“Angie knew she wo… would… wouldn’t feel better,” Maura sounds out the words as she reads her newest easy reader book, Green, Green, Go Away, all about a little girl that hates the color green.
It’s like the author wrote about Max and new her aversion to yellow. I have no idea why she suddenly decided “it’s yucky”, but I’ve given up making macaroni and cheese for lunch now.
“She was so mad. She hated green and would nev… never like it. Angie kept think…ing… thinking, ‘Green, green, go away. Don’t come back another day.’”
Stroking Maura’s blond curls, I try to concentrate on the story and help her when she gets stuck, but my mind is on other things.
It’s been almost eight hours since Libby dropped the bomb via cell phone, and I’ve gotten one text from Greg. One. And all it said was “It’s under control. We’ll talk soon.”
Obviously, we have different definitions of the word soon.
“What’s that word, Mama?” Maura points her little finger at the colorful page.
“Occurred,” I answer, trying to re-engage my brain to the task at hand. “It suddenly occurred…”
“It suddenly occurred to her that green might be lis… listen… listening,” she reads. For a six-year-old, Maura is really advancing with her reading skills. I have to give it to her teacher, Mrs. Robinson. She’s done an amazing job taking my child, the one who prefers to play dress up and doing hair to any form of learning, and finding the kinds of books that catch her interest. No wonder she’s the most requested first grade teacher in our school.
With her eyes beginning to droop, Maura finishes her chapter and I gently pull the book out of her hands. “It’s time for sleep, my princess.” She snuggles down into the covers, and falls asleep right in the middle of her nighttime prayers.
Sneaking out of her room, I take a quick peek at Max, who is out like a light on her tummy, butt up in the air like she’s still a baby. And then I pull my phone out of my pocket.
Still nothing.
I have to keep reminding myself that I trust Greg. I really do. But Libby is a loose cannon and it’s her I don’t trust. She has no interest in doing what’s best for anyone but herself, and even that’s debatable. What if he can’t convince her to stay? What if she takes Peyton again? Will he follow her this time? And can I possibly survive losing him again?
Sighing in resignation, I walk into Fiona’s room. She’s powering through her first Harry Potter novel and loving it, so it’s been a struggle getting the book out of her hands at night for the last couple of weeks.
“Ok, baby cakes. It’s time to shut it down.”
In an uncharacteristic move, she immediately obeys, marking her spot with a bookmark and closes the book. Then she reaches her arms up for a hug. “Why are you sad, Mommy?” she whispers into my neck.
Her words surprise me. I thought I was pretty good at hiding my distress from my kids. I guess not.
“What makes you think I’m sad?” Pulling her tighter, I inhale the scent of her kids’ shampoo. It reminds me that the most important part of the equation isn’t the adults. It’s the kids. I need that reminder.
“Your eyes look sad. Like they did when Greg moved away. Is he moving away again?”
Wow. My very astute daughter put that together easily, didn’t she?
Pulling back, I begin the process of tucking her in for the night, being very careful with my words. “I don’t think we have to worry about that, baby,” I say, straddling the line between lying and protecting her from a reality I’m unsure of at this point. “He just moved in next door. It takes a long time to sell a house, so he can’t really go anywhere, right?”
She nods, but doesn’t look convinced. Yeah, me neither, kid. Me neither.
“Why don’t you say your prayers, ok?”
“Ok, Mommy.” She folds her hands and closes her eyes. “Dear God, thank you for the day. And thank you for Mommy and Daddy and Maura and Max. And I guess thank you for Keri because I have to say that.”
I stifle a giggle. Maura may think their step-mom is the best thing since sliced bread, but Fiona still isn’t convinced.
“And please, please don’t make Greg move again. I love him and I love Peyton and I miss them when they’re gone. Amen.”
It breaks my heart that my sweet sensitive girl is worried about something I can neither confirm nor deny. I wish I could do something to make her feel better, but until I have information, there’s nothing I can say. We’re all stuck in limbo. So I do what I can do—I kiss her on the head, my lips lingering for longer than normal as I silently request that her prayers are answered.
A final tuck of the blanket, some “I love you’s,” and a flip of the light switch, and I’m alone with my thoughts, no longer using the kids as a distraction from my own personal fears.
Keeping myself busy seems like the best course of action. Not only because things like a final load of laundry needs to be put way and last-minute dishes need to be clean. No, I’m trying to keep my thoughts from going out of control. But, try as I might, it doesn’t work.
I keep thinking about how it felt when Greg moved away last time. I understood, then. I really did. It was so, so painful, but he’d made the right decision for Peyton. She needed her father and going with her was the only way to do that.
This time feels different, though. This time, he’s setting a precedent for the future. Will he continue to follow Libby every time she moves on a whim? Will he face his own fears and fight her back? Will he figure out a way to stay? Is it important enough for him to stay with me?
Am I that important to him?
Rationally, I know none of these decisions have anything to do with me. We aren’t married. We aren’t even engaged. Until he proposes, we have separate lives that overlap, they don’t intertwine. But I trusted that he wouldn’t hurt me again. I trusted that he was done with Libby’s games. Now I’m questioning all of that. And it all boils down to one issue.
I just don’t think I’m strong enough to lose Greg again.
Sure, I can function for my kids. I can even function for myself. But my heart would be closed off for good. There’s no way I could open myself up to that kind of heartache again. Ever.
Not even if Greg came back.
Finally, finally, my phone dings with an incoming text, right as I’m closing the dishwasher and drying off my hands. It’s him.
Are you up?
Trying to sound calmer than I am, I respond.
