AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“The divorce,” she says. “You’re still really going through with it?”
“Considering we’ve had this conversation a dozen times over the last months, Mom, I think we both know the answer to that.”
Her eyes flash in that distinctive Mom way, irritation and disappointment and love all jumbled up together. “Don’t you take that tone with me,” she says, turning back to the stove and stirring a pot vigorously—maybe more vigorously than the béchamel I know is inside it requires. “Brit is the best thing that ever happened to you.”
There’s that pain again, slicing my insides to ribbons, but I shove it down. Ignore it. Like I’ve had to so many times since I uttered those words in the kitchen of our house months ago.
“Roxie is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
My mom pauses in her stirring, head tilting to the side, eyes like mine piercing into me, making me want to both keep arguing and to avoid the way she sees right through me.
Case in point?
Her tone softening. “That’s understood, honey,” she murmurs. “But you know that you can have more than one best thing.”
I feel that—deep and viscerally and?—
The front door swings open, slamming against the wall in the entry with a resounding thud. It echoes through the hose, vibrates through the floor, the soles of my shoes like a tiny earthquake.
Kind of like the little girl who’s caused it.
I move into the hall.
Rox’s feet pound on the floor as she runs toward me. “Dad!”
“Oof, baby girl,” I mutter, wrapping my arms around her and scooping her up, holding her against my chest, peppering her cheeks with kisses. “You taste delicious,” I tell her, soaking in my cuddles, her giggles, knowing that she’s not going to tolerate this for much longer.
“Dad!” she groans, pushing me away. “Gross!”
I steal one more kiss before plunking her down onto her feet. “Okay,” I say. “I heard through the grapevine that you did something special today.”
“I got two goals in practice!” she says, holding up as many fingers.
My mouth twitches. “That’s awesome”—I capture her hand—“but that’s not what I meant.” I touch the tip of her finger, painted a bright, glittery red. “These look pretty, honey.”
Her whole face lights up. “Tiffany got the same color.”
My eyes slide from my daughter’s to the woman leaning against the opening to the kitchen. She’s beautiful, standing there with her arms folded over her chest, ankles crossed, mouth curved into a small smile.
“Tiffany and you have good taste,” I murmur.
“Can I see, baby doll?”
Roxie freezes, surprise and delight on her face, clearly not having put together that the delicious smell in the air signaled Grandma’s presence. Then she unsticks just as quickly. “Grandma!” she shouts, sprinting toward my mom.
Cuddles are exchanged.
Nails are admired.
Days are caught up on.
And then we all sit down to eat some lasagna.
And I do it, trying to ignore that my life feels like it’s got a giant hole in it.
A hole that’s, perhaps, the size of a five-foot-ten, slender blonde with a killer glove hand.
Four
