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Knowing full well this conversation is heading nowhere fast, I lock the screen of my phone on an exasperated sigh and set it on the kitchen table beside my plate.
Maria looks over at me, her pretty brown eyes searching mine. “Everything okay over there?”
“Just talking to a lunatic,” I mutter, but when she tilts her head to the side, I elaborate a little more. “Thatcher Kelly.”
Instantly, her eyes stretch with understanding, but also, the hint of a smile follows. She doesn’t even need to respond. Doesn’t even need to acknowledge that she knows who I’m talking about.
Last week, she had the pleasure of meeting Thatch while we were dropping Lexi off at Wes and Winnie’s. It was a brief introduction, but it doesn’t take much for a guy like that to leave an impression.
I nod at her, my eyes saying, You have no idea.
“Are you guys having, like, telepathic sex or something?” Lexi asks so suddenly and matter-of-factly that it catches both Maria and me off guard. We spiral into a simultaneous coughing and choking fit, and I start slapping at Maria’s back swiftly. She then does the same for me as I try to catch my breath.
“What on earth? Telepathic sex?” I ask when I can finally speak. “Where did you even hear about that?”
“Online.”
“Maybe I should text your mom to update your protection settings,” I mutter under my breath.
Lexi is unfazed. “This fortune lady Cleo says that two people whose chakras are aligned can have telepathic sex.”
All of a sudden, I’m choking again, this time for more than just the fact that I had to hear my niece repeat the word sex. “I’m sorry, what did you say? Who says that?”
“Cleo. She has a huge online blog about parallel dimensions and fate signals.”
Cleo?
Suddenly, my head feels like it’s a fucking top and is seconds away from spinning off my damn neck as Lexi prattles on.
“One of the main things she does is channel love chakras. She says love is a lava flow just waiting to overtake all of us. But it’s not about finding it, it’s about being ready for it. Oftentimes, it’s been right in front of us all along.”
I feel sweat bead on my forehead as I become paranoid that Cleo is somehow sending me messages without using the phone now, channeling the power of my extraordinary niece instead, just to send me her vague shit about love.
But Lexi puts that insanity out of my mind when she utilizes my phone to pull up a video. “This is her. Cleo.”
Like a fool, I watch the brief clip. The woman is talking to a crowd of people and is the very opposite of the Cleo I know. She’s far too fucking commercial, if I’m being honest, and I’m both relieved and confused as hell.
Looks like C’s texts are starting to get under your skin there, buddy. Maybe making you look a little deeper into your current man-of-the-house situation?
I kind of want to punch myself in the face.
Cleo’s texts aren’t doing jack shit to me. I know what I’m doing with Maria, and I don’t need some coo-coo-ca-choo fortune-teller causing confusion where there most certainly doesn’t need to be confusion.
The obnoxious voice in my head whispers, Are you sure about that? But I shake it off.
Yes, Maria and I haven’t exactly defined anything, but we’ve been enjoying each other’s company, enjoying Izzy, living our lives together without putting pressure on ourselves to label it.
What we have is good. What we have is right. Nothing can change that.
I, Remington Winslow, know exactly what the fuck I’m doing here.
Right?
Saturday, November 9th
Maria
The morning sun is peeking through the curtains of my walk-in closet as I attempt to fold the basket of clean laundry that’s been sitting in here for the past two days. Just fitting in a few mundane chores, if you will, before Remy and Izzy and Lexi wake up and all of the responsibilities of the day get ahead of me.
How is it possible for one little person to create so much dang laundry? I think to myself as I stack Izzy’s onesies in a pile on the floor.
But before I can shift them over to her dedicated hamper so I can put them in her nursery, my attention is pulled by a soft but sleepy whisper behind me.
“Hi, Maria. Is Izzy up yet?”
I look over my shoulder to see Lexi standing in the doorway in her pajamas, her blond hair still an adorable mess from just waking up.
“She’s still sleeping,” I explain. “But you’re up pretty early, sweetheart. Did you sleep okay?”
“I’m always up this early.” She shrugs and shuffles her slipper-covered feet farther into my closet to sit down on the cozy chaise sofa Remy put in here a couple of weeks ago in the name of making it easier for me to juggle Izzy while I’m trying to get ready for work.
