Chapter 8
She called exactly three days later. Colm wasn’t surprised. Not that he thought he was so irresistible, or they left things on such a high note, but because she was stubborn and determined. She was also clearly used to getting her way. And he was weak. He wanted to see her. Desperately. So he let the call slide to voicemail.
Then, there were the text messages. He responded, but with only the briefest answers. He’d put her off for a week, but he was going to have to either man up and end their relationship once and for all, or give in and let her have her way.
And, Lord, did he want to let her have her way. Colm would gladly let her have her way with him all she wanted. He couldn’t let her have her way with them. Because he couldn’t shake the feeling if he left everything up to Monica, they’d meet for a few hot sweaty hours once a week…period.
And he wanted more.
He liked her. Despite her inherent bossiness and the weird, clutter-less life. Or maybe because of those two mind-boggling traits. Hard to say. The reasons for his attraction to her were variable. Depending on the moment. And right this very minute, he was in a mood to be stubborn and a bit bossy himself. Gripping the phone, he cleared his throat and cut right to the chase.
“Listen, I’m in the pickup line and I don’t have a lot of time. What can I do for you, Monica?”
“Oh, the list is long and inventive,” she replied, her tone as husky and playful as his was brisk.
He wasn’t buying. “Sorry, no fun and games this weekend. I don’t have a sitter.”
“Oh.”
Somehow, she managed to infuse a metric ton of disappointment into a single syllable. Colm found himself weakening. What man wouldn’t when a beautiful woman called? Or when he heard and recognized the want in her voice. He’d been living with the same dull ache since he walked out her door. He hated the way they left things. Cringed every time he thought too hard about how he practically stomped out her door, as pissy as a toddler told he couldn’t keep the awesome toy he’d found.
He didn’t want to be that guy any more than he wanted to be her sometime piece of ass. Clearing his throat, he made an attempt at exploring new territory. A real date. The kind without invisible boundaries and topics marked off limits. Not some adults-only fantasy land, but one which incorporated the most essential pieces of their real lives. If there was any chance of them moving forward, one of them had to take the first step.
“I’d like to see you out of bed.”
“Colm, I—”
He waited. And waited.
At last, she sighed, “There are things I need to tell you.”
“So tell me.”
Again, a long pause. “I don’t know how.”
Sighing, he conceded a little ground. “How about the four of us have a play date?”
“What?”
“I can bring Aiden by when you get home from work. We’ll bring pizza, since I suspect poor Emma is smuggling snacks out of aftercare to keep her strength up.”
“Oh, I, uh…”
She paused, and he almost relented. He, more than anyone, understood the risks of getting the kids involved. But he wanted to see her. Wanted to watch how she interacted with Emma, and yes, Aiden, too. And he could be every bit as dictatorial as she could. Without giving her any more time to think through the pros and cons, he closed negotiations.
“The kids can play and we can talk.”
“I don’t know if—”
But a weird self-preservational instinct made him cut her off. “I’ll be by at about six-thirty. Does Emma have any food allergies?”
The question seemed to catch her off-guard. She stammered and stuttered for a moment. “Uh, um…No. Not that I know of.”
“Lucky. There’s a kid in Aiden’s class with a nasty tree nut allergy and another with Celiac disease. Birthday parties are a nightmare.”
“Right. Yes. I mean, no, Emma isn’t allergic,” she said, sounding slightly dazed.
He couldn’t blame her. A woman as undomesticated as Monica would have a hard time adapting to the demands of a specialized diet. Emma probably lived off a combination of truffle mac and cheese and chicken nuggets. Poor kid.
“Great. We’ll see you at six-thirty.” He let off the brake to creep forward a couple feet. He wanted to end the call before she could come up with an excuse, so he told a bald-faced lie. Staring at the eight cars ahead of him, he said, “Gotta go, I’m next in line. See ya later.”
He barely gave her time to say goodbye as he ended the call and blew out of a gusty breath. Bringing Aiden into things was a ballsy step, but he had a niggling suspicion that pursuing any kind of real relationship with Monica Rayburn was going to call for drastic measures.
The phone rang a moment later. Her name flashed onto the screen. The temptation to answer was strong. Nearly overwhelming. He didn’t give in, though. She’d had a couple minutes to let the prospect of mingling their worlds sink in. She’d either have to ante up or call it a bad bet. Colm’s gut instinct said she was calling to bet off, and he wasn’t in the mood to make doing so easy for her. She wanted sex; he wanted a date. This was an impasse. She had two choices—leave a voicemail with some lame excuse, or play out the hand he’d dealt.
