Chapter 29
Robert
“Wake up, lazy bones. You’ve got a guest.”
I roll over and groan. “What time is it?”
Mom opens my blinds. “It’s eleven. Get up. I don’t want to be left entertaining Nic for half an hour.”
Great. It is way too early in the morning for this.
Nic has never been in my house. And I’m shocked that he steps inside when I open the door two minutes later. He’s wearing his purple Rude jeans and a tight Tapout T-shirt like he’s some kind of martial arts devotee. His sunglasses are pushed up on his head. Not too far, though. Just enough to be cool.
I wonder again why I ever found him attractive.
“What do you want?” I say, shoving my hand through my mussed hair. I’m still in flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt. My only concession to my former boyfriend is that I brushed my teeth.
“I want to know why you’re mad at me.” He props his fists on his hips and shifts his weight to one foot. His face takes on a petulant look that isn’t winning him any points. “Is it because I didn’t come to your dad’s funeral? You know how I feel about sick people and stuff like that. I sent you those paper flowers though. Krystal and I worked three hours on those. I would think you would at least appreciate my effort.”
“Thank you for the flowers, okay? We good?”
“You’re mad because I had my girls over. Okay, I get that. You’re jealous.” He rolls his eyes and huffs. “So how about I make Wednesdays just for you? And maybe every other Saturday?”
“I do my service project on Wednesdays, and Saturdays I’m busy.”
He fixes his eyes on me. “Why are you being so difficult?”
“Why do you even care? I’m nothing to you, and you’re nothing to me. Why don’t we just admit that and move on!”
“Oh, now you’re just being a dick.”
I throw my hands up, exasperated. “Just go,” I say, opening the door. For a few beats, he doesn’t move. He stares down at his boots, and I almost feel sorry for him. I squeeze my forehead with my thumb and middle finger. “Nic—”
“Your loss,” he says, cutting me off.
“Too bad for me, then.”
He gives me one last long look that I can’t read, then he strides out of the house. I slam the door behind him.
Mom’s in the kitchen, chuckling over a couple of slices of bread she’s just popped in the toaster.
“You heard?” I ask.
“I never liked him. You know that. I’m just kind of sorry that he was . . . you know.”
I thumb through a stack of mail on the kitchen counter. There’s an envelope addressed to me. “When did this come in?” I ask, opening it.
“Yesterday, but I didn’t pick up the mail until this morning. Who’s it from?”
“Ms. Momin.”
Inside the envelope is a handmade card with a drawing of me, I think, playing a recorder. Underneath the drawing in a pretty purple ink: We miss you! The card is signed inside with a bunch of random-looking marks. I can’t read the names, but I know who they are—Patrick, Sophie, and Jo-Jo. The only one I can actually read is Ms. Momin’s.
“Let me see,” Mom says. I turn the card to her. “That’s so sweet. I bet those kids really do miss you. It’s been, what? Seven weeks? You don’t have much longer to accumulate all your service hours.”
I miss them too.
Nic’s paper flower bouquet is still in a vase on the counter. Mom snickers when I toss it in the trash.
Andrew
There are good things and there are bad things about living with Maya again. When I went to bed last night, it was all about the bad things. This morning, I can smell pancakes and it’s all good. Kiki grins at me when I stick my head in her door.
“Daddy!” She holds her arms out to me, and I scoop her up.
“I think your Mommy’s making pancakes. Yum.”
“Yum,” she repeats and pokes at the scruff on my chin.
“Let’s go get some.”
I shift her around to my back like she’s riding a pony and gallop into the kitchen with her. I’m not surprised to see Doug. He and Maya are going to some art show today, which means I get Kiki to myself. But I can see that he is surprised to see me. I pretend not to notice and greet them with a good morning.
Doug’s eyes travel down my boxers to my bare feet and back up again. He turns to Maya. His voice is low, but not so low I can’t hear it. “What’s going on?”
Maya’s face looks so guilty she might as well say we’re sleeping together, which we are not. I can’t believe she hasn’t told him yet. She had to know he’d see me this morning.
“Andrew moved back in,” she says flippantly, like all ex-husbands live with their ex-wives. “He’s sleeping in the spare bedroom. His old bedroom.”
Doug glares at her for a few beats, then drops the spatula he’s holding on the counter and stalks out of the kitchen.
“Doug,” Maya says. “Shit.” She runs after him. She leaves the front door open, and I can hear them arguing in the front yard.
I look at Kiki over my shoulder. “Uh-oh.”
She giggles.
“I guess we’re making the pancakes, baby girl.” I set her on the counter, but far enough away from the stove that she can’t reach it, and flip the pancakes. They’re burned. I toss them into the sink and pour some more batter in the pan.
“Daddy—”
“Shhh,” I say to Kiki, putting my finger to my lips.
She grins and puts her fingers to her lips. “Shhh.” I grin back.
I’m eavesdropping. But, really, I can’t help myself. I’m sure the neighbors are getting a good show too.
“Why are you acting like such a jerk?” Maya asks.
“Don’t I get a say in this?” Doug fires back.
“No. You don’t. He is the father of my child. There is nothing going on between us.”
“Then why is he standing in your kitchen in his underwear?”
“He just got up. I don’t know.”
“You know what? I think you’re still in love with him.”
“You’re crazy.”
I flip the pancakes. “I think I may have underestimated Mr. Doug, baby girl. He’s not as clueless as he looks.”
I’m kidding around, but deep inside I know he’s right. I know another thing, this can’t end well. But that doesn’t keep me from enjoying their little spat.
“Do you want to take me to the art festival or not?” Maya asks Doug outside.
“Are you sure you can break away from your little family unit?”
“You’re pissing me off.”
A car door slams.
I can’t wipe the grin off my face when she returns to the kitchen. I try, but I just can’t.
“You heard?” Maya says.
“He’ll get over it. Go. Have a good time.”
“I don’t even know if I want to go anymore. He’s being such a jerk.” A brief pause. “But then again, you do look kind of sexy in those boxers. Can’t blame him for being jealous.”
Immediately I’m uncomfortable. I move the pancakes from the pan to a plate, then pour more batter. I make a mental note to put on some pants when I get up in the morning. I add that to my mental list of bad things about living with Maya.
I feel her behind me a moment before she slides her hands around my hips and gropes me. “I don’t have to go. I can spend the day with you guys,” she says in my ear.
“Maya, don’t.”
She doesn’t remove her hand immediately as if a few more strokes will change my mind. It doesn’t.
“Doug’s waiting. You need to go.”
I feel her stiffen behind me. She removes her hand. Then, as if this isn’t the most awkward minute we’ve ever spent together, her voice gets all cheery, and she gives Kiki a big hug. “You two have a good day,” she says. She kisses me on the cheek. I throw a half smile her direction and wish her the same.
As I pour the last of the batter into the pan, I’m thinking how different this would have turned out if that had been a certain seventeen-year-old’s hand feeling me up through my drawers. The thought makes me hard in a way that Maya’s hand couldn’t, and I’m glad my daughter is only two.