Page 2 of Sunshine & Sinful

“What doyouwant to do about Abby?” I volley back because it’s not what I want that matters—it’s what he wants.

Tarek stares off in the distance for a beat before he replies. “I want to help. She’s worried. She said Dad won’t return any of her calls or texts. I just want to help.”

My sweet, sweet son, always wanting to do what’s right.

“Do you have control of how your father acts or what he does?” I ask to give him something to think about.

“No.”

“Exactly.” Into a ceramic bowl, I finish crumbling mint leaves between my palms and smell my hands. They smell amazing. I wipe what I can off on a paper towel and cross over to the sink to wash the fragrance off my skin before it gets on everything else or into my eyes. As I do, I holler loud enough my son can hear over the running faucet. “Maybe, if you want to help, listen to Abby, but remind her you can’t fix her problems. That’s not your job, Tarek.”

“Do you know how hard that is, Mom? She’s falling apart, and I’m helpless.”

Drying my hands on a fresh towel I pull from a drawer, I approach the phone to see my son’s face. “Well, women tend to fall apart when…” I trail off, not wishing to speak ill of his dad because Tarek is trying his best in a fucked-up situation. I’m his mom. I’m supposed to be the strong, supportive, can-weather-any-storm woman he can count on no matter what, which is true. I am those things for him. But even I can’t create miracles or fix the past.

As far as I’m concerned, Abby is better off without Dark. He’s been cheating on her for years, anyway. It may hurt now, but losing him will be much better for her in the long run—at least, that’s what I continue to tell myself.

Two women scorned by the same man.

Fuck.

I hate him.

I hate him with every ounce of my being.

Tarek carries on about Lily and Abby as I separate my dried goods into tins for homemade teas. When I’m through, and Tarek has run out of words in the dictionary, he ends the call with a simplelove you,and I’m alone once again, standing in my kitchen, in my pajamas, wishing life hurt a little less.

A text bubble flashes on my screen as I refill my orange chamomile tea and scoop the leftovers into three bags to give as gifts—one for Till, the other for my boyfriend, and the last for the sisters’ kitchen. It’s one of the many items I keep in stock there, and since Till lives in an apartment down the street from the bar, I don’t want her to miss out on the yummy goods I make or pilfer from the sisters’ kitchen. She’s as much of a tea fiend as me.

Once I wipe down the counters, I collect my phone and curl into a ball on the couch to see what Sunshine says tonight.

I miss you.

A knot lodgesin my throat as I read his text three times. A single tear slides down the edge of my nose and ends on my lips. Swallowing hard, I delete the message as I have done with all the others.

Each morning, he messages.

Each night, he does the same.

Sometimes, it’s little ones like this that remind me hemisses me. Others update me on where he is or what he’s been up to. The worst ones are when he tells me stories—stories of us.

Between those are handfuls of messages from Dark, popping up at random times throughout the week.

Dark may not be talking to Abby, but he wants to talk to me.

And while I should be happy about that.

I’m not.

Abby is his woman.

The mother of his daughter.

And I’m his ex-wife.

It’s official.

Signed, sealed, and done.

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