He wasn’t too worried about getting a message. Backing down was not her style. Monica charged at life like a bull. He eyed the phone he’d tossed into the console tray warily, watching with trepidation for a flicker of life. Waiting for an electronic chime to tell him he’d read her all wrong. None came.
Colm smiled to himself as he inched closer to the pick-up area. He spotted his son in the crowd of students easily. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pack strapped to his back was nearly as big as his boy. Princess Clarissa’s tangled hair gleamed dully in the afternoon sunlight. Aiden danced from one foot to the other, craning his neck to keep the truck in sight. As if he might simply poof himself out of this never-ending line.
With a sigh, he drummed the steering wheel, silently acknowledging his friend Mike may have been right about Aiden being too young for them to start on the Harry Potter series. Even though they talked about each chapter they read, and Colm painstakingly explained which phenomena were real and which were fictional, there were a few concepts Aiden clung to believing. Like the fact that parents weren’t guaranteed to be a permanent fixture in a boy’s life.
He glanced down at the console again. The phone didn’t buzz or chirp to indicate a message. Mouth set in a grim line, Colm gripped the wheel tight and inched forward on the tail of the minivan ahead of him. They’d stop at the library rather than the grocery store tonight. After all, there was pizza on the menu. They could make through the next day without squeezable yogurt.
Minutes later, the door flew open and Aiden scrambled up into the seat, enormous backpack humped over his neck like the turtle shell.
“Shell off, seatbelt on,” Colm ordered, not taking his foot off the brake until he was sure Aiden complied. “How was your day?”
Aiden kicked the seat a few times—revenge for making him remove his shell, no doubt—and made him wait for an answer. “Okay. Billy Morton had a huge booger hanging out of his nose, and Miss Marci didn’t see for the longest time.”
Colm finally had the fatherhood experience to give the appropriate response. “Awesome.”
“She made him blow his nose and all this green stuff came out.”
“Wow.”
“So cool.”
“I bet.” Colm smiled into the rear-view mirror. “Hey, I was thinking we’d run by the library, then pick up a pizza.”
“Cool.” Pleased by the evening’s agenda, he started bopping in his seat and singing, “Pizza, pizza, pizza. Pizza, pizza, pizza.”
Colm chuckled. In the past few weeks, Aiden had pared his vocabulary down to a handful of words: Cool, ew, nope, okay, why, and a noncommittal uh-nuh seemed to fit multiple occasions. Conversations went a lot faster these days.
“So, uh, you remember that girl Emma we met in the park a few weeks ago? The one who helped find Princess Clarissa?” He might have been enlightened enough to let his boy tote a cartoon princess around with him, but he wasn’t about to refer to her as a doll. He glanced up at the mirror. Aiden was knotting his fingers in the strap of his backpack and staring out the window, his mind a million miles away. “Hey, bud?” he called, tossing a glance over the seat. “You remember?”
“Huh?”
“The girl from the park a couple weeks ago? Emma?”
“Uh-nuh.”
“We’re going to go hang out with her and her mom tonight. Cool, huh?”
He glanced up to find Aiden staring at the mirror. The moment their eyes met, his son scowled at him. “Why?”
Colm saw the intense gleam of suspicion in his kid’s eyes and knew his only recourse under such scrutiny was to deflect and defuse. “Why? Why not?”
Aiden blinked once. “She’s a girl.”
Lips twitching, Colm refocused on the road ahead of them. “Yes. They both are.”
“So why?”
Stifling a sigh, Colm turned on his blinker, hoping they’d reach their branch of the library before Aiden could launch a full interrogation. “They were nice, right?” He shrugged as if he suggested play dates with girls every day. But they both knew he didn’t. “Hey, I’m thinking we need some different books to read. I can’t take any more of the creepy-crawly stuff Harry has to deal with.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “I’m having nightmares.”
He glanced up to find Aiden studying him intently. At last, his son let one scrawny shoulder rise and fall. “You can sleep with me.”
Colm smiled, but held it together. At least, on the outside. If anybody ever knew how easily his kid could turn him into mush, he’d not only be forced to relinquish his Man Card, but maybe the equipment, too. And he couldn’t risk that happening. Not now. Not when said equipment was finally proving itself useful again.
