She appears in the doorway to the kitchen, a pint of ice cream in hand, a spoon sticking out of the treat. “What’s with you? You look weird.”
Dammit dammit dammit. Hello, guilt. Lovely to see you. “What? I don’t look weird. You look weird.”
And now I’m cringing.
Probably not just to myself.
Junie’s face twists in a classic teenage Adults are so weird and confusing, and I’m not going to be that dork when I grow up look. “Dad called. He invited me to spend Thanksgiving with him and Grandma and Grandpa and my next stepmother.”
Happy orgasm glow all gone. “What?”
She pulls a face. “I’m not dumb, Mom. He hasn’t proposed yet—unless that’s why you’re being a total weirdo—but he will. He couldn’t even tie his shoelaces without you. There’s no way he can survive being a bachelor. Plus, it’ll improve ratings on his show if he’s all over every magazine while she’s planning the wedding.”
I can’t find words.
I know I have them.
But she’s rendered me unable to find the right ones.
“Ah—oh. Um. So. Do you—do you want to go spend Thanksgiving with your dad?”
She shrugs.
Yes! My inner scorekeeper crows. She still likes me more!
Won’t last long once she figures out where her least favorite teacher just had his tongue and hands, my inner guilt monster replies.
I shut them both down—the more important part here is that Junie knows she’s loved and feels confident in whatever decision she makes.
I can compartmentalize. I can have a fling with Flint and also be a good mom.
I get to be both.
Don’t I?
Out of your head, Maisey. Get out of your head.
I remind myself I could ask her if she wants cookies for dinner and get the same shrug, and I decide the important thing is making sure she’s comfortable with whatever decision she makes. “Well, think about it, and if you do, that’s okay with me. I’d love to have Thanksgiving with you, but I understand and support you getting to see your dad too.”
She stares at me. “Don’t you hate him?”
I shrug right back at her. “It takes a lot of energy to hate someone. Why spend it there when I can spend it making up for all the time I missed with you the past few years?”
She watches me while she stabs a spoonful of ice cream from the carton and then shoves the whole thing in her mouth. “Don’t you ever want to be petty?” she asks around the ice cream.
“Only when you can’t hear me. I’d hate to set a bad example.” I shift toward the hallway to the bedroom. “I need to pee. But I’ll be back, okay?”
“Vivian said you left her mom’s house, like, forty-five minutes ago.”
Dammit again. “I had to make a few stops on the way home, and then I got stuck in elk traffic.”
“Stops for what?”
“Gas.” Mental note: run out for gas when she’s asleep so she doesn’t notice my truck’s under half a tank. “And then I wanted cookies, but I didn’t want to scarf them in front of you, so I sat in my truck and texted old friends for a while.”
Too far.
Her eyes narrow while she licks her spoon. “What friends?”
“Charlotte.”
“She’s not an old friend.”
“She feels like an old friend, and it felt like it had been ages since I talked to her as soon as I left her house. Do you ever connect with someone and feel like you’ve known them for years?”
“The only people I’ve ever known, until we moved here, are people I’ve known for literal years.”
She shoots. She scores. No, Mom, I haven’t made any super-tight besties that I’ll be so sad to leave when I go to college. You and Grandma fucked that all up for me.
“Well, trust me when I say, when you meet that friend and have that instant connection, you’ll know it, and you’ll love it, and it’ll make your life better.”
“You look at Mr. Jackson like he’s your instant friend.”
She knows.
She knows I stopped by Flint’s place, and she knows I’m making up an elaborate story so I don’t have to tell her the truth, and I am screwing this up all over the place.
I’m a grown woman and I like sex and I like Flint and this should be okay, but it’s not, because Junie’s not okay with it.
And I get it.
I neglected her for her father.
Why wouldn’t it be even worse when it’s for a man who’s new and exciting? And she’s already getting bombarded with images of her father spending more time with another woman than he spends with her. And I count phone, text, and email time as spending time with her, for the record. I’m willing to give him that.
But I’m smarter now. I know what I have to lose. And I will give my libido a stiff upper finger before I let working Flint out of my system interfere with being a good mom to Junie.
Maybe it’s an excuse.
But it’s the truth.
I know what’s important. I know I won’t let a man get in the way of my taking care of my daughter. If he hasn’t caught on to how serious I am about that, then he’s an idiot. I’ll figure it out, and I’ll move on.
Nothing could be less attractive than a man who doesn’t respect my daughter.
And I think Flint does.
I think he truly does, and he’s battling his own wants and needs against a teenager’s wishes.
“Life’s complicated,” I say to her stubborn Tell me I’m wrong look. “But nothing will ever change the fact that you come first. Okay?”
Definitely not helping.
“I really need to pee,” I say before she can continue. “Hold that thought, and I’ll be right back, okay?”
I actually need to shower before I get close enough that she can smell what I’ve been up to.
Dammit, libido. Dammit dammit dammit.
I shouldn’t have stopped at Flint’s place. Now I feel like I’m the rule-breaking teenager and she’s the mom, and I don’t like it.
She watches me while I dart to my bedroom.
As soon as I’m locked in my bathroom, I pull out my phone and flip through my text messages, looking for someone—anyone—I can message for support right now.
Probably shouldn’t tell Charlotte. She already suspects, and I don’t know enough about how the gossip network operates here yet. Like, can she tell her besties with one glance that she knows who the most eligible teacher at the school is boinking?
Can’t text my mom. Clearly. Three years ago, yes. No-brainer. This was something I would’ve taken to her because she really was that mom who was there with all the answers when I was growing up. Now—now, I don’t know who she is, not fully, but I know I can’t take this to her.
Even if I could, no cell phones in prison, so I can’t reach her.
I scroll through the other names of friends I’ve made through the PTA or by eating out at all the restaurants in town.
Nope, nope, nope.
Which leaves one person.
Dammit.
I hit Flint’s contact info and pull up our text thread. He gave all the soccer parents his contact info, and I had to use it one time to let him know I’d be a little late getting Junie from practice, and her messages kept bouncing like her battery had died.