After baths and wrangling them into pajamas, Joey insisted on wearing her “ladyboss” pajamas that, you guessed it, Billie had bought, there was the nightly drama of brushing teeth and picking the right bedtime story. When it was finally quiet, I kissed them both on the top of the head.
“Do you miss Billie?” Joey asked, voice already heavy with sleep.
“Yeah, I do,” I answered honestly.
“I wish we could be a forever family with Billie.”
“I know.” I turned on the noise machine and their star night-light and whispered, “Me too.”
I headed out of the girls’ room and for the first time since she left, went into her room. I walked inside, and it still smelled like her. I inhaled deeply, and that’s when I saw it, sitting on top of the dresser. My mom’s ring.
My heart sank as I walked over and picked it up. She’d left it here. Part of me understood why, but it still broke my heart a little that she didn’t have it. I put it into the pocket of my sweatpants, feeling even more depressed than before, and padded down the stairs. On the way, I was thinking maybe I’d grab a beer, put on SportsCenter, or even tackle the mountain of laundry that Billie had always nagged me to fold, anything to try to distract me. I was halfway down when I heard it, three crisp, assertive knocks at the door.
Immediately, my heart did that thing where it leaps up and forgets it’s not supposed to hope. Billie? Had she forgotten something? Or maybe she missed us, too? I almost tripped over the last stair in my rush to the door and flung it open, adrenaline singing through my veins.
It was not Billie.
It was Genesis, her manicured fist still poised to strike the door again. She looked good, better than I remembered, but in fairness, I hadn’t seen her in person in over two months. Tonight, she was glowing. Her jet-black hair was pulled back into a perfect ponytail that highlighted high cheekbones. Dark, thick lashes framed bright blue eyes which contrasted her flawless olive skin, and her lip-gloss emphasized her full, pouty mouth. The khaki trench coat she wore over her form-fitting white tank top, and jeans was simple and casual, but she looked elegant, stunning, sexy, just breathtakingly beautiful.
I was so thrown, I just gawked for a second before finding words. “What are you doing here?”
Without waiting for an invitation, she swept inside, her perfume making my head spin. She breezed into the foyer, trailing her wheeled suitcase and a designer duffel. She dropped both, then threw her arms around my neck and kissed me.
It was a practiced, perfect kiss, like she was performing it for a movie. I just stood there, arms limp at my sides, letting it happen. She let go, blinked at me, just the faintest flash of disappointment passing across her features.
“You’re surprised to see me. In shock?” she said, tilting her head. Her tone was teasing, like she was already forgiving me for something.
“What are you doing here? You said—” I began.
She held up a hand, cutting me off. “I know what I said. I needed time to think. And I did. I thought a lot, Adam. I missed you.” She walked into the kitchen like she owned it.
Dazed, I closed the door, and as I moved her bags to the side, I felt the weight of them, they were filled with something more than clothes. Maybe regret, or old arguments, or the kind of baggage you inherit from years of trying to be the version of yourself someone else wants.
I trailed behind her and found she’d already helped herself to a bottle of still water and was leaning against the counter with her arms folded, watching me.
“I realized I overreacted,” she continued, not bothering to apologize. “I mean, children? It’s not the ideal, obviously, but I can be flexible. I’m a flexible person.” She sipped her water, eyeing me over the rim. “I even looked into school options. I have found some amazing boarding schools for kids with challenges.”
My jaw flexed. “Challenges?”
She waved it away. “You know—transitions, trauma, whatever. They’re resilient. Kids bounce back.” She set the water down. “I was upset, Adam. I want you. I never wanted kids. But if you want to keep them, fine. We can make it work.”
“We?” I repeated.
She stepped closer. “Yes. I love you. You know that. I want a life together. A real one. I’m not going to let a couple of mistakes ruin everything we planned.”
“They’re not mistakes, they’re my daughters,” I said, amazed that I even had to clarify.
“Semantics.” She waved her hand dismissively then reached for mine, but I pulled it away before she could touch me.
“I’m not putting them in boarding school, Genesis,” I stated, voice low and steady.
Her smile didn’t budge. “No one said you had to. But if you want to give them opportunities,realopportunities, you know what we need to do.”
I shook my head. “I’m not moving to London.”
She shrugged, as if this was just a minor inconvenience, something she could work around. “Fine. We’ll do long distance. We already know it works.”
I looked at her, really looked at her, and wondered if she was even hearing herself.
