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Her hand squeezes my arm. “Thank you so much.”
“Don’t mention it.”
After Briar leaves, Abby and I binge a couple more episodes ofFriends. She asks a thousand more questions. Then she asks to draw and I pull out a single black pen and some junk mail for her to scribble on.
And when she draws a picture of everyone in her family together on the back of an old bank statement, I definitely should not be so touched by how she includes me—but I am.
Part Three
The Home-Wrecker
Twenty-Six
Caleb
“We have dinner at my parents’…er, I mean my mother’s tonight,” I say, stepping out of the shower. Briar just woke up from a long nap, and judging by the look on her face, she’d rather spend the rest of the night in bed than go to someone else’s house.
“Mind if I skip it?” she asks, looking run-down.
“Of course not,” I reply, kissing the side of her head. “I’ll take Abby. You relax. Take a bubble bath.”
“Are you sure?” Her expression is etched with concern. And I know deep down she’s thinking about the news we got the other day and how she doesn’t want me to have to face my family alone.
“I’ll be fine. It’s just dinner.”
“Okay, I appreciate it,” she mumbles to herself as she turns the faucet on the tub. “Just grab Abby from Dean’s before you go.”
I get ready in a rush, noticing the time. My hair is still wet as I jog up the stairs to Dean’s place. Knocking on the door, I hear laughter inside.
“Come in,” Dean calls, and when I open the door, I find him and Abby sitting on the couch, each of them with a video game controller in their hands and what looks likeGrand Theft Autoplaying on the screen.
Shaking my head, I walk into the apartment and stand behind the couch as my six-year-old daughter hijacks a fictional Impala on the screen.
“Briar would have your head if she knew you were letting her play this,” I say with a cold, hard stare in his direction.
He lets out a laugh as he shrugs. “I didn’t let her pick up any prostitutes.”
“Jesus,” I mutter to myself. Then I tap Abby’s shoulder. “Come on, peanut. We have to go to Nana’s for dinner.”
“Can Dean come?” she replies excitedly.
I quickly shake my head before glancing over at him. “No, honey. I doubt he wants to.” When he doesn’t immediately turn it down, I add, “Do you…want to go to my mom’s for dinner?”
“Do you really want me to?” he asks Abby.
“Yes!” she replies, hopping up and down on the couch cushion. “Come on. Please!”
“If it’s okay with your dad,” he says with a shrug.
I’m frozen for a second. Dean and I alone together? For some reason, it feels both terrifying and exciting. A few days ago, we were at each other’s throats. He’s still harboring resentment toward me for what happened over a decade ago, and now he’s going to come with me to dinner at my mom’s like everything is fine.
“Of course, it’s okay,” I stammer, looking down.
“Nana is such a good cook,” Abby replies, tossing the controller on the couch.
“I know that,” Dean says flatly.
She screws up her face. “How do you know?”
