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“Why?”
“I got a new job.”
“Okay?” I’m not sure how that’s relevant, but I’m sure Trevor will enlighten me.
“It’s in Alberta. So, I won’t be around. I want to take the kids to my mom’s in Hamilton for the holidays, sort of a goodbye visit before I move out there.”
Oh shit. My stomach sinks down to my toes. This sounds like a tectonic shift in our co-parenting. “When do you leave?”
I just want to stomp my feet and throw a gigantic tantrum at the unfairness of it all, but I need this job—at least for a little while longer. There goes my happy holiday with my kids. Not to mention what a move will mean for their relationship with Trevor. I’m on autopilot as I gather the information I need from him, trying to numb out the loss so I can make it through the rest of my shift before I break down.
“I’m flying out on New Year’s Day,” Trevor says. As though it’s totally normal to uproot your kids’ lives on a week’s notice. Fuck. I can’t stand the infuriating man right now. Most of the time, if I’m honest.
“How is that going to impact our visitation schedule? Do you want them to visit in the summer, or—”
Trevor shakes his head, like I’m being obtuse. “You don’t get it. This is goodbye, Angie. I’ve seen your shitbox car at that lawyer’s place. I’m not coming back to let you come after me for more of my money. Half the town knows you’ve been sleeping with him to pay off your legal fees.”
I ignore the dig about my sex life, even if the idea that Saint did something shady by sleeping with me makes my skin crawl. Saint doesn’t deserve to be thrown into the rumor mill, but people like to talk. It’s just human nature. I don’t care about my name being linked with his. Hopefully, Saint isn’t upset about any rumors linking the two of us either.
I want to scoff at Trevor, ask himwhat money?He hasn’t paid me a single loonie of child support in over a year. But I just shake my head.
“Anyway. I’m making a clean break of it. Starting with a fresh slate out west. So, here’s the deal: you give me Christmas with my mom and don’t get any funny ideas about taking me back to court. In return, I won’t sue for sole custody and take the brats with me.”
It’s an empty threat. There’s no way he could actually do that. Fear still curdles in the pit of my stomach and claws at my throat. I can’t breathe past the horror of his threat.
“Okay,” I croak. “You can have Christmas.”
Trevor smiles, but it’s the cruel smile he gets when he knows he’s won. There’s not an ounce of warmth in his expression, and his eyes are cold as he looks down his nose at me.
I press my order pad against my chest, wishing I could be anywhere but here. “I’ll pick them up Monday afternoon. When do you expect to get back from visiting your mom?”
“You can pick them up from my place after presents, say around five? She wants to eat early, so that should be plenty of time to drive back.”
“Okay. I’ll be there.” And I’ll text to make him confirm our plan in writing later. The exchange leaves me numb as I take his order. Because, of course he has the audacity to stick around and make me give him service with a smile after dropping his bombshell on me. I take some small solace in knowing that my lack of a visible response irks him. But mostly I’m reeling.
Owen is going to be devastated when he realizes Trevor isn’t coming back. Meg might be relieved not to be forced into semi-regular visits at first. But it’s still going to hurt to hear Trevor is planning on walking out of their lives without a backward glance. I’m not sure what to do about the news.
Do I tell the kids? Give them a heads-up that the family memories he suddenly wants to give them on Christmas are meant as a goodbye? Or do I let him share the news in his own time? Sideswipe them with it at the last minute? Or just watch the hope slowly die in Owen’s eyes when Trevor strings him along with promised visits that never materialize? I can’t handle that. And then there’s the legal side of it all.
By the time my shift ends, I’m itching to call Saint. I need advice. Not legal advice, per se. Just a listening ear who isn’t so close to this emotionally. I need a friend. And I need it before I see my kids and blurt out words I’ll regret. Hell, I need to figure out which words those would be.
Fuck. Now I’m going to have to break it to Meg that our cozy Christmas at home isn’t happening. Owen will be excited to see his cousins at least. Saint’s contact practically begs me to hit the call button. We almost never call. Texting, sure. All the time. Stupid shit. I sent him a picture of some eclairs we got in yesterday. One exploded during delivery, so it looked like it had gotten a little too—er,excited—to be eaten.
Last night, he texted me that Carl roped him into a movie night and they were watchingElf, so we spent a solid hour exchanging GIFs from the movie. I tried to convince the kids to watch the same movie with me again, but they weren’t into it. Owen and I ended up playing with his LEGOs while Meg texted her friends.
I bite my lip as I hover my finger over the call button. It would be so amazing to hear his voice. I send Saint the GIF with Will Ferrell hugging the raccoon and a caption that reads, ‘Someone needs a hug.’ It’s me.
I don’t expect an immediate reply, so I’m still debating whether a call is too much when he replies.
Saint:Rough shift tonight?
Angel:You could say that.
Saint:Are you the someone who needs a hug?
I’m tempted to play it off like a joke. It’s too much to ask, right? I don’t want to push him away by demanding too much from him. He isn’t my boyfriend and coming to him all needy and begging for emotional support is only going to make him think that’s what I want from him. It’s not, he’s just become one of my closest friends, somehow. If I can’t go to him for comfort, then who?
Marcus? My brother’s tree farm is in the midst of the busy season and he’s expecting his first kid. I’m lucky he and his wife have been as helpful as they’ve been lately. Carl is always friendly with me, but we aren’t friends. Even if it seems like I know him from how much Saint talks about him.
