting.”

I clutch the phone against my chest. “Oh, um.”

“Looks like he was more than fine if you’re letting him watch your kid.”

Her words aren’t mean, necessarily—more curious than anything else.

“Allie,” Skylar chastises. “Leave the poor woman alone. It’s none of your business.”

I give Skylar a grateful smile, and Allie shrugs. “When has that ever stopped me?”

I glance toward the hallway. Emory is still gone, but not for long.

“It’s complicated,” I finally say.

“Complicated? You’re obviously fucking him.”

Allie’s bright blue eyes sharpen behind her black frames, and I watch the pieces click together in real time. Her irritation turns to confusion, then finally settles into understanding.

Her mouth drops open. “Holy shit.”

“I—”

“You’re her.”

Skylar looks between us. “Her who?”

“Oh my God.” Allie sits up straighter. “Is your daughter…she’s his.”

It started out as a question but didn’t end as one.

“What am I missing?” a thoroughly confused Skylar asks.

Allie gestures to me like she’s presenting evidence in court. “Nate’s secret girlfriend. The one he’s been pining over for years.”

“That’s not⁠—”

Allie ignores me. “Apparently she’s back.”

Skylar looks slightly offended. “Why didn’t I know Nate had a secret girlfriend he was pining over for years?”

Why does everyone keep saying that word? Clearly, he wasn’t pining for me when he was balls deep in every other woman in this town, including our daughter’s second-grade teacher.

And now I’ve given myself the ick.

“Because you came late to the party, babe. This was back in college.”

Her gaze snaps back to me. “How old did you say your daughter was again?”

“I didn’t.”

“I would guess seven or eight.” She looks me over, raising her eyebrows a bit. “Was he super kinky back then too?”

Jesus.