“The carpool is here. I’ll eat a muffin when I get to school.”
"Have a good day, honey." I say, but she's already out the door.
I sigh. My heart aches just a little. Children grow up so fast, and suddenly, you’re left with a feeling of melancholy you cannot shake. The harsh reality that they will one day soon, leave the nest and venture out on their own hits you like a ton of bricks.
One moment you're holding onto their plump little fingers as you guide them to walk, and then, you're no longer the center of their universe. Instead, you're one of the many stars in it. Still, as parents, I can only hope we burn the brightest.
“Hey, Mom.” Willow runs back inside and places a chaste kiss on my cheek, “I’ll miss you.” My heart soars the way it always does with these small acts of affection.
“I’ll miss you too,” I place my hands on her cheeks, smiling into those eyes that match her fathers. She turns on her heel, and I watch her retreating figure. She doesn’t notice her father enter as she rushes out of the kitchen.
Co walks over to where I stand looking out of the window and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him. He smells good, freshly showered with just a hint of spicy cologne. I lean my head against his chest. He's no longer angry. I let out a breath.
“She barely notices me anymore.” He cages me against the counter. I smile, then turn in his arms, wrapping mine around his thick neck while tangling my hands through the hair at the nape.
"I'm the one that feeds her, so I suppose she makes the extra effort to remember me."
“It’s hard to forget you.” He holds my gaze, and I feel my insides turn to mush.
“You’re just a charmer.” I scrunch my nose, and he kisses the tip of it.
“It’s not a lie, though.” His lips press against mine, the familiar electrical undercurrent his kisses offer, passing through me. His grip on my waist tightens as my body molds against his taut frame. His kiss is gentle but possessive. He pulls away, his tongue swiping over my lower lip. His hand slips between the folds of my gown, and he palms my breast, going in for another kiss. The events of the morning bring me back to the present.
"You're going to be late." I say breathlessly, pushing against his chest. Wanting air, needing space. It's odd how you can desire someone so painfully but still despise them at the same time. I need to see my therapist again, try to make sense of all this.
His gaze moves to the clock on the wall, and he groans. "You're right. I gotta get going. Got a new assistant starting this morning, and that'll hopefully free up some of my time." He gives my breast a squeeze and moves away.
“You got into bed late last night.”
"I know honey, and I'm going to make it up to you and the girls. I just have to close this deal, and I'm all yours. I promise." He holds my face in his hands. "What're you up to today?"
"I want to go over to the library. Chelsea says there's a petition we need to sign to save the building from being demolished. It seems some hotshot developer wants to turn it into a high rise or something."
He scowls at the mention of her name. “Cohen. She is a good friend.” He has never been a big fan of my friendship with her.
He waves it off. "It's an old building, isn't it? It might not be such a bad idea. Who goes to libraries anyway, with those e-readers you're so fond of?"
"There is always a need for libraries." I poke his shoulder. "I mean, we grew up with them. It gives children some sense of tradition. All they need is a revamp. A new children's section. That ought to spark some interest."
He kisses me again. “I love your enthusiasm.”
I straighten his tie.
“I love you, you know that?” He looks deep into my eyes, wanting me to understand how sincere his words are.
"I do," I tell him. But it feels wrong to lie. The truth is, love is a complicated thing. It isn't black or white. There are so many shades in between.
He walks over to the counter where a fresh pot of coffee sits and pours himself a cup. Cohen isn’t a breakfast guy. He prefers a greasy lunch which he punishes himself for at the gym.
After Co leaves, I walk upstairs to find little Gracie on the floor, already lining up her dolls for the tea party I promised her. Her tiny brown pigtails hang on either side of her head. I stand in the doorway with my hip against it and smile. She is smarter than any of the kids her age. She’s able to count to one hundred and recite the alphabet. She can play “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” on the piano. I tried home-schooling her last year, but it left Gracie feeling frustrated. I eventually caved and enrolled her in school.
“Whatcha got there, Gracie?”
I walk up behind her. She seems to be in her own little world, humming a song I don't quite recognize.
“You ready to play?”
She nods her head.