“Hey, thanks, buddy,” he said, masking the rasp in his voice with a growl.
Wheeling the SUV into the minute parking area beside the library, he surveyed his options. He could either take the chance of blocking a fellow patron in for a few minutes, or double-park in the street. He was weighing the relative merits of pissed off citizen versus exorbitant parking ticket when Aiden’s train of thought circled around.
“Why do we hafta have pizza with girls?”
Colm chose put-out patron over meter maid and wedged the car into a space behind a battered compact with a dozen pro-reading stickers on the back window. With a little luck, the car would be Miss Carol’s, the super-friendly librarian who ran the children’s reading room and not Miss Rachel’s, the stern-faced battle-axe who ran the circulation desk like a field battalion.
“Because Emma was nice and found Princess Clarissa and gave her back.” He yanked the keys from the ignition and popped the latch on his seatbelt. “We need to thank her.” Hoping to cut the question and answer session short, he bailed from the car.
By the time he opened the rear passenger door, Aiden had already freed himself from his restraint. “But that was a long time ago. Three Saturdays.”
Crap. The kid had done the math. He was some kind of genius. An evil genius with mad deductive skills. Colm had no one to blame but himself. The two of them had been playing detective since the boy could say, “Just the facts, ma’am.”
“I know, but we’ve been busy and they’ve been busy,” he said as he ushered Aiden toward the doors. The sooner he got him inside, the sooner he could shush him. “So, I talked to Emma’s mommy and we decided tonight was a good night.”
Okay, technically, he decided tonight was good and forced the issue. But if he wanted Monica to get over her aversion to mixing their so-called real lives, he was going to have to push her limits. No one knew wary as well as he did. He appreciated her caution. But the other night he realized they were fooling themselves with the oh-so-casual sex thing. The way he saw it, they owed themselves a chance to at least test-drive the idea. In order to get behind the wheel, he needed to get his kid somewhat on board. No one knew better than Colm how fast a sulky five-year-old could run an entire day off the rails. He had no doubt in his son’s ability to deep-six what would at best be a couple hours of dinner and play time in a matter of minutes.
He reached the double doors and opened one to allow a mother and her two squabbling daughters to leave. A ripple of pride shot through him when Aiden stood courteously aside and let them pass without charging ahead. The kid was learning. Manners and so many other things. And while it puffed Colm up a bit, the evidence of Aiden’s maturity also dinged his heart. It was all happening so fast. Too fast. He’d blink, and the kid would be asking for the car keys.
These moments wrung his heart like an old, wet washrag. He wanted to stop time. Savor every minute. Share them with someone. A person who would understand the muddled mix of triumph and terror called parenthood. He knew without a doubt he and Monica were combustible when left alone. He wanted to see if their kids might get along. Was it too much to ask? And if so, who knew how things might develop?
He waved the boy into the lobby, smiling as he caught him goggling over a poster featuring a superhero holding books. When they reached the inner door, Colm whispered, “I’m hearing good things about a guy made out of stinky cheese. Should we ask Miss Carol about him?”
To his relief, Aiden giggled and ducked under his outstretched arm and raced toward the children’s section. All objections forgotten the moment Colm uttered the magic word—stinky.
* * * *
“You can’t do this to me,” Monica hissed into the phone.
Melody snorted. “Do what? Deny you the use of my daughter as a prop in your sex games?”
Scowling at the supplies she’d chosen in a frenzy at the corner market, she shuddered. “Okay, that was too weird to even count as sarcasm.”
“But essentially, that’s what you’re doing.” Her sister’s words came out in puffs indicating some intense activity of her own. “If you had asked me if your baby beard was available tonight, I would have reminded you for the third time she has a dance recital and is expecting you to have your skinny butt in one of the seats.”
Pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead, Monica closed her eyes and counted down from five. When she opened them, she hadn’t found a shred of serenity, but she did have the nervous munchies. Snatching a package of string cheese from the fridge shelf, she fell against the counter as the door swung shut. She had to have looked like a crazy woman zooming through the mini-market, trying to remember every sort of snack Melody had ever jammed into Emma’s tote.
“Maybe I can tell him she’s got the flu or something and meet you there,” she speculated as she pried open the package.
A strong huff of breath nearly burst her eardrum.
“Do you even hear yourself?”
Monica straightened, prepared to go on the defensive. “What?”
