Page 106 of When Alec Met Evie
Devon stands and shifts to the other end of the couch so he’s closer to me, then he leans forward, giving me a soft smile. “Look, I’m nervous about how this is going to come out, so I’m just going to say it. Spit it out and get it over with. Evie”—he clears his throat—“I miss you. I think I was premature in ending things the way I did.”
The line is so far from what I expect, I choke on my own spit and spend the next thirty seconds coughing up my left lung. When I finally regain my composure, I look at Devon and say, “I’m sorry, what?”
“I miss you, baby,” he says, his words soft. “I missus.”
I narrow my eyes. It’s not lost on me that so far, Devon hasn’t said a single word about Juno. Hasn’t asked where she is or if he can meet her.
“You missus?” I ask because this man cannot be serious right now.
“We had some good times, Evie. You know we did.”
I lift a hand and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Are you serious right now? You want to have this conversation without even mentioning your daughter’s name? Without even asking about her?”
Devon seems to realize he’s miscalculated because he leans back and taps his fingers on his thigh—a nervous tell I remember from when we were together. “I mean, obviously, if we were together, she would be around.”
“She isn’t a puppy, Devon. She won’t just bearound.She’s your daughter—one you haven’t even met—and she should have been the first thing you asked about when you walked through the front door.”
“Even before you? I thought putting you first was the right call.”
“Even before me,” I say. “You and I are divorced. I’m not your concern anymore. But she should be. I thought that’s why you were here. Why you were coming in the first place.”
“I’m here for you,” he says sharply, but I don’t believe it even for a second. There’s something else going on here. I just have to figure out what it is.
“What happened in California?” I ask.
He looks up and meets my gaze. “What?”
“You said something big could be happening. That’s why you didn’t come to Thanksgiving. What was it?”
He waves a dismissive hand. “It didn’t pan out. I met a director. They went a different direction.” He says this last part with so much condescension, I have to fight to control my eye roll.
“So you aren’t working, then? You haven’t worked since you lost yourGreat Gatsbyrole?”
“I didn’t think you’d heard about that,” he says, and the first crack in his very shiny exterior starts to show.
“Megan ran into Gina on campus,” I say. “Gina told Megan, and Megan told me. Are you working anywhere else?” I repeat the question because I’m starting to get an inkling of what might be going on.
“I’ve done a few things. Contract work. I’m not sure why this matters right now.”
“It matters if you need money,” I say.
“You clearly don’t,” Devon mutters, and the final puzzle pieces of my theory click into place. I think back on the conversation I had with Devon’s mother, Karen, just after Juno was born. She promised me she wouldn’t leave me hanging, that she would help support me and Juno as long as I needed it. It’s the only reason I haven’t made a big deal out of Devon’s lack of paying child support. I may not be getting it directly from Devon, but I’m getting it, and I respect Devon’s mother too much to cause trouble just for the sake of causing trouble. I don’t love Devon anymore, but she still does. And it was a big deal that she was willing to help when she had no obligation to do so.
But Karen was also generous with her support of Devon and mebeforeJuno. When he was in between roles and our finances were tight, she’d send us a little cash to help us make rent or a grocery delivery when our pantry was a little too empty for comfort.
Maybe Karen decided she couldn’t do both. She couldn’t pay Devon’s child supportandpay to support Devon.
“Look,” Devon says, leaning forward. “We both know my mother is the only reason you can be down here, living the life you want. I’m willing to overlook the fact that you’ve been dating someone else, but it’s time for us to make things right, Evie. We can be a real family. The three of us.”
“Or what?” I say. I feel the threat in his words even if he hasn’t said anything explicit, but I’m too over him to let him get away with passive-aggressive implications.
His jaw tenses, and he lets out a derisive laugh. “Or maybe you won’t be getting any more money from my mom.”
“Is that a threat?” I say, my voice cold.
He rolls his eyes. “You can’t think she likes that you’re down here hooking up with a hockey player. Leaving her granddaughter alone with him?—”
“Stop,” I say, surprised by the coldness in my own voice. “Do not talk about him that way. Right now, he’s the closest thing to a father that Juno has, and that’s on you.”
