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Yes.
I clear my throat and continue to take out the food, lining it up and opening containers for buffet style dinner while she pulls out plates and utensils. “Dad, can you get the kids?”
“Sure, sweetheart,” he says, climbing out of the bar stool. He rounds the island, heading for me, and presses a kiss to the top of my head.
I tilt my head onto his shoulder, accepting the embrace, and his body tenses beneath me. I glance up at him, his brows scrunched in disdain as he grabs the white paper receipt stapled to the brown paper bag. “Christ, Sammy. Honey. A hundred bucks for takeout?” He moves to pull out the wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.
“How do you survive with these prices? This would be maybe forty bucks at home.”
“All those city taxes,” Veronica agrees through a mouthful. “Plus, they’re the best in town, so they up their prices. Blasphemy.”
He pulls out a crisp hundred and tries to hand it to me.
“It’s fine, Dad,” I say.
He tsks, shaking his head, but I put a hand out to stop him. I’m pretty well off in the finance department, between the high-end event planning I do and with Ian’s life insurance. I have the luxury of not needing to worry about how to pay for college. Ian’s parents are upper class, and the kids each have a trust fund set up for adulthood. A simple takeout dinner is nothing, and he knows if he continues the conversation, I’ll wind up crying. So, he backs off.
He slides the cash back in his pocket, then presses another kiss to my head before disappearing to get the kids.
“So . . .” Veronica bumps her hip against mine. She peers over her shoulder to make sure Dad is gone before lowering her voice. “You may have been drunk the other night, but I was not. I saw your hotty at the event last night. Who is he?”
I groan, smacking my hand against my forehead. “I was hoping you didn’t recognize him.”
“Oh, but I did. Spill. Did you guys fuck in the coat closet?”
My eyes practically bulge from my head. “My children are in the house! Stop being so crude.”
Veronica rolls her eyes. “I’m just trying to figure out who the boy is that’s getting you out of this dry spell.”
A pang in my chest has me dropping the container of fried dumplings onto the counter. “Stop saying it’s a dry spell. It’s called grief, Vee.”
“I know what it is, Sammy,” she snaps back. “It’s the path to your old age and loneliness. Do you think that when your kids are grown with their own families, they’re going to want you hanging around like a canker sore that won’t go away no matter how much mouthwash you use?”
I gasp in offense and clutch my hand to my chest. “I love when my dad is around.”
She rolls her eyes. “Please, if he were here constantly, he would drive you up a fucking wall.”
Vee scoops up a serving of each dish into her bowl. “Come on, Sammy. Tell me about the hotty.”
I groan. “Nothing happened, Vee. And nothing will happen because that guy you think is so attractive? He’s Saoirse Murphy’s brother. And I cannot be caught fraternizing with a client’s family member. That’s bad for the business.”
Veronica’s mouth drops in shock. “Samira. You let your client’s brother finger you in a dirty club bathroom, you filthy girl.”
I clasp a hand over her mouth. “Stop it before a child hears.”
“Hears what?” Max asks. Blonde, spiral curls bounce in my line of sight as he plops into a chair at the kitchen table.
Veronica shoots me a worried look, leaving me to come up with a lie on the fly.
“The truth about Santa,” Em says quickly.
“What?” Max asks, his gaze moving between us.
“Em!” I say.
She shrugs. “The twerp is twelve. It’s time, Mom. Cut the cord.”
Panic sets in. I’ve been avoiding this conversation. I’ve let Max believe in the harmless lie for as long as I can. The truth is, I don’t want him to grow up. My kids getting older and reaching milestones is supposed to be bittersweet. But with Ian gone, it’s just pure fucking bitter.
