Page 4 of Love Lessons

If Finley mentioned her, that was one thing. But I wasn’t about to let other people rub it in her face all the time.

Did I second-guess this choice sometimes? Absolutely. Doubt gnawed at me every single day. But for the time being, it was the only way I could think of to help Finley cope with losing her mom in such a way.

“Please respect my decision,” I said, keeping my eyes locked on Traci’s. I hoped she couldn’t see the sweat on my forehead or detect the nervousness in my voice. “Don’t mention Whitney unless she does first.”

“Okay,” she said, holding her hands up in surrender, but her voice was dripping with skepticism. “But if she asks about her, I’m not holding back.”

That was still questionable, but I let it slide. I also resisted the urge to bring up my disapproval of the amount of gas station candy she’d been sending Finley home with each Sunday, deciding the Whitney comment was enough for now. I waved goodbye to Finley through the window and attempted to swallow the lump in my throat.

Fuck Sundays.

I sat in my Jeep and watched Traci’s car until it disappeared from view. And then, deciding I couldn’t wait any longer, I picked up my phone to see what kind of treat Kendall had in store for me now.

And when the picture loaded, I grinned from ear to ear. She was wearing pink lingerie with multiple criss-cross straps across the top of her breasts, overlapping in an X over both nipples. Trying to figure out how to remove such a garment would be like solving a very sexy puzzle, I imagined.

Kendall: Wish you were here

Fuck me, I did too. This woman was gorgeous—angelic, almost—and the curves of her body absolutely killed me. And there was just something about those full lips and her big, brown eyes that made it impossible to look away.

She was almost too good to be true. Like me, she was just looking for a hook-up. She didn’t ask many questions, so I didn’t feel like I was deceiving her by not mentioning I had a daughter. This was one of the first things I’d done in the past several months that had absolutely nothing to do with Finley, and I preferred to keep it that way.

Mason: Wear that on Friday.

Kendall: Say please.

I put my phone down on my lap just to process this conversation for a couple of minutes. My day-to-day life typically consisted of making bologna sandwiches, playing with Barbies, and rewatching the jellyfish scene from Finding Nemo over and over—so this conversation with Kendall was a welcome change of pace.

Friday couldn’t get here fast enough.

Mason: You’ll be the one saying please.

chapter three

kendall

“Tell me you accidentally wrote down your students’ grandparents’ names and not their actual names,” Jamie said, looking at the lollipops spread out on our kitchen table, each of them personalized with an attached card that read “thanks for popping in!” I planned to give them to each kindergartener who showed up for meet-the-teacher night. “Surely nobody is actually naming their kids Esther or Henry in this day and age?”

“You forgot Walter,” I said, picking up the lollipop closest to me. Jamie’s face fell, her amusement now replaced with disgust.

“WALTER?!” she yelled, loud enough that Titus barked a couple of times to show he was equally repulsed. Jamie rolled her eyes and moved some of the suckers around to get a better look. “Can someone revoke these parents’ naming rights? At least some of them have normal names. Avery, Elijah, Fin—”

“I actually love the old-fashioned names,” I interrupted. “Where’s my laptop charger?” I was getting ready for a long day of setting up my classroom, making copies, and meeting my students and their families. Still in my jeans, I planned on getting dressed and doing my make-up in my classroom later. I was going to wear a white top tucked into a flowy, lavender skirt—it was no coincidence it matched the new pastel theme of my classroom, which I intended to finish decorating that day.

I spotted my laptop charger on the counter and dropped it in my tote bag before gathering up all the lollipops. I would have to hurry if I wanted to get to the good copier before anyone else. “I won’t be home until around nine,” I reminded Jamie, sliding the leftover suckers to her. She happily accepted, opening the watermelon one immediately. She was still in her pajamas, not having to go into work for a couple more hours. She was a pharmacy tech at Walgreens while going to school online to become a pharmacist herself. The kitchen had sort of become our shared workspace, hence the perpetual mess. “Is Daya cooking tonight?”

“Probably,” Jamie said, pushing the sucker to one side of her mouth against her cheek. “Want us to save you a plate?”

“I wouldn’t complain if you did,” I said, slipping my phone into my back pocket. And I furrowed my brows as I tried to remember the last time either of them had asked for grocery money—yet the fridge and cabinets were fully stocked. “Don’t I owe you guys money?”

Jamie shrugged with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You’ve done enough.”

“I really haven’t, though. I eat here, too. And Daya won’t let me cook. So the least I can do is—”

Jamie laughed out loud. “That’s because the last time you tried to cook, you almost blew up the house, Blondie.”

I shook my head, trying not to seem too embarrassed. “It’s not my fault I didn’t know how gas stoves work.”

“Leave the cooking to Daya and the grocery-shopping to me. We’ve got you covered, ‘kay?”

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