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Glancing into the master when I walk past, I find everything as I left it last night—the bed made, boxes stacked up along the wall, and my suitcases open and overflowing with clothes on the ground at the foot of the bed. Bowie didn’t say a word to me except goodbye when he was leaving for work yesterday, and last night after his shift, he obviously didn’t come home.
I don’t know if he went to Naomie, or if he decided to crash on a friend’s couch. He didn’t tell me his plan, and I didn’t send him a text to ask. I also didn’t check his laptop for new messages between Naomie and him. That’s a can of worms I refuse to open. Things are already messy enough as they are.
When I get downstairs, I drag in a breath when I recognize the outline of Bowie’s mom, Patty, through the smoked glass on the side of the front door. He must have called her last night, and since she lives in Kentucky, not far but also not close, I’m sure she thought her presence was needed here and decided to make the three-hour drive. Not a surprise. When I met her, I fell in love with her instantly. She’s one of the kindest women I know, and she loves her kids beyond reason, as any mother should. She’s also a fixer.
Only this can’t be fixed. So her trip here is in vein if that’s her plan.
Tying my robe around my waist, I open the door and watch her force an uncomfortable smile. “Hey, honey.”
“Hey, Patty.” I give her a one-armed hug when she embraces me, then step back and hold open the door as she grabs the handle to her suitcase. Yep, Bowie called her. “Bowie’s not here.”
“I know.” She takes off the thin jacket she’s wearing, hanging it over the banister. “He told me that he wouldn’t be home until later this morning.” She looks around. “Is Kingston still sleeping?”
“He is,” I say over my shoulder as I walk to the kitchen. “I’m sure he’ll be up soon. Do you want some coffee?”
“Yes, thank you.” She follows behind me, and I catch her eying the boxes I started to pack last night as she steps into the kitchen.
“Bowie told me what happened.” I glance her way to let her know I heard her. “He feels horrible.” She shifts on her feet. “I understand why you want to leave him. As a mom and a woman, I get it, Miranda, but—”
“Please don’t,” I cut her off, not harshly but firmly, and she snaps her mouth shut. “If you came here because you think you can convince me to give him a second chance, Patty, I’m letting you know now that you’re wasting your time. I love you. I appreciate that you love your son. But what he did is not something I’ll just be able to get over and move on from. Like I told Bowie, I know things are going to be difficult for everyone for a while, but I hope with time we can all figure out how to do what’s best for Kingston, since he’s really the only person in this situation who matters.”
“I knew you’d say that.” She lets out a long breath. “I told him there is just no way you’ll change your mind, and I sure wouldn’t be the one to get you to do that. But it doesn’t hurt to try, right?”
“Right.” I agree softly.
“I … I hope you know I love you.”
My chest gets tight, and darn if I don’t hate Bowie a little more, because even though she’s saying she loves me, I know things between us won’t be the same once I move out of this house and divorce her son. Eventually, Bowie will find someone else, and she will have a new daughter-in-law and possibly more grandkids. I’ll be the ex-wife who is only talked about when Kingston can’t be around for a holiday or a family event because it falls during my time with him.
“I know, and that feeling is mutual.”
“Mommy!” Kingston’s shout comes through the baby monitor on the counter and from upstairs, where I’m sure he’s waiting at the baby gate.
“Do you want to go surprise him? He’ll be excited to see you,” I say, and she nods before leaving me in the kitchen to finish making coffee.
Hearing Kingston giggle, obviously happy to see his grandma, I smile, then pick up my cell when it starts to ring.
“Hey, what’s up?” I answer when I see it’s Emma calling. Thankfully, she and I were able to move past her calling Tucker after a long conversation about boundaries and overstepping.
“Well, I just scored you almost all the furniture you’ll need for your place.”
“What?” I whisper.
“My building is about to go through renovations, and they are selling everything, including all the furniture from the units that they use for short-term rentals. I got you a dining table, couch, chairs, a king-size bed frame, a couple of lamps, and some wall art. They didn’t have a mattress, but I didn’t think you’d want a secondhand one anyway.”
