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“It’ll take a few days for it to come in, but I’ll wait so you can help,” Cary replies.
“Cool.”
Bhodi skips out of my room and Cary is quick to close the door my son left ajar. The painted over panes rattle at the hard jostle, reminding me of the way the headboard hit the wall while we’d gone at it. This is not one of my finer moments.
“How the hell did you con him into believing—” Visibly shaken, I can’t tell if Cary’s mad at me or himself.
“If you make it sound normal, they accept it.”
Cary regards me pensively. “How the hell does that trick not come back to bite you in the ass when it’s an adult convincing him something wrong is right?” His jaw squares and I can feel a thrum of antagonism coming from his side of the room.
“My son knows if he needs to talk it out, I’m here for him. I answer his questions as honestly as I can, Cary. Do you want to tell him what we did in private? Explain to a nine-year-old why you woke up in his mother’s bed and lead him to believe there’s anything romantic going on between us?”
“You’re right.” He scrubs his scalp and his shirt inches above his waistband, revealing the toned abs I had my hands all over a few hours ago. “It’s sort of embarrassing. I meant to go before he was awake. Maybe I’m overreacting. I’ve never been in this situation before.”
“That makes two of us.”
“So, now what?”
“I got the eggs out. Are you coming!” An impatient Bhodi yells down the hall.
I slip past Cary—our bodies so close I want to tuck my fingers up under his shirt and touch his taut stomach for the sake of the memory—and crack the door back open. “We’re on our way.” I look back at the much-too-young-for-me man who made my evening a little less disappointing, and who my son thinks hung the moon. “Now?” I repeat. “We have pancakes.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” is his tentative response.
Cary follows me out of my bedroom and enters the bathroom across the hall. I hope he’s a better man than to make a mad dash to his rental, or whatever the heck he’s driven here, when my back is turned. Explaining why his “big brother” skipped out will be harder than indulging my son’s curiosity over us sleeping in the same bed.
In the kitchen, my sister pounces. “Cary’s here? Why’s he here?” She glances at the kids. They’re distracted, swinging the fridge door the way we get angry with them for, and letting all the cold air out. “I heard the thumps in the wall but thought you and BOB were having a wild night. Are you kidding me? You…” Laurel’s voice dissipates and she mouths the letters F-U-C-K-E getting cut off before the D when Cary clears his throat behind me.
“Good morning, Laurel.” Doing the least expected thing, Cary places a warm palm on my neck that smells a lot like the soap by the hall bathroom sink. “I hope you don’t mind me staying for breakfast. Somebody said something about pancakes and I couldn’t pass that up.”
My sister can’t see, Cary’s fingers massage the base of my neck. Unlike all the bumbling conversations we had before last night, there’s nothing awkward about the warmth of his hand. I relax into his touch.
“No, not at all. Only a fool would pass up pancakes.” She gives me a conspiratorial wink.
Holly scoots me out of the way when I offer to stir the pancake mix and adds vanilla to the batter. Making breakfast is abnormally normal… If two single moms, bopping around the kitchen to an eclectic mix of fifties rockabilly through eighties show tunes with a little nineties grunge mixed in for good measure is commonplace.
The kids stuff their chipmunk cheeks and are giggling and dancing in their pajamas. I’m able to relax supposing their contagious happiness is what matters. I even stop to belt out a refrain from a Weezer throwback cover. When a slower ballad comes on as we’re clearing plates to the sink, I scoop up Laurel’s daughter, Emory, swaying with her. After a spin, I put the little girl down. The soft smile playing on Holly’s washed face hits me like a ton of bricks. If I’d seen it sooner, I wouldn’t have stopped dancing with her niece. It fades too soon and we all return to the chore of getting the kitchen in ship shape.
When we’re finished, I follow Holly back to her room to thank her for saving my ass with her kid.
Using the john before, I hadn’t considered skipping out. I was wound tight worrying about Laurel’s reaction to the news I was in her home this morning, and what Bhodi would think of me. That’s how I fumbled putting my hand on Holly’s neck. After that I tried to play it cool. I’m not sure what I’ll do if Bhodi puts it together that I did his mom, and Holly asks the mentorship program to assign him a new big brother.
“Listen, I uh, I’m. What happened—”
“The fucking.” She pulls fresh clothes from a scuffed antique mahogany dresser that’s been around the block more times than I have.
“Yeah,” I scoff, feeling heat rise from my collar. I’m not sure what’s making it difficult for me to ask. I rub the back of my neck, enjoying the way the hair regrowth prickles my skin, prodding on. “Like what went down is cool. I’m not freaking out about staying to smooth things over for Bhodi anymore.”
I reach for a pillow that’s fallen to the floor and toss it onto the mattress.
“But you want to know why,” Holly says astutely, putting the shirt and pedal pushers on the haphazard comforter.
“Yeah, I do. Why were we toasting to your shitty ex last night?” I’m not leaving until she’s honest with me.
“William is contesting his child support payment on the grounds that I make enough to take care of Bhodi on my own.”
“Are you kidding?”