“You’re turning into quite the liar.”
She blinked, a strip of string cheese dangling from her fingers. “What?”
Melody sighed, but for the first time since she answered the phone, Monica stopped to give the conversation her full attention.
“All you’ve done since meeting this man is lie to him.”
Monica managed a syllable of protest, but her sister continued.
“Lies of omission are lies all the same, Monica.”
Monica dropped the cheese into her mouth and chomped, disgruntled by her sister’s bluntness. “Since when did you become a nun?”
“I’m not judging, I’m stating a fact.”
Monica heard a shuffle and a click, and the background noise of her sister’s life cut out. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Did you take me into the bathroom with you?”
“I need a minute,” Melody replied unapologetically. “I was up until three sewing scales on Emma’s leotard.”
“Scales?”
“Sequins that look like scales,” she explained in a dismissive rush. “She’s a mermaid, remember? She only told you sixteen times.”
“I remember,” Monica insisted, though she hadn’t.
“Wow, the lies keep coming.”
Setting her teeth, she tossed the string cheese aside. Melody was right, of course. And truthfully, the lying was keeping her up at night. In the beginning, letting him believe that one little thing had all seemed harmless. He kept his illusions. She got in his pants. They’d had a little fun. Nothing more. But life got complicated. Colm turned out to be more than a hot guy or a sexy single dad. So much more.
“I like him,” she said in a whisper.
The silence on the other end of the call spoke volumes. At last, Melody drew a shaky breath. “I know you do, Monnie. You can’t go on letting him think you’re something you’re not.”
“I know.” The words came out small and squeaky. “I’m not ready to…” She bit her lip. “I like him.”
“Tell him,” Melody advised. “Just tell him it was a mix-up, things went too far, and you didn’t know how to tell him. Everyone’s gotten stuck sometime. He’ll understand.”
“I know, I know.” Swallowing the burning lump in her throat, she couldn’t resist taking one last shot. “So…you’re sure Emma can’t come over?”
“You’re a train wreck.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Monica muttered.
“We’ll save you a seat. If you manage to get loose from the tangled web you’ve woven, the performance starts at seven.”
Monica glared at the screen on her phone until the background faded to black. She slid the useless lifeline onto the counter with a murmured, “Thanks a lot, sis.”
She tried to call Colm’s cell again. Straight to voicemail.
Alone in her underused kitchen, Monica tried to quell the panic rising inside her. Everything Melody said was true. He might be a little pissed at first, but when he thought things through, when she explained how it all got so far out of hand, he’d understand. After all, he’d wanted all the same things she did in the beginning. Neither of them expected anything more.
She glanced at the clock on the microwave. Only twenty minutes until Colm and Aiden would arrive. She could do this. Colm was a reasonable man. And Melody was right; everyone stumbles into one of those “how do I get out of this?” situations at some point or another. She’d simply explain she hadn’t believed they’d see each other after the first night. He hadn’t expected anything from her, either, so he couldn’t fault her.
When he came, she’d be straightforward and honest. He’d have to accept reality. Either they had a real chance or they didn’t. If they had real feelings for each other, all the lies in the world wouldn’t make a bit of difference. Pushing away from the counter, she steeled her spine and headed upstairs to ditch her suit in favor of something more casual.
By the time her doorbell rang, she wore a T-shirt, faded jeans, and an expression of grim resolve. Which crumbled the moment she spotted the dark-haired duo standing on her doorstep with an enormous pizza box. Colm smiled at her through the leaded glass, and every good intention she ever had melted. She ran a hand over her hair but couldn’t make herself reach for the door.
The dark-eyed boy shuffled his feet and looked up at her with the kind of unconcealed impatience only kids under ten could get away with displaying. Colm’s smile faltered a fraction as he cocked his head questioningly, but brightened when she took hold of the deadbolt toggle. She had to do something. Anything. But she hadn’t the first clue how to begin. All she knew was she wasn’t ready for this to end. There had to be some way to delay the inevitable.
She opened the door only a crack and pressed her face into the opening. Colm’s smile disappeared the moment she whispered, “I’m sorry. We can’t do this tonight.”
“What’s wrong?”
He craned his neck to look past her into the house, and instinctively, Monica turned to follow his gaze. But all she saw was the immaculate entryway. The lack of clutter should have been a dead giveaway for him. She’d seen Melody’s place. She knew even at their cleanest, kids left an indelible mark on a home. He should have noticed. Maybe he had.
