Page 64 of Shameless

I stifle an eye roll at her words. That’s another thing we used to argue about when we were expecting Jenna. Jasmine was livid that she could no longer claim to be a double zero.

“The size you wear doesn’t matter,” I try to reason with her. “As long as you and your baby are healthy.”

Jasmine’s tense expression relaxes at my words. “Thanks, Ju-Ju. We were never good together, but I must admit, you were the best at taking care of me when I was pregnant with Jenna.”

“I’m going to have a baby sister,” our daughter chimes in. “Mommy says I can play with her all the time.”

“Jenna!” Jasmine snaps. “How many times do I have to tell you not to interrupt when the adults are talking?”

The excited sheen in Jenna’s eyes dulls down. “I’m sorry, mommy.”

I open my mouth to say something. One of the biggest sources of conflict in our marriage was the way Jasmine treated Jenna.While I agree that children need structure and rules, my ex-wife has always been way too harsh with our little girl.

“It’s ok,” Jasmine says. “Next time ask if we’re done talking. Now you can tell your daddy what we’re going to do when your sister is born.”

Relieved that Jasmine’s tone softened, I turn to my daughter. “What are you going to do with your baby sister?”

Jenna’s smile is huge. “We’re going to wear matching clothes. The three of us. Mommy, sis and I. And we’re going to play together all the time.”

I’m glad to hear that. During our marriage, I was the only one who spent any time playing with Jenna.

“That’s right. We’re going to take millions of pictures for Mommy’s social media and become famous influencers.”

I should have known that whatever Jasmine promised our daughter it would be somehow self-serving.

Jasmine’s next words confirm my hunch. “We’ve already taken some photos outside, but Mommy wants to take a few more later, so be careful not to crease or spill something on your pretty dress. Remember what I told you earlier? No running, no sweating and absolutely no food that could stain your dress. If you’re hungry, I brought some carrot sticks for you.”

My face falls at the same time as Jenna’s.

“That doesn’t sound like a lot of fun. What about the face painting and the snow cones? And I hope you put a bathing suit under that dress, because Jenna and I are going swimming and body surfing.”

Jasmine crosses her arms over her chest, clearly annoyed. “Absolutely not. She’s going to ruin her dress and be a mess and I want to take some good photos for my socials.”

I clench my fists, fighting the urge to cuss her out in front of our daughter.

Jasmine’s attitude reminds me of Tiffany’s when we were kids. She used to put Lula in these frilly monstrosities of dresses that itched, made her sweat and looked like Lula had been swallowed by a giant alien meringue.

Lula was forbidden to run or play and she always ended up crying because her mother would insist on keeping her in those uncomfortable clothes for most of the day.

Back then I was a kid too and I had no power to change Lula’s situation, but I’ll be damned if I let Jenna suffer all day.

“The photos you said you already took will have to suffice,” I bite out. “I think you’re forgetting that I invited you here to spend a fun day with my daughter. You can do your photo shoot another day, if you want to do it at the Club, I can make it happen. But today Jenna is going to enjoy all the activities we planned for our youngest members and I’ll be right by her side.”

My tone brooks no argument and I’m ready to fucking call our lawyers if Jasmine has a problem with my plans for the day.

“Fine,” she relents, her eyes flashing with fury. “I’m afraid I didn’t bring a bathing suit or a change of clothes, so I don’t think you can go swimming. And if you stain her designer dress, I swear to fucking God, you’re going to buy her a new one.”

I’m about to retort that I already paid for the one Jenna has on now, since last time I checked, Jasmine doesn’t have a job or an income that doesn’t come from alimony.

However Jenna cuts me off. “Mommy said fu?—”

“Fudge,” I offer, covering Jenna’s mouth with my hand and scowling at my ex. “Mommy said fudge, didn’t you, Jaz?”

“I sure did,” she snorts.

Bitch.

I’m not a prude and God knows I cuss way too much for my own good, but I try my best to avoid it in front of Jenna. At least until she’s at an age when she can understand that a certain kind of language isn’t appropriate at all times. That was another bone of contention between us when Jasmine and I were married.

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