“Jagger,” I sigh. “I can’t.”
His shoulders sag and he leans back in his seat. “How long?”
“Two weeks?” I ask more for permission than anything.
“You expect to train your replacement in two weeks? It took me a year to mold you into the fine assistant you are today.” He bites down on his lip to try to hide his smile.
“I’ll make sure the transition will go smoothly.”
“You better.” He stands up, throws his coffee cup in the trash and sits down at his desk.
I follow waiting for instructions.
“What?” He looks up. “Go and do some work now.” He shoos me away. “And I don’t want some temp. Get me someone that’s not going to leave me high and dry next month.”
I nod, exiting his office and taking a deep breath before calling Human Resources to officially put in my resignation.
Jagger’s right though, I need to tell Pete.
Chapter Two
I take a seat at the empty table in the restaurant Pete insisted we go to since we both love Mexican food. While I’m waiting for him I take in the décor and contemplate if we’re even compatible in our food choices anymore. The white linen napkins and plush seating doesn’t hold any resemblance to the street tacos we’d devour back in college.
“Tequila?” the waitress holds out the bottle for my viewing.
“Not tonight, thank you.” I shake my head and she takes the shot glass away.
I pull my phone out, annoyed by Pete’s tardiness. I guess in the past couple of years since we’ve been divorced, the part of me that was accustomed to his lateness shed like snake’s skin.
I pull up Facebook and see that a few of my friends have posted some new pictures of their babies and their husbands—all smiling faces and adoring words.
“Crock of shit,” I mutter, shutting down my phone before I hammer a post back about how many people lie on there. It’s basically the highlight reel of anyone’s life. And only the good parts. No one posts about how their spouse leaves his dirty socks laying around or how he eats chips in bed.
“You talking about this place?” Pete asks, sliding into the chair across from me.
His suit jacket is gone, the sleeves of his button down rolled up to his elbows.
“You didn’t come from work?”
He takes the napkin, lays it on his lap and raises his hand to signal the waitress. “I did.”
I remind myself that it’s none of my business why he looks so relaxed.
“Oh.”
The waitress comes over, holding the same bottle of tequila.
“Please,” Pete says and then eyes me.
“None for me.”
He nods and focuses his attention on the cute blonde ready to serve him. “She’s in AA.”
I don’t even justify his lame joke with a response or an argument that I’m not. I also fail to mention I don’t drink because I’m the one going home to our daughter tonight.
The waitress pours his tequila shot, he downs one and she pours another.
“What are we in college again?” I ask.
He downs the second one just for good measure, his eyes never leaving mine the entire time. He can stop with the ‘you can’t control me’ act. I was never so grateful as to be fired from that job two years ago.
The waitress goes to pour a third, but he covers the glass with his hand.
“That’s good, thanks.”
“Turning into a light weight in your older years?” I smirk.
“Don’t want us waking up in the morning together.” He winks.
I pretend choke like I’m going to vomit. “Sober or drunk that’s not going to happen. Go ahead and have a third.” I cross my arms over my chest.
He removes his hand from the shot glass. “You heard the lady,” he says to the waitress with a charming smile and she pours one more before walking away. I’m sure she’s wondering why table seventeen is so weird.
He sips his drink this time, then places it down. “So, why have you summoned me here tonight? Jade and I stayed in last weekend and watched movies. I brought no women home and other than overdosing on pixie sticks, I was a good boy.” His lips tick up in that playful smile that once drew me to him.
“She came home raving about the fort you made. You actually slept on the floor?” I pretend to peruse the menu, even though I figured out what I wanted half an hour ago since Pete can’t tell time.
“In the middle of the night I snuck up onto the couch and before she woke up, I moved back down to the floor, but that’s our secret. I made a pact with her.”
“Go figure you not keeping good on a pact.”
The playfulness drops from his face and his gaze holds mine. “Below the belt, Clarke.”
I nod. He’s right. “I’m sorry.”
The cocky smile that gets him more pussy than I care to know about snaps back into place. “So?” he picks up his menu, glancing over it.
I twist the cloth napkin in my fingers. “Remember how I went to Chicago?”
He puts the menu down and focuses in on me. The lawyer in him tipping him off that what I have to say is pertinent and it’s almost ingrained in him to listen.
“Yes.”
“My mom…the diagnosis came back, and she has Multiple Sclerosis.”
He frowns. “I’m sorry.”
Pete and my mom have never gotten along, but I know he understands what it took for me to move from Chicago to L.A. with him in the beginning of our marriage. And since he can still read me, I don’t even have to broach the subject we’re here to discuss.
“You want to move back?” he asks, his hand sliding across the table to his glass. He downs it and then raises his hand as the waitress is walking by. “Whiskey neat.”
Once she leaves to fill his order, he starts playing with the fork, flipping and turning it over.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say.” His voice has lost the boisterous tone it usually bears.
“I hate to ask, but with your hours…”
His palm goes up to stop me, which I do. “I know I can’t keep her here. That week you were gone proved that. Until I find my next wife, which will be never, I can’t have Jade full-time and have my career.”
If someone other than me were sitting across from him, they’d probably think that was a horrible statement for a father to say, but truth is, Pete knows who he is, and he doesn’t apologize for it. He’s a workaholic defense attorney who works unhealthy hours. His only true time off is during the two weekends a month when he has Jade.
“I know it will be difficult, but I think it’ll be good for Jade to be surrounded by the rest of her family. Besides this’ll get you back in Chicago to see your parents more often and I’m sure they’ll like that.”
“Quit while you’re ahead, Vic.” He gives me a sad smile. “Have you found a job yet?”
I glance down at the table for a second. “Not yet.”
“There’s always McDonalds to fall back on.”
“You know I can’t cook.” I break the somber mood quickly overtaking our table. “Or grill.” I add, and we share a smile, both remembering our grill catching on fire on the patio of the house we shared when we were married. Needless to say, we never owned a grill again and Pete decided when people come over for dinner we cater.