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“You know I have sensitive gums.”
Pinning her with a look, I wait. I wait a whole minute, and I know because I can hear the ticking beats of the small clock that’s next to the lamp on my nightstand.
“And you’re crying now, but you don’t want me to know. Which means it’s about Leo.”
At the mention of his name, her face breaks and she actually starts crying. Not the secret cry we all do when we’re in bed at night, but the ugly cry we do in the shower when nobody is home.
Reaching out, I tug Leighton close, snuggling up to her without putting too much pressure on my stomach.
“Tell me.”
A few minutes go by before she gets her tears under control enough to say it.
“He cheated on me.”
My mouth drops open in surprise.
“What!?” I shriek-whisper, my anger nearly causing me to shout loud enough that August would hear us in the next room.
Leighton doesn’t have any more information for me. Instead, she just continues to cry. So I do the good friend thing and stop asking questions, instead just giving her a snuggle and letting her know I’m here for her.
Eventually, thankfully, we both manage to fall asleep, though when I wake in the morning and see the matching bags under our eyes, I can assume it wasn’t particularly restful for either of us.
We eat breakfast at the counter with August, who was up hours before us and has already gone on a run and a swim in the ocean, the nut job. Then we lounge around his living room in our pajamas, watching female empowerment movies like Erin Brockovich and Legally Blonde.
Eventually, though, I crawl back into bed in the guest room. I’m not sure what I was expecting when it came to this bruise on my stomach, but it is an ugly thing and I am exhausted. It feels like every movement I make tugs some kind of muscle or tendon or ligament that has somehow been impacted by this mugging, and that is the most frustrating feeling: to want to move on from it but physically be unable to do so because every movement is a reminder.
I sleep most of the day away, existing mostly on Tylenol and large glasses of water, but I’m thankfully feeling some serious improvement when I get to the Palmer house the following morning.
There was a part of me that wanted to give Colton a call and tell him what happened, ask for the day off. But it’s his first day teaching, and I don’t want to be the person who lets him down on such an important day.
“Good luck today!” I tell him as he’s heading out the front door, Teddy and me sitting on the floor. “Say ‘Good luck, daddy!’”
Teddy beams and looks at his father. “Guhluk, daddy!”
Colton smiles.
“We’ll work on that one,” I say on a laugh.
Colton shakes his head. “Nah, it was perfect.”
Then he waves and heads out the door.
“Hey, Mister Mustofalees.”
Teddy’s head turns and he giggles, launching himself at me. I wince, catching his little body and shifting him off to the side.
“What’s a mist of lees?” he asks on a giggle, his mouth muffled by my shirt.
“It’s you!”
He leans back and looks at me. “I’m Teddy!”
I smile at this silly exchange we share, landing a kiss on his forehead.
“Oh, that’s right. Teddy!”
And then we begin our day. Teddy normally has breakfast with his dad pretty early, so we grab him some fruit to snack on before heading out in the back yard where I kick a soccer ball around with him for a while, hoping to help him get out his morning zoomies without exerting myself too much. Then it’s puzzles and word games before lunch and nap time. While Teddy is napping, I do a load of his laundry and clean up the kitchen.
