“Another hypothetical situation. What would you say if I told you Maven knew we were having twins?”
“What?” I shriek. Him and his big mouth. “You’ve lost your mind!”
He groans. “I couldn’t help it! My six-year-old is apparently the damn baby whisperer. She asked me if you were pregnant because you rubbed your belly like fucking Marci’s mom.”
“Marci’s mom? Who’s that?”
“Another pregnant woman, I’m assuming.”
“Let me get this straight. She asked if I was pregnant because I rubbed my stomach like another pregnant chick?”
“Correct.”
“And you felt it was important to confirm it?”
“Correct again.”
“Are you nuts?” I scream.
“I didn’t know what to do. I can’t lie to my daughter.”
The hell he can’t. I’ll be lying to my children all the time about stuff they have no business knowing yet.
“Oh, really? So, you’ve told her Santa Claus isn’t real and the Easter Bunny is you?”
He chuckles but tries to keep his voice serious. “You know what I mean.”
“Well, you could’ve maybe, I don’t know, changed the conversation to fucking Barbie dolls or something? Asked her to have a tea party? Talked about anything but my uterus.”
“We can’t have tea parties before bedtime,” he explains.
“That fake caffeine is bad for children and their stuffed dogs after the streetlights come on, huh?”
“Smart-ass,” he mutters. “I don’t see why you’re pissed. You should be thanking me. This saves you from having to be there when I planned on telling her.”
“At least one good thing to come out of this.” My heart stammers, and confusion flickers through me. Why am I upset that I wasn’t there? Why am I sad I didn’t get to see her reaction?
“You still pissed?” he asks a few seconds later.
“Not pissed. Shocked.”
“If it makes you feel better, I made her promise she wouldn’t tell anyone until I told her it was okay.”
“I’m not sure how much I trust a promise coming from a six-year-old.”
“It helps when you add an extra birthday gift as a hush bribe. Some parenting advice to a mommy-to-be–nothing works better than bribery with extra doll clothes.”
“Bribery is okay, but lying is off the table? Makes sense. I’ll have to keep that in mind.” While mine is going fucking crazy right now.
“Now that I know you’re not pissed, just shocked, I need to ask for a favor.”
Seriously? This co-parenting relationship with benefits is getting demanding.
“Haven’t you thrown enough at me tonight?”
“This one will be a fun one.”
“Shoot.” I cross my fingers that it doesn’t involve any more pregnancy announcements.
“Will you go shopping with me for Maven’s birthday present? Lauren planned on going with me, but she’s been pulling double shifts to save up for a house. I don’t want to put more stress on her.”
“Maybe you should ask Cindy. You can go shopping, and then she’ll feed you some fried chicken casserole.” I’m acting petty, but this is how I bring up my problems. I use my sarcasm to tell people how I feel.
“What?”
“The smiley chick who came over when we picked Maven up.” Is clarification needed? “The one who thought her fried chicken was the best thing since sliced bread.”
“Wow,” he says with a laugh.
“What?”.
“Surely, you don’t believe I’m hanging out with her?”
“No,” I stutter out. “I mean, I don’t know.”
He sounds like he’s enjoying this now. “Would you be upset if I were?”
“Nope. Not at all. Eat her fried chicken. Get heart disease. It’s all good.”
“Willow,” he draws out in warning, “would you be upset if I were?”
“Would I upset? Nope. Pissed? Yes. Will I have sex with you again if you are? Definitely not.”
“I’m not hanging out with her, I swear. She came around and dropped off food when Lucy passed but hasn’t been around in months. Even then, it was nothing. I accepted the food, so my daughter wouldn’t starve until I got my shit together. When I managed to perfect grilled cheese, I put a stop to it.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”
“You’re the only woman I’m hanging out with. Hell, other than my sister and mother, you’re the only woman I even talk to. So, now that that’s done, when do you want me to pick you up for shopping?”
“We’re not going anywhere in town, are we?”
“No. I figured we could take a trip into the city. She asked for an American Girl doll?” He says it like he’s unsure if that’s the right name.
“Oh, I had one of those, growing up. Which one does she want?”
“Uh … one that looks like her? They have a store in the mall near the airport.”
“Another road trip, huh?”
“Seems to be our thing. My mom is taking Maven to her bake sale, and then they’re going shopping for her party decor on Saturday. That okay?”
“My Saturday looks open.” Like almost every day.
Stella is on break from filming and hasn’t been asking much of me, so getting out of my apartment sounds refreshing.
“Then, it’s a date.”
I grin. “It’s a date.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dallas
“Do you remember the doll I want, Daddy?” Maven asks for the umpteenth time.
I tap my finger on the side of my head. “Sure do.” I have it written in my phone notes. I pulled up the doll website last night, and there’s a shit-ton of options. I pause and cock my head to the side. “And you don’t even know if you’re getting a doll.”
Yes, she does.
She bounces from foot to foot. “I really, really, really hope so.” She skips up the steps to my parents’ porch to meet my mom standing outside. “Grammy, don’t I need an American Girl doll?”
My mom draws her into her side. “Of course you do, sweetie.”
Maven wags her finger my way with a smile on her lips. “You have to listen to your parents, just like you tell me.”
“Oh, honey, your daddy was not a good listener when he was your age,” my mom replies with a laugh. She squeezes Maven’s shoulders. “Now, go wash up for lunch, and we’ll go to the bake sale and then shopping for your party decorations.”
“Yay! Princess Jasmine all the way!” she shrieks. She pulls the door open and disappears into the house.
“Thank you for watching her, Ma,” I say.
She nods. “Anytime. You going to the city to get the doll?”
I scrape my boot against the steps. “It’s what she wants.”
She can’t contain her loving smile “And her daddy always gets her what she wants.”
“It’s the least I can do. She lost her mother. She deserves the world.”