Page 42 of Second Round

“Yup. I baked some yesterday. They’re in thecookiejar.”

Hannah leaned for a hug too. “HiMom.”

“Welcome back, darling. Minx is in the laundry basket in your room,” I said before she could ask. “I think she’s hinting that you should put away yourclothes.”

“That’s silly. She’s hinting that I should leave my clothes in there because it makes acomfybed.”

I laughed. “You’re too quick for me. Do you havehomework?”

“Nope. I did it all during Tristan’s game. Dad let me stay homealone.”

What? That was a first, and I had a brief panic attack imagining all the things that could have gone wrong. At least Brent had the decency to look embarrassed. He explained, “She’s twelve now. Hannah told me she’s taking the babysitting course, so I’m pretty sure she can stay home byherself.”

The initial flare of anger died down as quickly as it came. “You’re probably right, Brent. But this is the kind of thing that we should discussfirst.”

Hannah tried not to smile. She had been bugging me to leave her and Tristan home alone, but I’d been resisting. She was exactly the type of smart kid to take advantage of different standards in different households. She told me a little more about their weekend, including a mention of dinner at Margaret’s place, and then drifted off toherroom.

Brent sat in the armchair across from me. “Now, I know you’re going to chew me out, so can I just say that it wasHannah’sidea.”

“Oh, you’re throwing your daughter under the bus?” I laughed, and he visiblyrelaxed.

He laughed. “You sound like a hockey player or something. So you’renotmad?”

No, I was too busy blushing. Who knew that semen contained vocabulary boosters? I blew out my breath and tried to act like a grown-asswoman.

“All I’m saying is we still need to agree on these things, just like when we were together. If you’re letting her stay by herself and I’m saying she’s too young, that will end up confusing Hannah. This isn’t a huge deal; we could clear it up with a quick phone call. But something big, like dating, we’d need to talkabout.”

Damn. Back on that subject and I was blushing. I reached for my tea and hoped that Brent wouldn’t notice. But even if he did, it wasn’t like he could tell I’dhadsex.

Luckily, the idea of a teenaged boy getting near his precious daughter completely distracted him. “Dating? She’s not talking about dating yet,isshe?”

“Shhh. She’ll hear you.” I shook my head. “No, not yet. I only mentioned it as the example of something important.” Or possibly becauseIwas dating.Woohoo.

“Phew. Thanks. I thought I was going to get roasted here.” Brent leaned back in his chair and peered at me. “There’s something different about you. Did you cut your hair orsomething?”

“No. I’m the same.”Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush.This was ridiculous. But obviously relying on Mr. Vibrator was not the same was havingactualsex.

“The place looks great. You’ve done a goodjobhere.”

“Yeah, it was surprising how much useless stuff was lyingaround.”

I’d been in a very unsentimental mood while I decluttered and gotten rid of many things that reminded me of Brent and our happier times. “There are four boxes of yours in the basement. Maybe you could take them withyounow?”

“Sure, I’ll get to them.” He wandered around the house, doing the “inspection” he’d promised, but there wasn’t a word of criticism. My hard work waspayingoff.

He stopped in the middle of thelivingroom.

“Hey, Jakes—” Whatever was coming was going to be big because he had used his pet name for me. “I’m sorry but I don’t think your paintings are really, uh, enhancing, the value of thehouse.”

That felt like a slap across the face. “What? I thought you liked my art.” He always told me how cheerful my art was and how he could never do anythinglikethat.

“Look, they’re great, like funky or whatever the word is, but when we’re selling a multi-million dollar home, the art should be classic, refined, and more, uh,neutral.”

Sometimes it was hard to imagine that Brent could still find new ways to hurt me, but obviously he could. My mouth pinched in a straight line, which had the advantage of keeping me quiet. Undoubtedly Margaret’s home was full of classic, refined art. I picked up my plate and cup and headed to the kitchen so he couldn’t seemyface.

“Fine. I’ll have everything ready by the end of the week. Have your realtor contact me, and we’ll set up a time.” Maybe I could rent art or something. Because when I had my own place, all the art was going to be vibrant, alive, and “funky.”

“And Brent, since staging the place costs money, I assume we’ll be splittingthebill.”

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