Monica squinted up at him, searching for signs of duplicity in his eyes. All she found was confusion. She’d been shining him on for a while, but he could be playing innocent, too. After all, in one giant leap they’d gone from a mutually agreeable kid-free arrangement to a pizza party for four, when in truth there were only three.
Was this his way of flushing her out and forcing her to own up? The very thought of being trapped raised her hackles. Her competitive streak kicked in with a vengeance. She wouldn’t be boxed into a corner. No way in hell she was going to let him railroad her into a relationship without her consent. And, if he was going to try, he’d have to work harder to outmaneuver her.
“I tried to call.” Truth. She had. Multiple times. In the end, he could split all the hairs he wanted, but she never outright lied to him. She simply let him believe what he wanted to believe. The same way he seemed to see only what he wanted to see. “I’m sorry, we can’t have pizza tonight.”
“Why not?” Colm asked.
“We already got the pizza,” Aiden pointed out. “It’s in the box.”
She smiled down at him. The boy was adorable. And, oh, how her fingers itched to ruffle this wavy dark hair. He looked at her with wide brown eyes. Soft as they were, they seemed to cut right through her. Like he could see every lie swirling inside her head. Lies. Here she was, lying to this good man and his sweet boy. Her stomach twisted.
“I see, and I’m really sorry I can’t have any.” True. So true. She couldn’t eat a bite if she tried. She pressed a hand to her belly to emphasize the point.
Colm stared at her for a long moment. At last, understanding lit his handsome face. “Are you sick?”
Monica grabbed hold of the excuse like a life preserver. “Yes. I’m sorry, things are, uh, out of control here.” She waved an all-encompassing hand but was careful not to take her niece’s name in vain as she threaded yet another lie through the web she’d started weaving the day she met him. “Came home feeling cra…cruddy. Don’t want to expose you guys to the germs.”
She watched Colm’s face as he processed this information. His jaw was set at a stubborn angle, but he cut a worried glance at Aiden. Monica knew she had a winner. No parent in their right mind would risk exposing their kid to illness. Melody once grabbed Emma and bolted from Thanksgiving dinner when their cousin’s kid went full-on projectile. She explained to Monica later the narrow escape was a matter of self-preservation as much as concern for her kid. Aside from being on full-time nursing duty, a sick kid meant mountains of laundry and an unending supply of puke, snot, or other bodily excretions to mop up.
Monica could almost see the wheels turning in Colm’s head as he weighed risk versus reward, so she upped the ante. Pressing her hand to her forehead, she heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m…feeling wiped out.”
“Can we take the pizza home?” Aiden asked, his voice plaintive but edging toward a whine. “I’m really hungry.”
“Oh, yeah,” Monica said, holding up a hand as if to hold the evil pizza at bay. “Please take it home. I can’t…” She let her protest trail off, leaving the exact nature of the plague infesting the Rayburn household as vague as possible.
Colm shifted his weight as Aiden tugged on his belt loop urging him to go. But the man stayed planted, obviously torn. “Do you need anything?”
The genuine concern in his voice raised a lump in her throat. Another rush of heat engulfed her. Pressing her lips together, she forced herself to answer with a jerky shake of her head.
“Gatorade? Crackers? Soup?” he offered.
“Daddy,” Aiden whined. “Come on.”
Monica did her best not to smile at her unwitting ally. “Go on. If I need anything, I’ll call my sister.”
At last, Colm nodded his acceptance. “You two get some sleep if you can. Call me if there’s anything I can do.”
“I will.”
Her smile felt shaky, but she kept it in place until he turned away. She closed the door and twisted the lock, pressing her hand to her lips when Colm looked up and nodded his approval at the sound of the bolt. He gave her a sad little smile. Melody was right. She couldn’t go on lying to him. But her smarty-pants sister was wrong about one very important thing. Monica was sure Colm wasn’t going to understand. No matter what she wanted to believe.
Monica walked up the polished hardwood stairs as if her feet were encased in blocks of cement. Her bedroom was dim, cool, and empty. Thanks to a couple restless nights, every surface gleamed sleek and polished. She’d changed the linens. No good. Everything smelled like Colm. A new duvet and pillows were the only answer.
