Page 8 of Ella Gets the D
Her lips curl into a grin. I take it back—Ms. Thelma might be the boss of an underground crime syndicate after all. “Sit back and enjoy the ride to your freedom, dear.”
“Pass the sauce please.” Haile’s hand reaches to the front seat.
“Please roll up your sleeves so you don’t make a mess.” I have zero interest in battling another stain on that pink sweater she insists on wearing once a week.
Her button nose wrinkles at the implication. “I know, Mommy.” She considers the open barbecue sauce and pushesthe cotton fabric to her forearm before grabbing a nugget from the bag and dunking.
Between the cake, ice cream, IKEA playtime, and the cool points I lost pulling them out of Duke’s birthday early, we should be back to normal, with normal being somewhere in the realm of doing too much. They haven’t asked why we’re across from our favorite park in the car with fast food and not at home with my latest failed Pinterest recipe attempt. Marry Me Chicken was a cosmic middle finger given the circumstances.
Bribes might take you far in life, especially as a parent, but my kids deserve to know why we’re trading our house for my best friend’s guest rooms.
“Change of plans,” I say to Jackson and Haile’s faces full of kids meals in the rearview mirror. “We—I—”Shit. “Your father and I love you.”
Haile’s frown deepens. “Is it terminus?”
“Huh?”
“Terminus.” She emphasizes the word like I didn’t catch it the first time. “The health.”
Oh, terminal. We spend our mornings in the library for classes and reading, which explains her vocabulary, but not why she thinks someone is dying.
“No, baby.” I shake my head. “Nothingterminal. Our living situation is going to change. Mommy is getting us a new place soon, and your father will take care of our old house.”
“What’s wrong with the house?”
“Nothing, Jackson.”
“Could be ghosts.”
“Haile.” I sigh. “There are no ghosts.”
Jackson’s brows draw down with a stare that mirrors his father’s—only with confusion and not disappointment. “Did something happen?”
My grip on the steering wheel tightens. How do I tell a six- and four-year-old their family is splitting up, not because of ghosts or any fault of their own? Note to self: add therapy to my list of needs with money I don’t have.
I take a deep breath and swallow. “You know how Duke and Aunt Morgan live in their house, and Mr. Joseph has his studio? They’re still a family, but they don’t live together.”
Jackson fights to control the emotions playing out in his eyes. He stares out the window but eventually nods.
“For now, we’ll stay at Aunt Morgan’s. I called Grandma and will drop you two off to visit next week for spring break.” I heard the concern in Mama’s voice when I called, but I told her we’d speak more later. They need time with her, and I need child-free days to move clothes and toys.
“Grandma!” Haile cheers with raised fists. One down.
Jackson turns back to me with the shadow of a smile breaking through the corner of his cheek. “Sounds good.”
It has to be, because it’s all I’ve got for now.
Chapter 3
Julian
The faint ticks of the bronze table clock on the nightstand count away the time I should’ve grabbed my stuff and went upstairs. One more email, then I’ll leave.
Movement from the bed steals my focus from a message about the rescheduled meeting with Tokyo. A wide hip flares out from the twisted bedsheet. Chloe stirs, shifting thick dark hair across her crinkling forehead. Her brow sinks until Tilly cradles her to her chest and presses a kiss to her cheek.
The two come over on occasion when I need a release from twelve-hour days of contract negotiations. They know what it is. They enjoy hanging out and expect nothing but good dick and a comfortable thread count.
I finish off my scotch and stuff my phone into my pants pocket, next to the wad of wrinkled toilet paper that houses our used condoms. I don’t make a habit of leaving them behind or sleeping down here. The first is too risky, and the second isn’t my style.
