Page 8 of Choosing Forever
Garrison’s quick to shrug out of his suit jacket and hold it above her head. The fawning look she gives him encourages me to get us moving.
“We can finish talking about this when you’re in Cherry Peak this weekend.”
Poppy nods, and the three of us rush toward the road. The ground is already flooding with pools of water, and by the time we make it out of the mess, the legs of my jeans are covered in mud. I stomp my feet on the gravel to dislodge the mud in the soles of my boots, but there’s not much use trying to clean off here.
I wipe a hand down my face and wait until Garrison’s grabbed a thick black folder from their car before saying, “I’ll let you know when I’m home.”
“Yes, you will. And don’t think that I’ve forgotten about what we were talking about before you got all architect on me. You can’t keep taking shit from Sasha. It’s called co-parenting for a reason. If you want to spoil your daughter during her last weekend of pre-school freedom, you do that. It’s what makes you a good dad,” Poppy snips.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Pops.”
Garrison opens the door of his Mercedes-Benz and places an encouraging hand on Poppy’s back. I nod at her, waving for her to get in.
She hesitates with a hand on the door. “I love you, D. If you ever need anything?—”
“I’ll call.”
Garrison helps her into the car before turning to me. “Thank you for taking this on, Darren. I appreciate it.”
“Keep treating my sister the way you are, and you won’t have to thank me for anything.”
He lingers for a beat later, like maybe he wants to say something else, but eventually slips into the passenger side without another word. I watch their headlights fan out on the road and the smoke of the exhaust puff into the rain before tugging my car door open and finally slipping inside.
My clothes weigh a thousand pounds as I crank the heat and drop my head back against the seat. The silence pricks at myskin, growing worse with every second it takes to crank the radio and yank my hat off. I drop it onto the passenger seat and use the hem of my shirt to dry my face.
The loud buzzing coming from the cup holder draws my attention. My phone dances around as three texts come in one after the other. I try to dry my hands as best as I can before grabbing it.
Now, seeing my best friend’s name on the screen wouldn’t usually send me into a spiral, but today seems to be truly one of a kind because suddenly, I want to throw up.
Bryce: You didn’t hear it from me, but shit, Darren. Don’t lose your mind on me, okay?
Bryce: Daisy isn’t Abbie’s teacher anymore.
Bryce: Delaney is.
I drop the phone and lose it somewhere beneath my seat.
What?
3
DELANEY
The thingabout pissing off the universe is that you never actually know when it’s going to strike back at you.
For me, that day is now. The first one of the brand-new school year.
My fingers slip from the corner of my desk when I push to a proper stand and force myself to smile at the first few students who come barrelling into my classroom. The tension in my muscles causes me to stand like I have a wedgie, and that quite possibly is one of the worst looks I could have right now.
I won’t let my terrible morning snowball into a terrible day. There are too many left in the school year to already start on the wrong foot. Sure, yeah, I poured rotten milk into my cereal this morning and made a toaster waffle that was freezer burnt. Then ripped the back of the skirt I’d initially squeezed myself into when I bent over to put my shoes on before quickly changing into the only clean backup I had, which is both frumpy and the colour of mustard on a hot dog bun that’s been left in the sun for hours. But who cares?
Certainly, not me.
I love dressing like someone’s grandmother on the first dayof school when twenty students and a few sets of parents are going to be getting their first impressions of me.
Heat caresses my thighs as I rub my sweaty palms down my skirt, hating the way the material scratches against my skin.
It’s fine.It’s. Fine.
