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“No shit?” I raised both eyebrows at him. This guy had been on a roll with his podcast. YouTube channel, and book lately. He went from being a teacher to an internet celebrity practically overnight—I would have hated him for it if he wasn’t such a good guy. If anyone deserved this success, it was Owen Gardner. “I’m really proud of you, cuz.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m trying to get him to take an extra week off leading up to our wedding in November,” Sarah said, shaking her head, “but I can’t get this man to relax.”
“Sounds like the Owen I know,” I said, smiling up at them both.
Sarah tugged on his arm. “Did you ask him about the tux fitting?”
With a sheepish smile on his face, Owen turned to me and said, “I completely forgot—we got the groomsmen suits picked out, so you and the other guys have got to go get measured and all that. Maybe next weekend?”
Just weeks after I’d moved back to Woodvale, Owen asked me to be in his wedding. It came as a bit of a surprise, considering we hadn’t kept in touch as much as we could’ve over the past few years. He was one of my favorite people growing up, though—always defending me against his brother, Jake, who used to torment me just because I was the baby of our family. Owen was also the only one of my cousins I was comfortable enough to ask to buy me alcohol when I was a teen—and he never said no.
He would forever be one of my favorite people, and as far as I could tell, the admiration was mutual.
“Yeah, just text me the details,” I told him. The alarm on my phone went off just then, alerting me it was time to retrieve Finley from Traci. “Shit, I’m going to have to go get Fin—but it was great running into you guys. Oh, and have a good school year, Sarah.” She wiggled the fingers around her coffee cup in a playful farewell gesture, and they were off. Owen slipped his arm around her waist as they walked away.
“I need to get fucking laid,” I muttered as I gathered my things.
* *
Traci was fifteen minutes late getting Finley back to me. This wasn’t completely out of the ordinary for her, but that didn’t make it any less annoying. I exited my car the second I saw hers pull into the parking lot, propping myself against my door with my hands tucked in my pockets. This particular spot at the farthest edge of the lot, nestled against a chain-link fence, was exactly where Whitney and I used to meet for custody exchanges—the judge had recommended a neutral location. I’m not sure how either of us came to agree on the Wal-Mart parking lot, but it seemed to work. While it wasn’t necessary to continue meeting Traci here, I preferred that over having her come all the way out to my parents’ house in the suburbs. It gave me a sense of comfort to know Traci wasn’t aware of Finley’s precise address, anyway—she didn’t need to be dropping in unexpectedly.
When Traci’s car came to a stop beside me, I was immediately met with a very animated Finley in the backseat, pressing a phone up against the window. I couldn’t quite make out what she was trying to show me on the screen because she was waving the phone around frantically, so I yanked open her door and leaned closer to see. “Hey, what is it?”
“It’s mine!”
“What is?”
Traci twisted to face me. “Mason—”
“She gave me a phone!” Finley interrupted, smiling ear to ear. “My very own phone, Daddy!”
My eyes widened as she thrust the device toward my face, revealing the paused YouTube video on the screen. I cleared my throat and took a step back in an attempt to collect myself before the expletives on the tip of my tongue threatened to find their way out of my mouth.
“Mason,” Traci said again, unbuckling. I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes as she continued. “Hear me out on this.”
“Finley cannot have a phone,” I said, barely moving my teeth.
Finley gasped. “Why not?”
“Now Mason, why are you so negative about it right from the start? Just let me explain this, okay?”
“Whatever reason you think you have for giving my daughter a phone, it doesn’t matter. I’m her dad, and I say no.” I jerked the phone out of Finley’s hand. Her bottom lip quivered for a second, and then she launched into an eardrum-shattering sob. “Great,” I muttered as I leaned over her to toss the phone in Traci’s front seat. “She’s five years old. Are you out of your mind?”
“How else is she going to communicate with me?” Traci’s screeching had reached a high pitch that grated on my nerves. “I can’t—”
“She communicates with you every Sunday morning,” I mumbled, struggling to unbuckle Finley’s seatbelt. I was trembling so much, I couldn’t get a good grip. “Jesus. I can’t believe you got her a phone without discussing it with me first.”
“I did it this way because I knew you’d be against it. But I had no idea you’d rip the thing from the poor girl’s hands like that. All I wanted was to give her a way to call Mamaw anytime she wants. It’s on my phone plan, and you can control her apps if you want. What’s the big deal?”
I ignored her, scooping Finley up into my arms. The crying didn’t subside—in fact, she began sobbing even harder. I used the collar of my shirt to wipe the drool, snot, and tears from her face.
I hated Traci for putting me in this predicament.
The woman got out of her car and stood behind me as I strapped Finley into her booster seat. “Why don’t you want her to talk to her family?”
“That’s not what this is about,” I said, shaking as I snapped Finley’s buckle. I slammed the door once she was strapped in and turned to Traci with my arms crossed against my chest. “What the hell, Traci?”
