Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
“Then sit down.” I nod to her place at the table. “And finish your dinner.”
It’s quiet and tense for the rest of the meal, with only the sounds of silverware scraping plates and the occasional slurp of soup breaking the silence.
“Put the food away and wash the dishes, girls,” I tell them. “I’m going out to the shed to paint some before bed.”
“You want any help?” Lottie asks, flicking a glance between Inez and me. My girls are extremely close, and I hate that two of them feel like they have to take a side in this.
“I only want you to do your kitchen chores,” I say, cupping her head and kissing her cheek. “Make sure that kitchen floor is clean enough to eat off, okay? Do your homework and then go to bed.”
“Okay.” She grabs my hand when I turn to leave. “I love you, Mommy.”
Her words are tender, like her mother needs to be handled with care. We so rarely get that with our kids. It doesn’t always occur to them that we need care too. I know the fighting, the tension, the divorce, Edward’s incarceration—it’s all been a lot on them, maybe more than they’ve been able to articulate or realize. There’s only so much of their innocence I can preserve.
I glance into the kitchen, where Inez and Lupe are having an intense conversation at the sink. Lupe thrusts her finger into Inez’s face, a scowl snapping her brows together. Inez leans up into her sister’s space, not backing down as they hiss at each other. I’m not even going to intervene. Enough for tonight. I slip out the back door and pad across the yard, wet grass cold on my heels in the faux-mink slippers I can’t seem to stop wearing.
“Well, I know what my sisters are getting for Christmas,” I mumble, letting myself into the she shed. Usually walking in here gives me a sense of pride, the progress I’m making serving to encourage me. Tonight, though, all I see is the shambles Edward left behind. The hole where his Celtics jersey used to hang. Wallpaper plastered to half the back wall, the dull paint Edward wanted still covering the other half. Everything appears undone, half-done, far from finished. And that’s how I feel tonight. Like a messy room still marked by Edward’s mistakes mingling with my own.
I half-heartedly pick up the roll of wallpaper, determined to make something in this room better before I go to sleep. My phone buzzes in my back pocket, and when I pull it out, seeing a text from Judah makes me drop the wallpaper.
Judah: Is it okay to call?
I don’t reply but dial him, my heart hammering. Nervousness, excitement, dread—all the emotions buzz in an anxious hive under my rib cage.
“Hey,” he says, answering before the first ring finishes. “How are you?”
“Fine. I guess. Inez tried to call me out at dinner.” I laugh humorlessly and flop onto the chaise. “That probably didn’t go the way she thought it would.”
“What happened?”
“She said maybe my rich boyfriend can take care of us since her father won’t be able to go back to his old job once he gets out of prison. The prison that you put him in, obviously and by the way.”
“Ouch.”
“My sentiments exactly. I think Lupe is reading her for filth as we speak, though, so I take small comfort in that.”
“What did you tell them?”
“That we’re not dating, but that I do like you and…” I trail off because it all sounds so inadequate. “It’s complicated.”
“I see,” he says.
“Everything’s mixed up. I want to do what’s best for them, but I also want what’s best for us. I want to be fair to you. I want to make sure I’m ready for whatever this is we’re starting.”
The air feels weighty with the words he hasn’t voiced yet. “And I don’t want to make things any harder for you, Sol. Maybe we should just not do this right now. It’s causing complications for you at home with your daughters. It’s making you feel conflicted. And for what? Just sex?”
“It’s not, Judah.” I pull my knees up and rest my forehead against them, closing my eyes at the hurt hiding beneath the cool tone he usually uses with the rest of the world, but not with me. “It’s not just sex and you know it.”
“You’re not ready for more. It’s the wrong time for your daughters with the Edward thing so fresh. It’s the wrong time for you because you’re not ready for a relationship. I don’t want to take away from it, but I—”
“Are you breaking up with me?” I lift my head, pain gathering behind my breastbone so acute I press my hand there to relieve it.
“How could I be when we’re not together?”
“We have something, though.”