Page 93 of Ella Gets the D
As for Erica, what can I say other than she’s thrown hertold you so’s in my face since she caught Julian calling me “sweetheart” on video call during Friendsgiving. How was Isupposed to know I didn’t shut my bedroom door all the way? Apparently, I need a deadbolt to keep my nosy friends at bay.
I haven’t told Grier about the change in development, not that there’s much to say. She and her family have been in and out of the area, getting Zora situated at college and visiting family in Mexico for mini getaways. She and Mateo are empty nesters now. I don’t blame them one bit for taking time for themselves.
It’s not like Julian and I have a title, anyway. We’re getting to know each other better, and that might involve heavy petting, my nipples in his mouth, or a virtual peep show while he’s back in London. We’re still friends without flirting in public.
And do you know what would help our situation? Me moving out.
I’ll get the apartment, hold a funeral for my savings after all of the deposits, and move us in during Jackson’s winter break in February. The plan makes sense. I just need Tweedle dee and Tweedle dum off my back. It’s a quick walk around the kitchen island to pop Erica in the head and grab the phone. It’s playful, but she hops off the barstool and mumbles, “Bitch,” but backs down when I grab the spatula.
Try me.
“I need my own place, Morgan. I don’t want to confuse the kids or give Charles ammo to come after me in court.”
“So let Julian move out,” she says, the edge in her voice replaced with affection. “Stay where you’re at. The kids love it, and you don’t need to move somewhere temporary to prove a point. You’re saving for a house, and you’ll be able to buy one next year—if you don’t waste money on rent you don’t need to pay.”
“Or you can let his fine ass buy you a house.” Erica lifts her chin before she bites into another donut.
“I already learned my lesson with one wealthy man. Not happening.” Julian wouldn’t lose sleep or interest in his bankaccount if I asked him for a new home. He’d happily buy one for me, but that’s not the point. I don’t want to rely on a man to provide for me or my kids, which is why I have to do this myself.
“Does she still look gassy?”
Erica nods at my eye roll. “Mm-hmm.”
Morgan’s sigh is deep. “The townhouse is yours for as long as you need it. Julian already moved into the apartment above Swigs.Stay.”
He did what?
I stare at the phone like her brother will magically appear to confirm a truth he never told me. He said he was busy this weekend, but I took it as to meanI’m running around, notI moved without telling you.
He flew back the day after Christmas, came straight to my job, and took me in his arms behind the privacy of my office door. He whispered, “Merry Christmas, baby,” before sealing his mouth to mine. The kiss was a homecoming after months apart, and, my, was it worth the wait.
Rose fanned herself the second she laid eyes on him in a long camel wool coat and heather gray slacks, and he and I snuck off for a quick lunch at a nearby soul food restaurant. The kids didn’t see him until later, after they weeded through the stacks of presents waiting for them under the tree. It was perfect. My favorite people together under one roof, surrounded by twinkling lights and the fresh scent of pine from our first real Christmas tree.
“I’ll talk to him.”
Morgan lets out a breath and “Thank you, baby Jesus” at Erica’s cheer. “Now that we settled that, get your ass over here.”
I can’t groan loud enough. “Pajamas and junk food on the couch are calling me.”
“I refuse to let you ring in another year with pantry snacks and Ryan Seacrest. El, this is the last year you’ll be married to that ogre.”
“Technically, I’ll still be his wife tomorrow,” I say.
“You know what I mean! I promised I’d make an appearance at this gala, and I need a plus-one. I have dresses and a stylist on the way to do hair and makeup. Bring yourself.”
“Don’t look at me,” Erica says, reaching for her purse. “I have a date. See you next year!”
“You owe me a proper meal and an apology.”
Morgan laughs at my frustration as I try to piecemeal a dinner of two tiny sliders and a skewered chicken strip. Between the sample-size portions and lack of seasoning, I’m over it.
She leans in to whisper with a smile. “I could go for a milkshake myself.” Her eyes widen at a man in a tuxedo who could star in Blair Underwood’s biopic. “Senator Douglass,” she grins. “It’s great to see you!” The hug they share is one of familiarity.
“Morgan, always wonderful to see you. Is your father here?” Warmth ripples through the rich timbre of his voice.
“Couldn’t make it. How’s Emma doing?”
A grin plays across his lips. “Good. Always on the go. It’s hard to keep up with my daughter.” He laughs. “I’ll tell her you said hi.”
