"What do you mean, no?" Christine asked.
"Just what I said."
"But…?"
I shook my head while biting my lip. We’d had this conversation a lot lately, and it got to me every time.
"Dad's on his honeymoon, remember?" Alex, my six-year-old son, said from the other end of the kitchen counter. He was eating cereal with no milk because we had run out and I hadn't had time to buy more with all the unpacking I had to do. For some reason, my kids were like sponges when it came to milk, and no matter how much I bought, it was never enough. I couldn't believe how often I had to shop in order to keep up. After only a month as a full-time single mom, I was already quite overwhelmed.
It was Chad who had taken care of these things while the kids were growing up. He had the privilege of being able to work from home for his insurance company, and so he was the one who had taken care of most of the housework for years. Needless to say, I was quite in over my head ever since he decided to leave me for a younger model and become a full-blown midlife crisis cliché. Kimmie had legs to up above her ears and hair blonder than platinum, not to mention a waist so slim it looked to be the size of my thigh. She also had a teenage son, and now Chad wanted to start a family with her. A new family. He had told me that a month ago, exactly to the date. I was still recovering from the enormous shock that had destroyed my world, not to mention our children's.
"It's not a honeymoon, sweetie," I said. "That would require them being married, which they are not."
"Yet," my fourteen-year-old daughter, Olivia, grumbled from the doorway.
"Hi, honey, are you hungry?" I asked, hoping to take the conversation elsewhere. She shook her head. I was worried about her since she hadn't talked much to any of us since her dad told us he was going to live at Kimmie's apartment from now on.
I still couldn't believe he would do this to us…throw fifteen years of marriage down the drain just like that. No…I am sorry, or I hate to do this to you all. There were simply five devastating words—said over the phone—that still rung in my head:
I am not coming home.
"But, Mo-om, what do I do about my computer?" Christine asked.
I stared at her, then at the boxes behind her. The moving truck had brought it all two days earlier, and I still hadn't unpacked half of them.
"I don't know," I said with a deep sigh. "Maybe I can take it to an Apple store next week?"
"Next week?" she whined. "Next week? I can't wait that long. I have math I need to do."
"Use my computer," I said. "You can access Google classroom from anywhere."
Christine made an annoyed almost gasping sound. I could tell by the look on her face that the thought of being without her computer for more than an hour was too much for her to handle, let alone several days. I knew the computer was her entire life, next to her phone, naturally, but she was on that darn thing all day when she wasn't in school. I had no idea what she did on it, but so far, I hadn't given it much thought either. I was in way over my head here, and what she was doing on her computer was the least of my problems.
"I won't do it," she said with an air of finality like there was nothing I could do or say that would make her accept the fact. This computer had to be fixed, now. That was the only solution she would take. But I just didn't have time for it right now. I was planning on unpacking all day and then hopefully getting some work done before going to bed.
"I am sorry, sweetie," I said. "But it's the best I got. I can do it first thing Monday morning, okay?"
My daughter grumbled loudly, then placed the computer on the counter.
"This would never have happened if dad was here," she said, then walked out the door.
I swallowed with the sensation of guilt fluttering in my stomach. I could have told her off; I could have said something back to make her behave, but I didn't.
Because—let's face it—she was right.
Chapter 2
I had just hung up with the local pizza place when the doorbell rang. I opened the door and found my mom and dad on the other side. My mom held up a casserole for me.
"It's vegan," she said.
"Yum," I said without meaning it.
My mother looked at me victoriously. "I told your dad you didn't have time to cook."
I shrugged as they walked inside, and I closed the door behind them. "I ordered pizza. Does that count as cooking?"
My mom snorted. "Most certainly not. That's not food, Eva Rae Thomas. You really should start to think about what you eat."
She gave me a disapproving look, and I felt guilty once again. Yes, I had let myself go after the third child. And it hadn't been easy to eat healthy over the past few weeks with everything that had been going on. I did enjoy my comfort food. But so far, eating healthy wasn't exactly at the top of my long list of things to do. Right now, I was just surviving. I didn't care much what I looked like. I was just happy I wasn't in my PJs all day, crying over my failed marriage. That had to count for something, right?
"It's good to see you, Squirt," my dad said and kissed my cheek. Squirt had been his nickname for me since I was a child because I was the shortest in my family.
"The place looks better every time we come over."
I sighed comfortably. My dad. My private cheerleader and biggest fan. In his eyes, I could do nothing wrong, much to my mother's regret. She, on the other hand, believed I did everything wrong. I guess, between the two of them, you could say they landed on a healthy middle road. Maybe my dad just wanted to make up for what he saw my mom didn't give me. No matter what, I had spent most of my life trying to impress her, trying to get her to notice me and approve of me. Maybe even love me. Over the years, I had learned it was probably never going to happen.
"I was just finishing up another box in the kitchen," I said and guided them out there. My mother looked like she wasn't sure she could sit on the chairs and not get dirty.
"Sit down," I said, and they did, my mother brushing her seat off first.
"Can I get you something? A glass of wine?" I asked. "Beer?"
"I could do with a beer," my dad said.
He received a look from my mom, but I still served him one, knowing he wasn't allowed to have any at home. Not since my mom got on her health kick, ever since my dad was hospitalized with a colon disease that they had initially thought was cancer but turned out to be just an infection. Other than that, he was as strong as an ox and ran on the beach three times a week. But my mom only saw the disease and, over the past two years, she had been almost hysterical about what he ate or drank. I figured she had been terrified of losing him and scared of the loss of control she had suddenly felt, and therefore thought, if only she controlled what he ate, she could somehow get some stability in the chaos she felt inside. Emotions weren't easy for my mother and, over the years, I had learned to read between the lines to figure out how she really felt. I guess I never really felt like I knew her very well, but it had gotten better. I wanted it to. I wanted to be closer to them both, and that was why I had decided to move back to Cocoa Beach, where I was born and raised.