Me: It’s 9:30. Of course I’m up, goofball.
Greg: I don’t want to knock and wake up the girls. Let me in? Please?
Approaching the door, I take one last deep breath and remind myself there is nothing to worry about until there is. I need to have an update before I jump to any conclusions.
But then the door opens, revealing the man I love more than life itself. Suddenly, the anxiety I’ve fought all day long combined with him looking tired and disheveled are overwhelming, and I dissolve into a puddle of tears.
He reaches for me, pulling me into his safe embrace and holds me while I cry, murmuring words of reassurance and stroking my hair. I barely hear what he’s saying, focusing on my breathing and his scent.
When the tears finally stop, he pulls back, cupping my face in his hands, gently wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “Why are you crying, baby?”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
His shoulders drop. “It’s been a really, really long day. Two of my coaches called in sick, so I had to cover every single class.”
“You weren’t avoiding me?” It comes out like a question because I’m still reeling from all the pent-up emotion. It makes sense that he wouldn’t have time to contact me if people called in sick, but I’m still in that stage where I need lots of clarification.
His eyes widen. “Oh god, no! That’s why I sent that text. I didn’t want you to worry. I think I had a total of ten minutes at my desk today, and that’s only because the office manager forced a pen in my hand to sign paychecks. I still haven’t even opened my emails.”
“Oh.” My eyes are downcast, but my hands are clinging to the front of his shirt, his arms still wrapped around me. I want so badly to ask what happened with Libby, but I’m still so afraid, the words won’t come out. Thankfully, he knows the wait is killing me.
“Before I say anything else, I need you to hear me. Elena, look at me.” He tilts my chin up with the tip of his finger, looking me in the eye. “No one is moving.” My breath hitches. “You hear me? We are not moving.”
My entire body sags and I feel like I can breathe again. “Really?”
“Really,” he confirms again. “Even if Libby goes, I’m staying.”
“But Peyton—”
He cuts me off. “I threatened to file for custody.”
Well doesn’t that make my eyes blink fast as I wrap my brain around what he just said.
“After I got that phone call, I went straight to her house to confront her. Told her I was done playing her games and if she even thinks about moving, I’ll file for full custody, citing an unstable home environment.”
“You did?”
He nods. “Sure did. I told you I’ve been jotting down notes when things didn’t sit right for the last couple of years. But since we went to San Antonio, I’ve been documenting everything. And I called Aputi today.”
I look around, wracking my brain, trying to remember the name. Then it hits me. “The ex-boyfriend from San Antonio.”
“Yep.” He clasps his arms tighter around me, forcing my hands up and over his shoulders. “Do you remember how he told me about his daughter moving away from him?”
“Vaguely.”
“It hurt him really, really deeply. And as much as he really liked Libby, he always recognized she wasn’t exactly doing right by Peyton. I think it may have brought up a lot of old hurts for him or something. Maybe that’s why he was so good to Peyton. I don’t know.” He shakes his head like he’s refocusing his thoughts. “Anyway, he’s usually a pretty chill guy. But when I talked to him today, he said the one thing he hates more than anything is a mother using the child to get back at the father. And that he’d testify on my behalf if it comes down to it. Even if it makes Libby hate him.”
I gape at him. Documenting behavior is one thing. Having an ex-boyfriend testify against you changes everything.
“And she knows that? Libby knows Aputi would testify?”
“She knows. I think that’s what finally made her realize how serious I am. But just to make sure, as soon as I left, I put in a call to my attorney.”
“What did he say?”
He smirks in victory. “Let’s just say Libby will be receiving a strongly worded letter regarding my intensions, should she push me. In case she doesn’t believe me.”
I am floored. Like, lay me out, step over me, I am not moving, floored. I knew he had it in him to stand up to her, but I never realized he would shut her down so easily and efficiently. Assuming Libby knows he’s serious and doesn’t keep pushing the issue. But even then, there is no longer any doubt in my mind that he would immediately sue for custody if it came down to it. There’s also no doubt in my mind he would win.
My thoughts go into overdrive, thinking about how that would work in the future. Obviously, that would mean babysitting her every night while he finishes up at the gym, but I love Peyton like she’s one of my own. There wouldn’t be any complaints from me. Greg and I are a team.
He kisses me sweetly on the eyes, distracting my revelry, as if he’s kissing the last of my doubts away. “Are you alright? I know it’s a lot to process.”
I smile, eyes still closed, enjoying the peace that comes with knowing everything is going to be ok. No… that’s not right. It already is ok.
Pulling him down to me, I kiss him gently on the lips, hoping to convey my relief and my love and my acceptance of his situation. His big hands go back to my cheeks, holding me in place as the kiss goes deeper.
“I love you, Elena,” he maintains, never taking his lips off mine. “Just know, someday, I'm going to marry you.”
My face breaks out into a joyful grin and I don’t bother putting a filter on my words. “I would love nothing more than to marry you. But before you decide that, you need to know one thing.”
“What’s that?” he asks in between kisses.
“I’m not having another baby.” Indicating toward my belly, I continue with, “This shop is closed.”
“No way,” he agrees with a chuckle. “I already have four weddings to pay for. We’re not having another and risking walking down the aisle a fifth time. That would be my luck.”
“Wait… you’re planning to pay for my girls’ weddings, too?” I can’t help the wide smile now. He’s not only charming. I know he’s being truthful, so of course I’m swooning again.
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I love them. They’re my girls. All four of you are. I want to take care of all of you and make you happy.”
“You already do,” I say, kissing him again. “You already do.”