Tori: I’m an absolute fucking delight.
Eloise: Then what are you worried about? Worst case the two of you don’t work together as a couple and you figure out coparenting, best case you get something way cooler…
Tori:…
I don’t know that I want to figure out coparenting. Coparenting means splitting time with my kid. It means sharing holidays I’ve had all to myself since Wyatt was born. It means not being with him when he’s sick sometimes, or him hurting himself when he’s with Raffi and his family.
Shit.
Digging the heel of my hand into my chest doesn’t cure the ache spreading under my skin. I’m not ready for that. Not at all. Don’t know that I ever will be. Can I still be a good mom and let him go?
Ugh. The bagel swells as it travels down my body into my stomach, making me queasy.
Eloise: I don’t need to finish the sentence. But since you’re being obtuse.
Eloise: You could fall in love and be a family.
Eloise: I felt like that needed to be said in a message by itself.
Eloise: Stop worrying about what he might find wrong with you, and just be yourself and enjoy spending time together.
Easy for her to say. I’m not sure if I’m more concerned he’s going to dislike me or love Wyatt, but the anxiety is rising to uncomfortable levels in my body.
Eloise: It’s easy for me to say, but I also know you, Tori. You’re a great person and a great mom. Stop worrying about what one guy thinks of you and just have fun.
Well. When she puts it like that I feel kinda foolish for letting it get to me.
Tori: Yes, mom. I’ll do my best.
Eloise: Fear is healthy. But getting so caught up over what might happen that you don’t enjoy the now isn’t cool. You’ve got this.
I hate when she brings the best friend logic.
Raffi comes back into the room before I can shoot off a reply to Ellie Bellie. I’ll catch up with her after our day out. Maybe Mom can watch Wyatt so I can take her out for hot chocolate to make up for being a whiny bitch.
Wyatt is snuggled against Raffi’s chest, already wearing a coat and shoes. What voodoo did Raffi work on our kid to get him to agree to not only one of those things, but both?
A pang of something strikes my chest, but I don’t have time to analyze it.
“Good bagel?”
I take a huge, unsexy bite. A string of cheese lands causally on my chin and Raffi plucks it from my skin and feeds it to me.
“Me, mama! I’m hungry.”
I hand my number one guy the rest of my bagel before cracking another one out of the bag.
“Am I driving?” I ask.
Raffi shakes his head. “I borrowed Apollo’s SUV again. I got this.”
The relief that unfurls in my neck muscles is palpable. I fucking hate driving. If I could get around without ever having to drive again, I would.
“Why didn’t you bring your own car?”
Pretty sure he told me once that he has his dad’s old car.
“It’s a piece of shi—silliness. I don’t want to drive you around in something that could easily break down on the side of the highway. Apollo insisted.”
