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You could probably bounce a quarter off of his abs, and part of me would like to try, for the pure pleasure of throwing something at him.
Except…I have to admit it was decent of him to step in to help with Izzy. Usually, she only spends time with Shane when Danny’s babysitting, so I haven’t seen them together much. It was…sweet. I can’t deny part of me craves seeing her with a father figure because she’s never met her father. If I have my way, she never will.
Rand found out I was pregnant and chose that exact moment to tell me that he’d never wanted children. We’d discussed kids before getting married of course, and he’d told me he wanted a family. A big family. But he’d back-peddled so quickly he could have won a cycling contest. According to him, he’d only said that because he’d figured I’d change my mind after seeing how easy and fun it would be, just the two of us, no one holding us back or down. He hadn’t thought it would be an issue, and certainly not an issue this soon, and didn’t I realize that I was ruining everything? I must have been taking my birth control pills wrong. I’d never been good at following instructions, and here was the proof.
It had blindsided me and opened my eyes to the other lies he’d told. That his parents loved me (maybe he’d meant loathed). That I didn’t need a job if I was going to be his wife (I felt purposeless without one). That it wasn’t appropriate for me to hang out with Tank alone because he was a man (to my shame, I’d listened). I’d given up so much to try to please Rand, because I’d thought he was better than me. Richer. Smarter. More important. But I wasn’t giving up my daughter. He may have never wanted a family, but I did.
He gave me an ultimatum: keep him or the baby, and because he’d asked, it was the easiest choice I’d ever made.
The divorce gave me a small financial settlement—very small, since his parents had made us sign a prenup—and he’d readily agreed to sign the form renouncing his paternal rights. If I hadn’t asked him to sign it, I could have gotten child support from him, but he would have had the ability to ask for shared custody. He didn’t want Izzy, he’d made that perfectly clear, but I wasn’t willing to risk that he’d decide he cared more about appearances than his free time. Once the form was signed, the divorce finalized, he found a job in a different town. It was my fault, of course. I’d ruined his life, and he didn’t want to live in the fallout.
I don’t know what he told his parents, but the first time I saw his mother after Rand left, she marched up to me and told me I was a little slut who’d driven her son out of town. I told her she was an emotionally stunted bitch who’d raised a boy who had the emotional integrity of a box of cereal.
I’ve seen them around town several times since then, twice this past month. The last time we passed them on the street, Mrs. Callaghan looked like she had tears in her eyes. Her gaze was hooked on Izzy’s unicorn hat and Elsa braids. Maybe she saw the Callaghan family resemblance—the shape of Izzy’s lips, her eyes. Maybe it made her feel ashamed that she has one granddaughter, the only grandchild she’ll ever have, and she doesn’t and won’t know her. But I’m probably projecting. She could have just been upset because her favorite clothing line got discontinued. Or one of the nails in her gel manicure got chipped.
They’ve never once approached us, and I prefer it that way.
When Izzy asks about her dad, I tell her that he had to move away for work, and sometimes parents aren’t really parents but just the people who gave us life. It’s something she shouldn’t have to understand but does, because my parents were the same way.
I shake off the intrusive thoughts and find Eden watching me with a knowing expression on her face.
“I’m not going to sleep with Shane,” I insist, and my other table, a couple of tourists who mustn’t set much stock by online reviews, glance up at me. One of them was eating a pancake that flops down from his fork, as flaccid as a drunk dick. I nod and smile. They’re midway through their meal, their mouths full, so this would be the perfect time to check on them for maximum annoyance, another game I play to kill boredom.
“Sure, girl. Is he ugly?”
I look at Ralph, whose expression continues to sour as he plays with the coffee mug in front of him. It’s a too-cold day, I decide. I can tell because of the way he occasionally tugs on the sleeves of his sweater, like they’re not long enough to protect him from our coffee.
“It’s not like you to avoid a simple question,” Eden observes.
“No,” I say with a sigh. “He’s not ugly, but he’s one of those guys who knows he’s not ugly.”
“Ain’t nothing wrong with a man who knows how to use a mirror,” she says with a smile. “Better that than a man who doesn’t know how to comb his hair. Or a man who has no hair to comb.”
It’s hard not to grin back—Eden has one of those smiles you just fall into, from the gap between her teeth to her dimples—but I have a feeling of unease. All of this happened so quickly, before I could even process it. Just like with Flower, I leapt in with both feet without knowing where or if I’d land.
The pee smell that won’t leave my carpet, and my three pairs of fucked-up shoes say adopting Flower was a mistake. But it’s one I can’t regret too much. Izzy loves the little dog so much that she taped a picture on the wall over a spot Flower had been gnawing on to make sure she “didn’t get in trouble.” Besides, the Zyrtec has worked wonders.
I lift a hand to my throat, thinking of Shane handing me that bottle and the muscles bunching in his back as he walked away.
“Do you think it’s immoral to marry someone you don’t really like for financial gain?” I ask, my voice distant. “I mean, I genuinely dislike this man.”
Even as I say it, I feel the wrongness of the statement. My feelings for Shane are more complex than simple dislike. He annoys me, confounds me, and is also capable of surprising goodness.
Of course, it’s goodness that’s delivered on his terms.
Case and point, he inserted himself into the dog situation last Friday by calling my building manager and paying the pet fee. I have to admit I was grateful because Mrs. Longhorn caught me carrying Flower outside in my tote bag that afternoon. The tote wasn’t as big as I’d remembered, and I started blathering about Flower being an animatronic stuffed animal before Mrs. Longhorn gave me a hard look and said, “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Ruthie Traeger, pretending you don’t have a dog when you’ve already paid the fee for that flea-bitten animal. Maybe you think it’s funny, playing games with an old woman.”
She’d given me a look that would have made Elsa from Frozen jealous and walked off without a backward glance.
So it was definitely a good thing that everything had already been settled.
On the other hand, Shane took care of the situation behind my back, treating me as if I were still the little girl in pigtails who kept trying to tag along with him and Danny on my bike with training wheels.
It had crushed me to find out what he really thought of me. I can still hear him asking Danny, “Why does your kid sister always want to tag along? Doesn’t she have any friends of her own?”
Asshole.
My lips tighten with the memory. Admittedly, I’m being a little unfair—he was only fifteen when he said that, but still…
