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“Where Daddy going?”
“We’re going home, buttercup.”
“I go with Daddy.”
“You can ride with him next time.”
“No! Now!”
But I’ve already pulled out of my parking space, so I listen to her throw a tantrum over something I can’t change anyway. Ian shouldn’t have shown up at all.
“Savannah Lynn, we’ve already left; I’m not turning around,” I eventually say. “Stop throwing your hissy fit. You’ll ride with your daddy tomorrow, I promise.”
“You promise?” She hiccups.
“Yeah, I promise.”
“Okay.” Her voice still sounds sad, but at least she’s stopped crying and demanding I go back so she can ride with Ian. We’re almost home when she says, “Sorry, Mommy.”
“I still love you, buttercup.”
“Love you.”
We get home a minute or two before Ian. Savannah leaves me the moment he arrives and runs to him, telling him about her lesson and dinner. I decide now is the perfect time to do laundry. I’m still pissed. Like, when these last-minute plans were made, he didn’t think about how he already had plans? With his family! How? Are we that insignificant that we can so easily slip his mind? He’s such a rat bastard. It’s one thing to do something like this to me, but to do it to Savannah, too?
It’s like all of my insecurities over being with him flare up, reminding me that I wasn’t so sure this was a good idea to start with. I try to tamp them down and focus on being angry. It’s one instance. One mistake won’t necessarily lead to so many that this will turn out to be a bad idea and I’ll have to break up with him and move out. Those kinds of thoughts need to end because it’ll only make things worse and drive me crazy.
There’s a stain on one of Savannah’s shirts, so I grab one of the spray bottles, squirt it with the magic liquid that will make the stain disappear, but because I’m in a mood, I also grab a toothbrush. There’s no harm in helping the stain go away, right? I vigorously scrub the stain. What did she get on her shirt anyway? I don’t remember her doing this, but it’s not like she’s with me all the time either. Maybe it was while she was with her idiot father who forgets he’s supposed to have dinner with us when he’s invited to go out with his teammates.
“How long are you going to scrub her shirt like that, gorgeous?”
I jump, dropping the toothbrush on the floor. Being bent over the dryer while working the already gone stain meant I didn’t see him coming. Couldn’t hear him either since the washer was filling up with water, but it just stopped, waiting for me to toss in this shirt and close the lid. But that means I’d have to face Ian. And talk to him. Giving him the silent treatment was so much easier when I thought he lived in another country and didn’t have to be around him in person.
Snatching up the toothbrush, I set it aside for now and reluctantly put her shirt in the washer. Maybe I can not face him and watch the dial on the washer as it goes through the cycles.
“How long are you going to give me your infamous silent treatment?”
Like I’d answer that and give in.
“Will you at least look at me?”
And risk seeing how handsome he may look? Or letting him think he can touch me? The entire world knows I weaken with his touch. If I hadn’t pulled away earlier in the parking lot outside of the restaurant, we would probably be cuddling on the couch right now because I’d magically find a way to be over it.
“Babe.”
Ha. He thinks that tactic will work? Not this time. Not right now. For some reason, I think about the first time he said it. It was sort of off-handed, but I almost wonder if it was done on purpose. I was upset then, too. I was visiting him and we were at the ice rink. I was supposed to watch him play with his friends, but this group of girls decided to talk to him and fill my head with some things that Ian said, but also some things he didn’t say. Ian was getting irritated with me, wanting to know why I was upset, and when I didn’t tell him right away, he said, “Babe, spit it out.”
First time he said it and it did crazy things to me for him to use a term of endearment that was usually reserved for couples. There was meaning in it for him to use it. I immediately blurted out what he was waiting to hear.
Not this time.
I turn and push past him to check on Savannah. She’s sitting on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, watching TV and coloring. Unfortunately, Ian sits next to me. His hand clamps down on my knee like he has some right to touch me right now. Pushing it away only makes him place it right back where it was. Eventually, I give up.
“Daddy, I ride with you tomorrow. Mommy promised.”
“Okay. What do you want for breakfast? I’ll cook.”
Damn it. I have a new weakness. I should’ve considered this sooner. Obviously, seeing him with our daughter is going to do a number on me. My resolve slowly melts away while they talk and when he gets up to tuck her into bed and read to her. I get up to fold the clothes and then get ready for bed in peace. It’s early, but more sleep never hurt anyone.
