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“I’m not in the mood to talk, Damon,” I bark in greeting.
“Long day?” he asks.
I don’t answer.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“I had my attorney look over the divorce papers. I need to see you to talk about the terms you outlined.”
“Just have your attorney contact mine,” I suggest.
“No, I think you and I should work this out ourselves.”
“There’s nothing to work out. My proposal is more than fair.”
“You want the house. I never agreed to that.”
“It’s Caleb’s home.”
“It’s my home too,” he insists.
“So, you don’t care about the house. I designed it and picked out every detail. Now, all of a sudden, you want to keep it and make your son move?” I ask.
“That’s not what I said.”
“Well, someone has to move.”
He sighs.
“Can’t we just talk? I’ll fly out there to you,” he offers.
“That’s not necessary.”
“Taeli—”
“Just sign the damn papers, Damon!” I yell and then click off the line.
When I make it home, I find a note, letting me know that Mom and Weston took Caleb into town to pick up some supplies for the greenhouse and they will be back before dinner.
I look in the fridge to see Mom defrosted a roast, so I grab a tenderizing hammer and proceed to beat the crap out of the hunk of meat.
Then, I place it in the stove with potatoes and carrots. I chop vegetables for a salad and pulverize them to shreds.
“What the hell are you doing?” Mom asks as she walks into the kitchen with Weston and Caleb close behind.
“Rage cooking,” I answer.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Rage. Cooking. Now, sit down. All three of you. You’re about to have the best meal of your life,” I command.
Weston and Caleb hop onto stools at the island and watch in amusement as I continue to stomp around the kitchen.
When everything is done, I set a plate in front of them and plop down to eat myself.
Weston takes a bite and looks over at Mom.
“You should piss her off more often. This is amazing.”
“I didn’t piss her off,” she says and then looks to me. “Did I?”
“No. It’s just been a stressful day.”
“Mom?” Caleb’s tentative voice says.
I look over at my son and smile. “I’m okay, bud. Nothing some deep breathing and meditation won’t cure.”
Weston gives me a peculiar look. “Meditation? You’re not one of those New Wave weirdos, are you?”
“Asks the man who supplies my mother with weed.”
“Weed is not weird,” he deadpans.
That makes me lose control and dissolve into a hoot of laughter.
“Mom. You’re cuckoo,” Caleb says.
“Why don’t you run yourself a bath, and Caleb and I will clean up?” Mom suggests.
“A bath sounds nice,” I say.
“Go on, then. Relax.”
I stand and make my way upstairs, but I bypass the bathroom and collapse on the twin bed. For a moment, I consider packing a bag and checking into a motel room for the night, so I can sulk in privacy because I know as soon as Weston leaves, my mother is going to have twenty questions for me. Then, I remember there are no rooms available.
I miss my house.
There is no way I’m going to give in and let Damon keep it. He doesn’t even like it. Not the same way I do. Every inch of it was built to my specification and decorated by my hand. He just wants to make me angry because he knows he doesn’t have any control anymore.
