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I hustle into the kitchen, toast hanging from my mouth as I try to consume the most important meal of the day in a matter of seconds before the real chaos of the day begins. Mallory comes sauntering in with a scowl I know too well from her father. This girl is a spitting image of her dad, and it’s hard for me to see past it sometimes. His hazel eyes and milk-white skin look back at me, jet-black hair as straight as an arrow, focused on whatever answer I am going to give. I stare back, knowing that with a teen they can sense fear, so I stand a little straighter, shoving the crumbs from my toast off my top to look like the put-together parent I know I should be.
“Mal, I have no idea. You’re old enough to keep tabs on your own things,” I answer without making eye contact.
Don’t engage with the beast.
“Ugh! You’re so annoying. Isn’t that, like, your job to know all the answers?”
I’m the one to grunt next because as much as I’d love to say yes to that statement, mornings like these are reminders that I do, in fact, possess no talent to have all the answers. I learned long ago not to engage when either of my teenage twins complained like this. It just prolongs our morning routine and leaves me seething in the end. I continue to work my way around the kitchen, grabbing the remainder of the lunch I had prepped the night before. My prep was merely thinking about it and being too tired to see it through after being pulled into a three-hour surgery right at the end of my hospital shift last night.
“Jackson, buddy, let’s go!” I yell as I walk toward the stairs and attempt to put on my pumps while also holding onto my bag and lunches for the two of them, as well as my own.
Luckily, the fall warmth still lingers, lacking the coolness late September usually harbors this time of year, so the addition of a jacket is unnecessary.
I hear a ruckus upstairs and quickly see my fourteen-year-old son come barreling down the steps. I will not think about the hundred ways he could have fallen down and split his head open or broken a bone.
Yes, being a physician means I have to talk myself down from a ledge daily, especially with a child who believes his number one job is to test my cardiac function. Unlike his twin sister, Jackson is my clone. He’s got my same blue eyes, with speckles of green mixed in from the center, and wavy, dark brown hair that he chooses to grow out on the top while shaving the sides. Trying to understand what’s “in” with this new generation would be a job in and of itself, so I just let him have his style, even if I don’t understand it.
The first thing I notice is Jackson’s disheveled hair. “Jack, what’s going on with your hair? Did you even run a comb through it?”
He just shrugs and walks past me, ignoring my questions as if they were for my benefit and not his. At least he’s dressed and seems put together enough for school.
Mallory comes out of the downstairs restroom, her hair done, with the pink headband she was inquiring about. I’m about to ask where it was, probably sarcastically because I have no filter anymore now that my kids are older, but am interrupted by the doorbell. The kids are gathering their bags and pulling their respective lunches from my arms as I walk past them.
I open the door and am greeted by my ex-husband. That cocky smile got me into so much trouble when I first met him. It seems the smile hasn’t changed, but what I do see is more of his lying, cheating personality than anything else. Luckily, we’ve come a long way since I found him shoving his cock into his secretary when I decided to surprise him after I got off my shift early.
Little did I know he held more surprise for me that night than I did. Talk about a cliche scenario. I can still feel myself rolling my eyes each time I see him staring at me like he is right now. Still cocky as ever, those hazel eyes looking at me like I hung the moon, even though I know his ways. Lawyer by day and lawyer by night, let me tell you. It never ends for him. He’s always on and has now made it his sole mission to get back into my panties.
Since that night, he has apologized at least once each time he’s interacted with me. His remorse did turn out in my favor, though—the brownstone I’m currently living in is now all mine.
We didn’t spend much time fighting during the divorce, as Hudson was quick to realize he messed up. We were married long enough that he knew it was useless to push me into a corner. When I was mad, I showed it in my words, and I had many to share. Hudson never liked to be called out, so we split fairly amicably, despite him trying to win me back any chance he saw as an opportunity. Quick reminder: he is a lawyer, after all and arguing his point is literally his form of survival.
“Have you found it in your heart to forgive me yet?” he asks as he leans against the doorframe.
Cool and casual as always. I sometimes think he does this just to see a reaction, knowing that ship has sailed between us. Luckily, he keeps his volume low so our kids don’t overhear his repetitive question.
The minute the kids see him, they run toward him as if they hadn’t just seen him forty-eight hours ago. I hold back my eye roll for a second time this morning, this time because I know how much the kids love their dad. We did a good job keeping the infidelity away from their young ears because it would serve no one any good. Resentment is ugly in a child, and there was nothing to gain from that behavior as the adults in the relationship.
Luckily, my Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, Betty, was my confidant, and I’m convinced she understood all those nights when I leaned on her and cried about Hudson into her ear. Her resentment toward my ex is palpable, and I sort of enjoy it. This girl gang of two—yes, judge me all you want for considering my dog and I a gang—stand in solidarity.
Betty barks as the kids finish hugging their father. I see Hudson shoot the dog a look, but quickly rectifies his behavior when he sees me squinting my eyes, as if lasers will soon come out of my irises if he continues to look at my dog in such a manner.
I turn to hug the kids goodbye and wish them a good day at school. I remind them that tonight they will be with their dad as I have to be on call. Hudson and I had a formal schedule when we first got divorced five years ago but had to restructure our way of parenting because it was too stressful with both of us having busy careers. So we now have a shared calendar and we are flexible where needed.
The longer we’re divorced, the more I reflect on the fact that Hudson and I were good while it lasted, but it feels like our time is now better apart. Even though Hudson might be trying to win me back, I think he sees our arrangement is beneficial for all of us. And I am not stubborn enough to ignore that deep down we have respect for one another and want what’s best for everyone, not just the kids.
After I say my goodbyes and watch the kids step into their dad’s car, I look down at my watch and nearly pass out. I am going to be late if I keep at this leisurely pace. I quickly yell to Hudson that I have to finish getting ready and wave one last time to the kids before I run back inside and slam the front door. I’m grabbing another cup of coffee from the Nespresso when I hear the doorbell ring. Ugh, one of the kids probably forgot their folder.
I’m already complaining as I walk toward the front door, opening it while saying, “What did you for—” and stop in my tracks as my freshly made coffee falls to my feet, shattering the mug.
Although I was expecting the kids or even Hudson to be the ones standing beyond that door, instead the clearest green eyes I’ve only seen on one other man stare back at me.
ChapterTwo
SHANE
Present Day
There’s something peaceful about New York in the fall. The changing of the leaves simply feels like everything is shedding a piece of itself to start anew. I’m admiring the neighborhood as my driver, Patrick, gets me to my next destination safely. It’s hard not to sit and reflect on mornings like this, where I’ve had years to build my company after years of hard work in the Navy.
