Those words feel sorely inadequate, though I’m not sure how to phrase what this woman makes me feel.
“I like you too, Ethan.” Her chest rises in another heavy sigh. “But I understand.”
That’s good, because I’m not sure I do.
Tori
Cody tugs on my shirt, and I nearly fall out of my flip-flops. I don’t know why I’m so jumpy. I’m not the one getting divorced today.
Poor Ethan was a wreck this morning. Spilled his coffee all over his slacks and had to change. I guess his nerves are rubbing off on me.
Since our chat on Sunday morning, we haven’t had any more heart-to-hearts, nothing beyond a soft smile over dinner or a hug when I bring him lunch. Mostly, he’s been working his ass off in the barn to make up for the time he and Logan had to take off today to go to court.
I can’t lie—I miss the intimacy we’d started to build before Sunday morning brought everything crashing down. He’s pulled back, and while he explained why he needed to do that, it’s difficult not to feel a little hurt.
“Want a sandwich?” I ask Cody as I brush his blond hair off his forehead. If I cut it into small squares, he might eat it this time instead of just tearing it apart and gobbling up the lunch meat.
He blinks up at me with his daddy’s blue eyes and gives me a big toothless grin. “Sammich.”
“You got it, buddy.” I grab the bread and a few plates. “Mila, are you hungry?”
“Yeah.”
When she doesn’t say more, I turn to watch her coloring at the kitchen table. She’s been coloring a lot lately, ever since she heard her parents arguing Sunday morning.
Last night, Ethan mentioned that he was going to explain to her what was happening today, so I know she might be feeling emotional.
After I make the kids lunch and seat Cody in his high chair, I lean over to see what Mila’s coloring.
“That’s so pretty. Is it for your dad?” She’s drawn a horse and an enormous butterfly.
“Yup.”
“He’s going to love it.”
She doesn’t say anything and barely touches her sandwich.
“Honey, are you sad about today? It’s okay if you are.”
Tears start tumbling down her cheeks, and I pull her into my lap. “Yeah, I’m sad. Re-re-realllllly sad.”
My heart crumbles into a million pieces as I rock her gently. “It’s okay to cry about it, to me or your dad. To your momma too. We all love you, and it’s good to talk about how you’re feeling with people who love you.”
When Mila and Ethan spoke last night, he told me she hadn’t wanted to discuss it. Just kept nodding and acting like the divorce wasn’t a big deal.
It obviously is.
Mila hiccups and holds me tighter. “Momma says she doesn’t want me living with Daddy any-any-anymore.”
As much as I’m struggling to not voice anything derogatory about Allison, I don’t think it’s healthy to turn kids against their parents.
“Sweetheart, she’s just upset, okay? I’m sure she’ll work things out with your dad.”
She nods. “I wanna st-st-stay here. With you and Daddy.”
“And he wants you here. I’m sure once everything settles down, it’ll be okay. Your daddy loves you so much. He’d move mountains to be with you.”
“I wish it was like it used to be. Like in our pictures.” She sniffles, and I grab a napkin and help her blow her nose. “Except I want you here too.”
Mustering a smile, I wipe away a few of my own tears that escape. “If your momma was here, you guys wouldn’t need me to help out, but I understand what you mean.”
I consider the family photos on the mantel in the living room and can’t help wonder what happened to Ethan and Allison to bring them to this point.
Although Allison seems like she very much wants this divorce, she sure leveled a shitload of acrimony my way when she found me with Ethan. She screamed at me like I was the other woman. Like I was responsible for breaking up her family.
Which makes me wonder if she still loves Ethan.
Or if there’s a part of Ethan that still loves her.
After a few more minutes of holding Mila, I sit her in her chair. “Know what always cheers me up? Decorating cookies. Do you think you’d like to help me make some? You can help me stir.” I really shouldn’t feed these kids so much sugar, but I’m at a loss for how to get her out of this funk. I make a mental note to figure out more craft projects.
“Can we do different color icing?”
“Yup. And we can do different shapes too.”
“Can we make Daddy some too?” She sniffles and smiles, pausing to wipe her nose on her arm. Okay, gross.
“Sure can.” I reach for a wet wipe to clean off the snot.
After we set up all the ingredients for the cookies, I pin her drawing to the fridge with a magnet.
When I turn back to Mila, she motions me closer. Leaning close, she points to her drawing and whispers in my ear, “You’re the butterfly.”
“Yeah?”
She nods. “Butterflies are my favorite.”
Aww. “Thanks, babe. You and Cody are my favorite.”
She whispers solemnly, “What about my daddy? Is he your favorite too?”
That’s an easy answer. “Absolutely.”
Probably more than I’d care to admit.
An hour later, I’m writing the directions down as quickly as possible, but Beverly’s zipping through the recipe faster than I can write.
Pushing the phone higher with my shoulder, I hum into the receiver. “Wait, so you use ice water?”
“Oh, yes. The colder you get the ingredients before you roll it, the better. Otherwise, it’ll get sticky. I also roll out the ball of dough between two large sheets of plastic wrap so you don’t have to peel it off a counter. Way easier.”
“You’re a genius. My crusts never come out right, but I’m going to try this. Baking is tougher for me, so I appreciate the tips.”
“Be sure you send me a picture.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Of my crust?”
“Heck, yes, girl. Gonna be checking your work.”
She’s snickering into the phone, and I’m shaking my head. “The pressure!” I joke. The front door opens, and my pulse kicks up. “Hey, I think Ethan’s home.”
When he enters the kitchen, my attention snags on how handsome he looks in a suit. Damn, he cleans up nicely. Except when we make eye contact, his grim expression makes my stomach clench.
“It’s your mom.” I motion to the phone, my heart sinking when he shakes his head because he always takes her calls.
Logan walks up behind him, slaps him on the back, and tells me they’ll be in the back office.
I nod, watching the brothers disappear down the hall.
“Um, Beverly, can he call you back later?”
She’s quiet. “You have my number now. Call me if you or my son need anything.”
“Yes, ma’am. I sure will. We could FaceTime this week if you want so you can see the kids. They miss you.”
Logan set up his mom with an iPhone before she left, but they haven’t had a chance to video chat yet.