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I sigh. “Fine.” Breaking off a piece of treat, I feed it to the hungriest feline in the world, who once tried to eat a used diaper but apparently draws the line at fruit. “I guess I could bake something. Pear pie. Pear crisp. Pear bread?”
“I hate pears.”
Shooting August a deadpan look as he grimaces at me from across the room, I sigh again. “Too bad.” We’re on a pear only diet for the foreseeable future. I want them gone before Willow gets back from her business trip next weekend and has something oh-so-insightful to say about them. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And I’m gonna bring a portion of each to practice and shove it down Cass’ throat. “You almost ready?”
“John called.”
A third sigh builds in my throat.
“He canceled.”
I wish I could say I was surprised. Honestly, I’m more surprised he let August know he wasn’t coming; last month, he just didn’t turn up. “I’m sorry, Goose.”
August snorts as he flops on the couch. “I’m not. I didn’t wanna see him anyway.”
But he did want to go to the baseball game they had tickets for. And even if John is his least favorite company, he still hates being canceled on so abruptly—what kid doesn’t?
Abandoning my pears, I scoop up Pickle and drop him on August’s lap—the ultimate therapy. “Did he say why?”
August hesitates. “No.”
Bullshit. “You absolutely sure about that?”
His whine is a plea. “Mama.”
Mine is a command. “August.”
Dramatic as anything, he flops against the cushions, head lolling against the back of the sofa. He waits a couple of minutes, like I might possibly change my mind, before reluctantly grinding out, “He said we could only go if you came.”
You have got to be fucking kidding me. I should’ve known he would pull something like this; it's safe to say John isn’t taking my change in circumstances particularly well. When the news broke and he didn’t immediately call me in a blind rage, I foolishly took it as a good sign. I thoughtwow, maybe he actually doesn't care. Maybe he took our last phone call seriously. Maybe he finally gave up.
And then, the text came.
A link to one of the many articles detailing mine and Cass’ whirlwind love affair and subsequent baby news with an accompanying,‘this true?’After I confirmed, a week passed before‘congratulations’came through. Another before‘since you’re so busy now, we can take august off your hands.’When I didn’t reply, he sent‘please’. When I didn’t reply again, the calls started—and so did the nastiness.
I thought blocking his number would enrage him more than ignoring him—and give him some leg to stand on with his ‘you’re keeping me from my son’ claims. But maybe, I should’ve just taken the risk.
“Call him back.”
“What?”
I stand, already moving to his bedroom where he presumably left my phone. “We can still make it, right?”
“We’re not going.”
“Yeah, we are. I don’t care. I can handle a day with him.”
“I can’t.” August darts in front of me, physically blocking my path. “I can’t listen to him be mean to you all day, okay?”
I deflate like a freaking popped balloon. “August—”
“Mama, I’m serious. I’m not going.”
“But you were looking forward to it.”
“I’m pretty sure I can go to a baseball game whenever I want.” He rolls his eyes at my confused frown. “Do you even know who your boyfriend is?”
Oh, great. We’ve reached the teasing phase of the Mommy Has A Boyfriend experiment. How fun for me. “You wanna be nice and go somewhere with me, or you wanna be locked in your room all day?”
