Page 16 of Lillian

And to raise a kid, nonetheless. She talked about her sister’s fostering situation with such respect and a deep kind of awe that it really makes sense she’d want to do the same. From that perspective, at least. But when she talked about kids, a family, and the white picket fence life with me, it was always followed by,but not now. Not for a few years, at least.

She’d tell me she wanted to be more established in her career. It wasn’t the right time. Those kinds of things. Which made complete fucking sense. I’m four years older than her, but it still felt too soon for me as well. And she was only twenty-six at the time. But now I’m thirty-four, and fuck, do I want that life.

I’m so sick of all the meaningless one-night stands, the forced conversation over blind dinner dates, and the obligatory small talk of getting to know someone. Nothing sounds like a better life than coming home every night to the person you feel most comfortable around. Who you love and who loves you.

Every time I picture that life, it’s always Lil’s face that pops into my head.

A ping from my laptop draws my attention. When my eyes focus on a new email from Vince with the subject “Profile: Lillian Frasier,” something settles in my gut.

Determination.

Fuck my disapproving, demented parents. I’m going to get my sister out of that fucking ranch the day she turns eighteen, win Lillian back, and then live the life I should have been living for the past four years.

“Then he hadthe audacity to suggest that Grace washis.As if I’m the type of person to completely cut off the father of my child,” I hiss to my sister, leaning over my table at breakfast with a cup of coffee clutched tightly in both hands. Three days later, I’m still fuming over it. I wanted to go straight to Kim’s house to vent, but Nicky got a stomach bug, so this is the first time I’ve gotten the chance to bitch about it to her.

She’s so good at listening and being on my side with these things, too.

“What a prick,” she whispers back indignantly. The kids are getting ready for school in the other room, so we’re venting very quietly.

Grace is in her last year of preschool, so I still pick her up halfway through the day, but she goes to school at the same time Nicky does, and they’re right down the road from each other. That means most days, Kim comes to pick Grace up to take her to school for me. Being the guidance counselor, she’s alreadyheaded that way. Which leaves me more time to get some work done before I go grab Grace this afternoon.

“Right? Four years and not a ‘hi, how are ya?’ Just: Is that my kid?” I huff and take a sip of the cooling coffee.

Kim hums in agreement. But the look she gives me says she’s dying to say something else. I quirk a brow at her, and she’s out with it. “How’d he look, though?” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

A built body straining against a suit, slightly salted hair, and brilliant hazel eyes play like a picture show in my head before I answer. “Even better than he did four years ago,” I answer begrudgingly, a little pout in my lip.

My sister grins back at me with a salacious tilt of her lips and then chuckles, hand resting on her swollen belly. “That man was beautiful back then, so I can only imagine.”

I pick up a piece of punched-up baby wipe from when I’d cleaned Grace’s sticky hands and throw it at my very unhelpful sister.

A loud crash comes from the bathroom, and my heart jumps as I imagine one of the kids slipping and hitting their head on something. Then Nicky comes running out, looks at us sheepishly, and says, “Sorry, Aunt Lillian.” In his hands is a decorative ceramic bowl I’d kept in the bathroom with all of Grace’s hair ties and whatnot in it. Though now it is more two large chunks of nothing than it is a bowl.

“That’s okay, sweetie. Let me see,” I keep my voice even so he knows he’s not in trouble. It’s just a bowl I made at a pottery class I took on a whim a year ago. The two pieces fit together perfectly when he hands them to me, so I know there aren’t any pieces they’re going to step on in the bathroom and cut themselves with. “See, nothing a little glue won’t fix.” I stick my tongue out to him, and he giggles.

“You two almost ready?” Kim asks her son, and he nods. “Okay, grab your jackets and head out to the car.” This early in the morning, it’s still a little brisk this time of year. They’ll be carrying those jackets on the way home from school this afternoon, though.

I stand up with my sister, grab her coffee mug, and walk to the sink to rinse it with my own. She follows me as the kids head to the front door to put on their shoes and coats. Nicky bends down to help Grace with her own shoes, and it warms my heart to see the love between them.

“Sooo,” she starts, leaning against the kitchen counter and crossing her arms against her chest, “Besides being a little pissy, how are you?” Concern shines in her eyes.

“What do you mean?” I don’t meet her eyes.

“Don’t play dumb. I saw you after your breakup. You may have thrown yourself into raising Grace, but you were still sadder than I’ve ever seen you over a guy.”

I turn the water on, soap up a rag, and start washing the mugs. After a few seconds, I sigh. “I’m fine. It’s been four years, Kim.”

Deflect, deflect, deflect.

The truth is that seeing him opened up a wound I’d covered with duct tape and a string of meaningless and incredibly short relationships. That feeling of embarrassment and insecurity came back. Of feeling like I’m not good enough.

Embarrassed of me,he had said, and that has stuck with me for years.

“Well, okay. Good, then. I’m going to get the hellions to school. Text me if you need me,” she says, still eyeballing me curiously. Yeah, she knows I’m full of it. But I nod at her anyway.

“Drive safe,” I call out to her as she leaves, and she throws her hand up and waves goodbye without looking back.

“Okay,” I tell myself out loud. “Now you just have to get some work done today and not think about hot assholes that have reappeared in your life.”

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