She fell face-first onto the bed, not bothering to put her hands out to break her fall. The down comforter billowed around her. Not a single whiff of eau de Colm floated up to greet her. But he wasn’t completely gone. She’d stuffed the old pillows and bedspread into the depths of the guest room closet, but they were far from forgotten. The impulse to open the door and take a hit had struck no less than a dozen times. So far, she’d resisted, but knew she couldn’t hold out indefinitely. A woman only had so much strength, after all, and at the moment, she didn’t have enough to hold her shit together.
Closing her eyes, she allowed her thoughts to drift until they settled on a more pleasant scenario. She and Colm seated on a vinyl-covered bench of a diner booth. Aiden on the other side, stuffing forkfuls of crisp golden waffle into his mouth. But something niggled at her. A piece of this picture wasn’t right. Did she not fit in? Would Aiden hate sharing his time with his dad? No. She didn’t think so. Sure, the boy looked a little put out when they stood on her doorstep, but he hadn’t looked angry or resentful. Just confused. And she could hardly blame him. She was every bit as befuddled by the whole thing as he’d looked. Besides, in her little daydream he’d been smiling at her. At them. No, something else niggled her…something small…
Her butt buzzed, jolting her from her lame attempt at analysis. She groped for the pocket of her jeans and plucked her phone from its depths. The screen showed an incoming text from Colm. Sighing, she fell out on the bed, the phone above her face. She squinted until the message swam into focus, then sighed again. This time deeper, more pathetic.
Sorry you guys are sick. The pizza was bleh. Company not much better since i am the worst dad in the world bcuz i said no pokemon during dinner. Hope tomorrow better.
Biting her lip, she blinked three times fast as she let her arm fall to the bed. She wouldn’t reply. Couldn’t. What would she say?
Sorry I lied. Again. Sorry I keep lying. I can’t seem to help myself whenever you’re around.
She erased the type, tossed the phone onto her fluffy new pillow and pressed the side of her fist to her forehead. As if she could physically calm her swirling thoughts. She let her eyes drift shut.
Blanking her mind, she channeled what little energy she had to breathing in, and out. In, out. In…out.
She must have dozed, because the next thing she knew, Night Ranger was blaring Sister Christian at top volume. Gritting her teeth, she lunged for the pillow, hoping to quell the build up to motorin’.
“Hey,” she breathed into the blessed silence.
“Hello. Are your pants no longer on fire?” Melody asked in a chipper tone. “If they are, we’re talking in a good way.”
“Kill me.”
Mel’s groan was low but heartfelt. “Sounds like I need to put the hit out on someone else. Was he a jerk? Should I make his death really slow and painful?”
“Not him, me. I didn’t tell him.”
“What?” Her sister’s horrified gasp was sharp.
Monica pulled the phone away from her ear.
“How? What did you…How could you not tell him? Didn’t he notice you were short one adorable kid?”
“I lied. Again.” Her chest squeezed. “I told him I was sick.”
“Oh, Monica.”
The disappointment in Melody’s tone sent a hot rush of tears to her eyes. Her phone vibrated to indicate an incoming text. Blinking furiously and curious to see if her sister had found a way to chastise her on multiple fronts, Monica looked at the screen. The message was from Colm and so sweet she could probably curl into a ball and die without any outside intervention.
You must be sleeping. Get some rest. I have a dentist appt in the AM. Will call after.
Her breath caught in her chest, and for the life of her, Monica couldn’t remember exactly how the whole breathing sequence was supposed to go. With the last of what she had trapped in her lungs, she managed a tremulous, “Melly?”
“Yeah?”
“His little boy is so cute,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I—I like him so—” She bit her lip as the tears spilled over her lashes. “I think I’m in trouble.”
There was only a millisecond of silence on her sister’s end of the call, then Melody’s voice came through soft but firm. “Breathe, Monnie. In, and out. In and out,” she chanted. Once Monica caught on to the cadence, Mel’s tone shifted into brisk and no-nonsense. “Jeremy is getting Emma settled in. I’m picking up Ben and Jerry, and the three of us will be over in fifteen minutes.”
“Mel, no—”
“Fifteen minutes. Hang in there, Monnie. Chunky Monkey is coming to the rescue.”
Her preferred flavor for heartache was Coffee Toffee Crunch, but Melody hung up. Monica gave a moment’s thought to calling her sister back to beg off, but she knew she wouldn’t win. She’d have to make do with banana ice cream rather than the caffeinated kind. The switch up seemed only fitting. Her well-ordered life had somehow gone completely nuts.