“I thought you didn’t have money for gas?”
Huh? I stare at him blankly, unsure what he’s trying to say. But he’s quick to clear up my confusion.
“Why would you get their nails done when you don’t have money for gas?”
“Oh . . . no. My mom lets me use her account at the salon,” I explain, but now that his words have settled in my gut, I don’t like them. What exactly is he accusing me of? Immaturity? Irresponsibility? Stupidity?
“So your mother paid for it?” His expression morphs from incredulous to outraged. “My kids are not charity cases.”
Not going to lie, I’m stunned speechless.
“Can you just send them out when they’re done?” he says, his angry tone telling me how disgusted he is with the situation.
What the hell?
I turn on my heel and march toward the pool house with as much dignity as possible while wearing a bikini.
“Hey, girls,” I call out from outside the door. “How are you doing?”
“Ellie, we can’t get my shirt on,” Rosa calls.
Hesitantly, I open the door and find the three of them in varying stages of undress, Carmen trying to help wrestle Rosa into her T-shirt with one of the sleeves balled up. “Here, let me help.”
In sharp contrast to earlier, their dispositions are decidedly somber, which only serves to further twist my exasperation with their father deeper into my belly.
“Ellie?” Daniela asks quietly after we’ve said goodbye to Amelia in the kitchen. “How come he’s mad?”
Considering the pros and cons of avoiding the question or even of pretending Scott’s fine, I end up going with the truth. Just because they’re young doesn’t mean they’re gullible. “I’m not sure. But he’s not upset with you guys, so don’t worry.” Which is true. And if he’s not upset with them, he must be upset with me.
We come to the front of the house. I ignore him as I say goodbye to the girls, giving each one a solid hug. When they’re settled in the back seat, he turns to me, about to say something, but I cut him off, holding out my hand. “You have my keys?”
“Yeah, uh . . .”
“Thanks.”
Keys in hand, I turn to go, not interested in anything he has to say right now.
“El,” he calls, but I don’t stop. “I’ll call you later?”
“Sure,” I throw over my shoulder. I might even answer.
I make my way back into the house and find Amelia sitting in the breakfast nook with a cup of coffee and a crossword puzzle.
“Thanks for helping me out today,” I say, slumping down into the chair across from her.
She regards me carefully. “He didn’t want to come in and say hello?”
Shaking my head, I give her my best guess. “He must have had a rough day . . . or something.”
Her tactful hum carries unspoken words. “I think I might disapprove of the way his arrival sucked the life out of you and the girls if I weren’t so impressed with the girls themselves.”
I can’t hold back a scoff. “That’s got to be their grandmother’s influence.” Amelia’s wry amusement at my comment does nothing but irritate me further. “He was a total –” I want to say he was a total dick, but Amelia wouldn’t like that so I go with, “He was a total jerk to me.”
“No one said this was going to be easy.”
“He didn’t even say thank you.”
“Yes, well, being someone’s significant other is often a thankless job.”
My pique grows because I was prepared to have to defend him to her. “You’re the last person I would expect to make excuses for him.”
“I’m not making excuses. I’m making allowances. There’s a difference. But I expect you’ll need to make plain to him that such behaviour is not only uncalled for, it’s destructive.”
I lower my head onto my arms on the table, feeling defeated.
“If the two of you are going to make a relationship work, there will have to be a period of adjustment. Some growing pains, so to speak. And you’ll each have to decide if it’s worth the pain.”
I feel the prickling of imminent tears. “What if he decides I’m not worth it?” I say into the tabletop.
She tsks. “What if he does? If that’s the case, you’re better off without him. Your self-worth is not negotiable, Ellie. My best advice is to begin how you mean to move forward. Let him explain, but make it clear that bullying won’t be tolerated.”
Lifting my head, I try to stem my tears as Amelia’s expression softens.
“But also understand that he can’t help but be wary of your influence over his children. He may even be jealous for a time.”
“What?!” Indignation rears its ugly head. “Jealous of what?”
“Come now,” Amelia says, giving me a pointed look. “Surely you can put yourself in his shoes and see that he’s not accustomed to sharing them with you. Or the opposite, sharing you with them.”
“But that’s crazy.”
“True. But love rarely goes hand in hand with logic, does it?”
My only response is a noisy exhale.
“Like I said, it won’t be easy. But you’re the strongest woman I know, mi amor. You need to show him that that strength means you’ll be there for him, but that you won’t let him walk over you.”
“That doesn’t sound easy either.”
“No, but that’s life, as you well know.”
“Yeah,” I sigh, my ire wilting. “As I well know. Thanks for the advice.”
“You’re most welcome. Now help me put away the lounge chairs, so we can lock up the house.”
After spending the day with the girls and their exuberance, the quiet of my empty apartment is oppressive. The only thing I can find the energy for when I get home is flopping down on the sofa and wrapping myself up in a throw blanket.
Despite my best efforts going over well with the girls, they were lost on the one person whose opinion mattered the most. Thinking maybe I missed a call or a text somewhere over the course of the day, I pull my phone out from my back pocket. There’s nothing, of course. I was so careful. But after re-reading Scott’s last texts about being done with work early, I realize he must have been really worried that I was making a mess of things . . . which is entirely reasonable. That doesn’t explain, though, why he lashed out at me without asking a single question. I’d been ready for his questions too. I’d been going over my ‘report’ in my head all day. I didn’t feed them candy, I checked their library books for inappropriate content, I made sure they ate their lunch, I watched them in the pool like a hawk. And I’d been so careful with what I said and how I acted around the girls – all damn day.
Except, I screwed up with the nail polish, didn’t I?
He hadn’t seemed overly concerned about that, but he had been angry. With me and my decision making process. That produces a flash of indignation. None of what he’d accused me of had been founded. It’s almost as if he’d been looking for something to be angry about; he’d been mad before he found out the bill for the manicures would go to my mother. Ugh. I should be outraged and offended by his behavior. The moral high ground is mine, I’m in the right . . . so why doesn’t that make me feel any better?