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Just like that, it’s over before it could really begin.
And the worst part? I was right. She walked away, just like I knew she would.
CHAPTER 26
Trina
When faced with something that feels suspiciously like a broken heart, I do what any normal, rational woman would do: I pull over to the side of the road to cry, then wipe my cheeks and decide to do something drastic with my hair.
That’s how I end up with kitchen scissors in my hand, hacking new bangs into existence across my forehead. Turning the wholly inappropriate and woefully dull scissors upright, I try to snip vertically to blend the bangs in the way I’ve seen hairdressers do it. Then I spend a while straightening and styling them just to prove to myself that I haven’t made a huge mistake.
It’s not until the next morning, when I walk downstairs and see my mother’s brows arch high, that I start to regret my impulse.
“When did that happen?” she asks, turning back to the cat food bowl as Mr. Fuzzles yowls impatiently.
“What, my hair?”
Mom throws me an amused glance. “Yes, honey. The hair. You haven’t hacked your hair off since you were six years old.”
“That’s not true.” I pour myself a mug of black coffee. “I used to cut my hair all the time in college.”
“Uh-huh.” She refreshes the water bowl but says nothing else.
From there, the morning is swallowed up by kids and breakfast and backpacks and school runs. I drop them at the school gate and watch Katie sprint toward a group of children, already accepted into her new fold. Toby’s still in the back seat.
I glance back. “You okay, honey?”
“Why did you and Dad get a divorce?”
Oh, dear. The question catches me off-guard, even though I’ve known it’s been coming. Ever since we moved out here, Toby hasn’t been himself. He brightened up when we adopted the cat, but now seems to be slipping back into a funk. The therapist we saw last week, a young, gentle woman named Andrea, told me it was normal, but it still makes my chest ache.
Is everything in my life going to end in heartbreak? Can nothing just be easy, for once?
I gulp past the growing lump in my throat and shift my gaze to the school gates. “We…” I pause, looking for the right words. I don’t want to lie to him or conceal the truth, but I don’t want to turn him against Kevin—no matter my own feelings about my ex. So, with a sigh, I do my best. “We had a grown-up problem, and decided that we didn’t want to be married anymore. It had nothing to do with you and Katie. Both your father and I still love you with all our hearts.”
Toby’s lips pinch into a thin line, and he makes no move to leave the car. “It was Dad’s fault, wasn’t it? He did something that hurt you. I saw you crying before we moved here.”
“I…” Ouch, my heart. I reach back to put my hand on Toby’s leg. “Honey, I’m fine. I was sad because I loved your father very much. But I’m happier now.”
“I know.” He crosses his arms and juts his chin out at me. “Do I have to spend the weekend with Dad when he comes next time?”
Another sigh slips through my lips, and I give my son a small nod. “Yeah, Toby. I’m sorry, but the courts said he gets the two of you for one weekend every month. If I keep you, I might get in trouble, no matter how much I might want to.”
“What about what I want?”
I squeeze my son’s thigh and give him a soft smile. “Let’s just give your father a chance, okay? And we can ask Andrea about it on Wednesday.”
“Dad said therapy was useless.”
“When did he say that?” My voice goes screechy. That dick!
“When I told him about it on the phone last night.” Toby unlatches his seatbelt. “But I still want to go. Andrea’s nice.”
The school bell rings, so Toby opens his door. To my surprise, instead of running off the way Katie did, Toby knocks on my window. I roll it down, and he reaches in to give me a hug through the opening. Then he says, “I like your new hair,” before flashing me a little grin and scampering off to school.
All in all, I’m pretty proud of myself. I only cry for about twenty minutes when I get home.
From there, routine sweeps me away. I start looking for work, sending out half a dozen applications every week. At the back of my mind, I wonder about the whole stylist business idea. But I can’t do that. I’m good at it, sure, but I can’t start my own business. No one would hire me. I’m not good enough. No way.
