Page 6 of The Arrangement

“No. Not you, just me. I have a work thing tonight. I probably won’t be back before you go to bed. Is your homework done?”

He nodded, appearing relieved. “I only had math, and I finished most of it in class.”

“Good. Will you mind your dad for me?”

He rolled his eyes, but unlike Dylan, there was a playfulness there. He’d not yet learned to be annoyed by my every word. “I always do.”

“Help him out if he needs it, okay? And don’t fight with your brother.” I ruffled his hair too, kissing his cheek. He swiped it away with his hand—he didn’t used to do that. When did it start? I couldn’t even remember.

“I won’t. Have fun at your work thing.”

“I will,” I said. “Love you, kiddo. See you later tonight or in the morning, depending…”

“Love you, too.” With that, he pressed the button to start the game back up, and the music began blaring once again. I grabbed a stack of dirty cups from his dresser and walked from the room. I didn’t know why I felt so sad about this. It wasn’t like I was doing anything to hurt them, but somehow it felt like more of a betrayal to them than it did to Peter.

The last room was Maisy’s. The pink flower on her door was one we’d painted together at a Mommy and Me class when she was six, her name drawn out in an attempted fancy script. It was a small sign of what used to be. Her room had changed so much over the years, starting out with posters of rainbows, unicorns, and her favorite Disney princesses, and ending up now with photos of her with her friends, quotes from her favorite books, and string lights all around the top of her walls and hanging in lines behind the head of her bed. I pushed the door open, and she looked up at me from the book in her hand, did a double take, and her brows raised.

“You look gorg, Momma. Why are you so dressed up?”

“I’ve got a meeting with a few people from the office tonight. I’ll probably be out late. Think you’ll be okay to hang out here with the boys?”

She wrinkled her nose, pretended to think it over, and then nodded. “I think I’ll manage.”

“What are you reading?” I asked, setting the cups from Riley’s room on top of her dresser and easing down on the edge of her bed.

She held up the novel The Graveyard Book. “Neil Gaiman.” One of her favorite authors. She was a reader, like her father. And like her mother, my sweet Maisy had always been obsessed with all things creepy—ghost stories, scary movies, and the like. I’d been just the same growing up—there wasn’t a Goosebumps episode or Steven King film I hadn’t seen by age thirteen. The ones that existed then, anyway.

“That’s a good one,” I assured her. “Did you finish your homework?” I didn’t even have to ask, but I wanted to. I wanted to savor every moment with her. At that moment, I was hit with the heaviest pang of guilt, and I considered calling the whole thing off to stay home and spend time with her. How long had it been since we’d painted each other’s nails and ate junk food together? Did she have a boyfriend? Was there a guy she had a crush on? Once, I would’ve known that, but I couldn’t remember the last time we’d had a real conversation. I missed her.

“Mostly. I have a call with Jennessa and Bailey in an hour to go over our English assignment. It’s a group project, but we’re going to FaceTime and work on it since Bailey's grounded.”

I nodded. So, even if I wanted to stay, I’d be unwelcome. She had plans. Things to do. I would be in the way, and I needed to busy myself. “Anything I can help with?”

“Not really,” she said, confirming what I suspected.

“Okay then. Well,” I rubbed my hands over my legs, “I’m going to go ahead and get out of here. If you need anything, your dad will be around and I’ll have my phone.”

“We’ll be fine, Mom.” She was smiling, and there was no hint of frustration in her tone, but I heard more than what she said nonetheless. They didn’t need me anymore. Not like they once had. I felt a tug somewhere deep inside of my stomach, as if the part of me that had grown my children was crying out. I fought back against the bitterness that filled my chest, my jaw tight. My babies were growing up, my husband was growing distant, and my life was at a standstill. The reality of where I was made me ache for all that had been. I touched her cheek lovingly and she looked disturbed, so I let my hand drop.

“Love you, kiddo. Have a good night.”

She picked the book back up, already lost in the story. “You too,” she called when I pulled open the door and grabbed the stack of cups again.

I made my way down the hall, a hurricane of sadness, confusion over the sadness, anxiety, and fear welling inside of me. I needed to get out of this house before I backed down. Peter was in the kitchen, head in the refrigerator, but when he heard my heels on the hardwood, he looked over his shoulder.

I saw the shock in his eyes. The appreciation for the way I looked.

He was realizing I still had it, though I wouldn’t have known it myself if not for that moment. His shocked expression filled me with confidence.

“Y-you look…wow,” his gaze bounced from my chest to my eyes and back down again, “you look amazing.”

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, glanced down, and walked past him on my way to place the dirty dishes in the sink. “Thank you.”

“He must be taking you somewhere nice.”

I froze, processing what he’d said. There was no question in his words at face value, but I knew the intention was there. It was the first hint that he wanted to break the rules. But if I told him anything, he’d want me to tell him everything. We’d be breaking the guidelines we’d laid out. “He is,” I said simply, choosing clipped honesty over reiterating the rules.

“Well, he’s a…lucky guy tonight.”

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