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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
miranda
Sitting at the counter in Tucker’s kitchen, I watch him flip over vegetarian hamburger patties on the stove while home fries cook in the air frier on the counter. He had the diced potatoes soaking in water when I arrived, and then he drained them, dried them off with paper towels, and spiced them before putting them in the machine. I’ve never even attempted to make homemade french fries in my life, so to say I’m impressed by his cooking skills is an understatement, especially when everything smells so good.
As I watch him move around the kitchen, I listen to my phone ring as I press it against my ear. Patty left me a voicemail this afternoon asking me to call her when I had a minute. Only I couldn’t find a minute until now since I had client after client all day. And when I did have a couple of minutes to make a call, I used it to talk to my lawyer to see if there was any way to ensure Naomie wouldn’t be allowed to drive Kingston anywhere. That phone call sucked, because she basically told me no, that there’s no way to guarantee it would never happen, but she would talk to Bowie’s lawyer and voice my concerns.
Then as soon as I left work at six, I had to rush home to pack an overnight bag, because this morning, Tucker… didn’t ask, he told me to bring one with me before I came back to his place tonight. All day, I thought about the fact that I would be sleeping with him again.
Not the sex—I mean, yes, that’s still awesome, the best I’ve ever had, actually—but the sleeping in his arms thing, topped that by a zillion. Bowie was not a cuddler. None of the men I’ve dated have been, and I didn’t know what I was missing out on until last night.
I felt physically recharged when I woke up this morning, like his body that stayed in constant contact with mine all night somehow manipulated my cells as I slept, energizing them. Plus, the whole waking up with him, showering together, and then having a cup of coffee with him before I left for my place thing just started the day off on a very good note.
“Miranda,” Patty finally answers, dragging me from my thoughts, and I frown, because she sounds relieved, and that is such an odd reaction for her to have to me calling her back.
“Hey, Patty, how’s it going?”
“Not great,” she grumbles, then mutters, “Hold on a second and let me get a glass of wine.”
My eyes widen. My ex-mother-in-law is not a drinker unless there is drama, so something must be going on.
“Okay.” She lets out a breath as I hear glass clinking together. “Now, you know me, and you know I get along with everyone.”
“Yeah,” I agree, thinking that’s a strange way to start this conversation.
“Well then, can you explain to me why my son told me this morning that I’m no longer allowed to be around when that woman he’s dating is there at his house?”
“What?” I whisper, sure I heard her wrong. While Bowie and I were together, if I ever had an issue with Patty—which wasn’t often but did happen on occasion, especially when Kingston was a baby, and she would overstep—Bowie would tell me to get over it. He would never talk to his mom on my behalf, and he sure as heck never would’ve told her that she wasn’t allowed at the house.
“You didn’t mishear me. Apparently, that woman feels like I’ve been around too much. And get this.” She pauses, and I can picture her taking a drink. “I make her ‘uncomfortable.’”
“Oh, goodness.” I look up at Tucker, who I can feel watching me, and he raises a brow as Patty shouts.
“And he informed me that if I want to continue having a relationship with my grandbaby, I need to find a way to build a relationship with her!”
“Oh, goodness,” I repeat.
“That woman is…. She’s…. Ugh! I hate to say this, because it’s not very Christian of me, but she’s a vile, evil whore.”
“Patty!” I gasp. I’ve never heard her use language like that in all the years I’ve known her.
“It’s true!” she cries. “I just don’t know how he can go from someone like you, to someone like her.” The last word is spit out with such disgust that I flinch. “I just do not understand it, Miranda.”
“Patty…,” I start, having no idea what I’m going to say to calm her down, but she cuts in before I can say anything, so it doesn’t matter.
“I have done nothing but be kind to her. I never mentioned to her that I know how she and my son met or got together. I didn’t treat her poorly or judge her. I met her with an open heart, trusting that my son knew what he was doing. Even…,” she whispers, sounding like she might start to cry, “Even when Bowie told me that she would be at his house right after you moved out, I didn’t say a word, not a single word about how wrong I thought that was. I have just stayed in my place and kept my feelings and opinions to myself.” She drags in a shaky breath. “A lot of good that did me.”
