I cock my head to the side. “What do you mean? It smells great in here. Isn’t Toby making lasagna?”
One corner of his mouth twitches but the rest of his expression is unreadable.
“Yup.”
Toby leads the kids down to the basement playroom, and I follow Jesse into the kitchen, where Shelby is busying herself in front of the small bar area. Her eyes light up when she sees me.
“You made it!” she says, strolling over to give me a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“And she brought salad,” Jesse says meaningfully as he sets the bowl down on the counter.
“Oh, thank Christ,” she says. “Now I’ll have something to eat tonight.”
I look between the two of them. “What am I missing? Is there something wrong with Toby’s cooking?”
“You’ll see,” they say in unison.
“What will we see?” Toby asks as he emerges from the basement staircase.
“How great Shelby’s cocktails are,” Jesse says smoothly. “Those two college semesters where Shelby worked as a bartender are the gift that keeps on giving.” His sister-in-law throws him a grateful smile before turning back to me.
“He’s right. Cocktails are my specialty. Can I make you a drink? I was just making myself a Manhattan.”
“A Manhattan sounds great,” I reply.
Jesse leads me over to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair before sliding into the seat beside me. He’s dressed in a faded T-shirt and a pair of black joggers. He looks so cozy that I just want to curl into him. I notice my body unconsciously angling toward his, like a pantry moth to the flame. There’s something so quietly, innately comforting about Jesse. His presence is so strong and reassuring,like nothing too bad could ever happen when he’s around. Every time he’s in my vicinity, my limbs go soft, and I feel instantly lighter, the walls I normally keep up retreating.
“So Rocky just showed up early with your kids? Is that some kind of power move?” Shelby asks without preamble as she slides a cocktail in front of me. Shelby is nothing if not straightforward and I kind of love this about her. It’s such a welcome shift from the LA women I’m used to. The ones whose words can’t be taken at face value.
I shrug. “I’m not sure, to be honest. He just said the kids missed me.”
It felt validating, in the moment, to know how much I was missed. I have been the primary parent all these years, and knowing they wanted to be with me fulfilled a craving to be recognized for it. But in the moment, I hadn’t really stopped to think deeply about my family’s unexpectedly early return. Now I’m wondering why I accepted it so readily.
Because you always let Rocky walk all over you, an uncharitable voice in the back of my head reminds me.It’s kind of your thing.
Shelby seems to read my mind. “Listen, I only have one kid, and I will still say that going away with our kids is a trip, not a vacation. I bet he wasn’t prepared for how much work it would be.”
“God, you’re so right. It’s the longest he’s ever had to take care of his own children. What a rude awakening that must have been.”
I take a long sip of my Manhattan. The slight bitterness of the drink matches my own mounting annoyance at my ex. He brought our nanny along for the trip, but even so, I bet Shelby is right. Being with our kids for that long overwhelmed him. Which is so in character. Rocky is always all in on an idea until he realizes something is expected of him and that his own personal comfort and desires will not be the focus. His words about Rayna echo in my brain.She’s a bottomless well of need.I don’t know Rayna, but she’s always beenlabeled a diva. Now I’m starting to wonder if he’s the real source of the problem. Because isn’t that Rocky in a nutshell? Crazy about a woman until he realizes it won’t be a one-way street, that she might need his support too?
He’d never admit it, but he started losing interest in me the second I got pregnant. I had terrible hyperemesis gravidarum with Isla, so instead of making him dinners and posing with him on the red carpet, I was spending half the day with my head in the toilet and begging him to bring me another bottle of ginger ale.
But things really fell apart when Levi got his diagnosis. He needed my attention, and while I was happy to give it, I was overwhelmed and exhausted. What I needed then was a partner, someone to help shoulder the responsibility of making sure our son got everything he needed. Instead, I got Rocky, whose work calendar was suddenly booked and whose solution to every problem was that I hire someone. Couldn’t I just hire more therapists? Why not hire an aide, a tutor, another nanny? Never once did it occur to him to step up to the plate himself. And when it became clear that he was no longer the center of my attention, he went looking for it elsewhere.
The oven timer goes off and Toby slips on a pair of pink mitts before extracting a bubbling casserole dish from the oven. The air fills with the smell of herby meat and cheese and I take a deep, grateful breath.
“It smells amazing,” I tell Toby, and he beams at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Jesse and Shelby exchanging a look. Instead of saying anything, Shelby walks over to the basement staircase, calling down to let the kids know dinner is ready.
The three of them barrel up the stairs a few minutes later. Isla is holding hands with a little girl wearing a Princess Tiana dress and an Elsa wig. The sight of them fills me with joy until I see Levi behind them, looking vacant and hollow-eyed. Guilt washes over me. Maybecoming here was a mistake. I knew that Levi was exhausted, but I brought him here anyway, because I wanted to see Jesse.Now he’s approaching a complete shutdown.
I swallow the sense of unease as we all take a seat around the table. Toby places the lasagna and my salad in the middle, along with a basket of breadsticks. The minute the food hits the table, Levi claps his hands over his nose.
“Smells weird!” he screams from behind his hands. My face goes hot with mortification. Levi has struggled with food sensitivities in the past, especially food smells, but it’s something he’s mostly learned to cope with. That is, unless he’s wildly overstimulated and in one of his moods. Like now, for instance. Even though it’s a behavior I’m accustomed to, I’m horrified by the prospect of hurting Toby’s feelings.
“You like pasta. Why don’t you just try a bite?” I prod, knowing full well that he doesn’t eat anything with red sauce, and also that this strategy has never once yielded a positive outcome. Levi shakes his head, eyes wild between his little fingers. Then he slides down the length of his chair, disappearing under the table.
“Is he okay?” Shelby asks. Her features are laced with concern and despite the kindness behind them, it only makes me feel worse. “Can I make him something else to eat?”
