"Scott invited me over to work on our tans by his pool and I said yes. Then he's having a party this evening. I need a ride by the way."
"You told Scott yes before you told me anything."
"If I'd told Scott no, I would've missed out because Josh and Dad won't be there anyway."
She had a point, but still. I turned back to the calendar and quizzed the kids to fill in dates for sleepovers, parties, and concerts. I added the family therapy zoom on Wednesdays. Warren and I had agreed to the sessions in arbitration, so I felt obligated to see it through. When I was finished, nearly every square on the board was filled with at least one activity. I attached it to the refrigerator so no one could say they didn't see an important date on the calendar, then angled my head at Lily.
"You know what would actually help with all of this? If you got your driver's permit. Then you could get yourself to Scott's and to camp and shuttle Josh around."
She gave me a smile—the one she inherited from her father, the one that already knows it's won. "Why would I do that? You take me everywhere I need to go." She jumped up and gave me an exuberant kiss. "I'll grab my bag."
Josh tipped up his cereal bowl to drink the milk, then slid off his stool. "Can I get a ride to the skate park?"
"Sure. First, will you walk Tucker?"
Josh touched his stomach. "Gotta hit the head and it could be a while."
I smirked and waved him away, feeling like I might've been had. I scanned the dirty dishes and leftover food. My hand was halfway to a plate when Tucker whined.
I looked down. "You're right—this mess can wait." I snagged a poo bag from a drawer. "Let's go, buddy."
Besides, maybe one of the kids would clean up before I got back.
A mom can dream.
July 2, Thursday
BY NINEa.m. I had successfully wrangled two teenagers out the door, fed the dog, and located my keys in the freezer (don't ask), so naturally the universe decided I'd earned a small treat: an Amazon box sitting on my front steps with WARREN GOOD printed on the label in friendly Amazon font, as if Amazon and I were old friends keeping tabs on my ex-husband's online shopping habits.
I picked it up, weighed it in my hands—it was suspiciously light. Then I texted him a photo.
Package for you. Want to pick it up next time you get the kids?
His reply came back faster than anything involving our children ever did.Can you drop it by the dealership? In meetings all day and I need it.
I stood there a moment, weighing the alternative: Warren at my door this evening, possibly noting that the hedges needed trimming, like he still lived here and had opinions.
Fine, I texted back.
By the time I'd hit the grocery store for the things we were out of, the warehouse club for the things we weren't out of yet but would be by Tuesday, and the pharmacy for Josh's allergy refill—because nothing says summer fun like a kid who can't breathe near grass—my SUV looked like the back room of a Costco had given birth. I wedged Warren's mystery box between a forty-pound bag of dog food and a flat of toilet paper and pointed the car toward the dealership.
I texted him from the parking lot.I'm here. Front parking lot.
Warren's dealership sells the kind of cars that cost more than some people's houses. In his reserved spot—the one with the little brass plate—sat a brand-new cherry-red convertible.
I sat there a second before getting out, doing the thing I do now, which is take one breath and remind myself I don't have to feel anything about this man anymore. Then I wondered, completely unhelpfully, when exactly we'd stopped loving each other. Was there a specific day? A Tuesday, maybe? Did I miss it because I was folding laundry?
Warren came out wearing a trendy snug-fitting suit and sporting a new haircut.
"Hey." He was already glancing at his phone. "Thanks for this."
"We missed family therapy last night," I said.
"Josh wanted to watch the game—having the FIFA games in town is a once-in-a-lifetime event." Then he frowned. "Honestly, that whole therapy thing's bullshit anyway."
I handed him the box. "Please don't say that in front of the kids. We agreed to it, you know."
Ignoring me, he tore open the box and smiled. "Smart glasses. New model—not even out yet. Guy here got me on the list."
