Page 39 of Lillian

“Sorry, I never got your name,” I say after realizing I don’t know what to call him.

“James,” he says, and we shake hands. “My wife inside is Natalie. You met Kim already, and her husband is Jim.”

“Got it,” I say, remembering the hostile look I got from Jim. He and Kim have that in common, I suppose. Though now she seems more akin to stirring the pot and watching the fire grow. “Don’t mind my son-in-law. He’s just real protective of Lillian after she lived with them for a stint. Loves her like his own sister.”

“She lived with them?” I ask, fascinated to learn everything that happened in the past four years.

James nods. “For a few months while she got her own foster license years back.” Right when we split. “They all got close during that time.”

I nod, understanding the death stare now. Lillian stayed with themright afterwe broke up. Who knows what she told them happened or how many times he saw her cry over it. I’d hate any guy who broke Becca’s heart, too. Just on principle alone.

“I get it,” I tell Jim.

He stares at me some more as I flip the meat and add the eggs onto the grill. The back door slides open, and we both turn to see Lil come out with a big bowl of pancake mix. Her eyes dart between me and her dad with a hint of concern. Even a little suspicion.

“Everything okay out here?” she asks, but the question seems more pointed to her dad.

He rolls his eyes and takes a drink. “Yeah, sweetie. We’re just talkin’.”

I take the bowl from her and nod as she gives me a questioning look before muttering under her breath and heading back inside. “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

I grin at her, but it falls from my face as I see her dad narrowing his eyes at me. “Look,” he starts. “I don’t know what happened between y'all. Frankly, I don’t wanna. But she’s got enough shit goin on in her life with Grace and that good for nothin mom ‘o hers. She don’t need a man makin’ a mess ‘o things and then leavin’ again.”

Yeah, I’m going to have to ask Lillian what’s going on with Grace’s mom later. Then see if I can get Vince to look into this mom and find anything that’ll help us. “I understand,” I say, looking him right in the eye and speaking with as much conviction as I can. “I’m not going anywhere. I love your daughter.”

Another searching stare, but I don’t break eye contact. Not until he gives one curt nod. “Okay then.” He jerks his chin at the Blackstone. “Eggs are burning.”

I turn back around and finish cooking breakfast. He doesn’t ask any more questions about my intentions or give me any kind of lecture. After that, we finish our drinks, talk about mundane shit, and plate the food as it’s done.

The two of us carry the food inside where there are already small, multi-colored plates with food dividers lined up. Thewomen get to work pulling some pancakes apart into pieces and placing them on the five kids plates, then some scrambled eggs, and some fruit they cut up while we were outside.

Jim comes ambling down the hallway with Grace in one arm, another little girl in the other, and three boys walking behind him.

“Hands are washed,” he announces and gets the kids settled around the table. They all mutter little ‘thank you’s’ as Lillian, Kim, and Natalie place the plates in front of them, and I can’t help but smile.

The way they live, the way they raise their kids, it’s so different from how me and Becca were brought up. This house is lived in: toys litter the ground, laughter rings out often, artwork hangs on the fridge. The kids are all happy and chattering away while they eat.

Becca and I were raised in a mansion. Sure, from the outside, it was nice. No material need was ever denied us. But the place was a museum. Nothing could be out of place, no mess was ever tolerated, the dinner table was for eating and nothing else. Mom and Dad were around, but they didn’t give us the attention Grace and these kids get. That came from our nannies and housekeepers.

This is how it should be,I think as I look around the room.This is how I want to raise my own kids.

“Help yourself,” Lillian murmurs, breaking me out of my reverie and handing me a plate. I smile at her in thanks.

Since the kitchen table is occupied, we take our seats in the living room. Kim takes the recliner, her husband sits on the floor by her. Me, Lil, and her parents sit around the sectional.

“So, Lincoln. What is it you do?” Natalie asks me.

“I’m a lawyer, ma’am.”

Her brows raise, and she glances at Lillian for a second before addressing me again. “What kind of lawyer?”

I glance between them quickly, too, trying to decipher what that look was. “Corporate lawyer.”

Disappointment clouds her features. “Oh. Well, that’s unfortunate. We could use a better family lawyer.”

Lillian lets out an exasperated sigh, like they’ve had this conversation a dozen times before. “Peter is fine, mom.”

“Peter is incompetent. There shouldn’t even be any debate about custody. He’s not effective.”

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