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“I may have been too quick to judge him,” Eric said, pulling my attention back to him. “He seems good for you, and the kids love him. They talk about him all the time.”
I wasn’t going to talk about Cade, or my relationship with him, to Eric, so I just smiled and nodded.
Eric walked out the front door and I followed, leaving it slightly ajar as I stood right outside on my stoop.
“What’s up?” I asked.
Eric ran a hand over his short, dirty-blond hair, and gave something between a grin and a grimace.
“I found a nudey magazine in Elin’s pillow case.”
“What?” I asked, hoping he didn’t mean what I thought he meant.
“Porn,” Eric clarified. “Naked women. Playboy. Hustler…”
“Okay, I get it,” I said, holding up my hand and begging him to shut up.
“I also noticed he’s taking a long time in the shower. A lot longer than usual.”
“So? He likes to be clean.”
Eric chuckled and shook his head.
“He’s jacking off, Lila.”
My stomach clenched and tears pricked my eyes.
“No, he’s not,” I said, praying that he was wrong, even if I knew he probably wasn’t.
“Don’t worry, I’ve talked to him about it. He knows it’s normal, and I talked to him about being more discreet.”
“Thanks,” I replied, sad about the fact that our son was growing up.
“I just thought you should know, since your water bill will probably go up.”
My eyes flew up to see Eric fighting back a laugh.
I slapped him on the arm and said, “That’s not funny.”
“It kind of is,” he replied, still grinning. “First the shocker, and now this? They’re growing up, Liles.”
I sighed. “I know.”
“I’ll call you after Mary and I get back to set up my next weekend with them.”
I nodded and said, “Sounds good. And, Eric? Good luck. I mean that.”
“Thanks,” he replied, his expression turning somewhat regretful, and I knew he was thinking about us and our failed marriage. Then he gave me a small smile and wave, and turned to leave.
I didn’t watch him go, or wait for him to pull away.
I was happy that we were in a place where we could co-parent without things getting nasty, but he was my past.
I walked into my new house, locking the door behind me, and went in search of my future.
“What is this?” I asked, practically drooling on Amy May’s vintage soda fountain counter as she slid a scrumptious-looking cupcake in front of me.
“Chai Latte with a sprinkle of cinnamon and sugar,” Amy May replied, then leaned on the counter to watch me sample it.
