Page 86 of My Wife
He orders, “Come home. Now.”
Clearing my throat and summoning patience, because let’s be real, it’s starting to wear thin, I use my most pleasant voice. “What’s the magic word?”
“Jessica,” he warns.
“KJ and I are at Grandma Dolly’s finishing a puzzle.”
“Don’t keep me waiting.”
I close my eyes, summoning the dregs of patience. “Be there soon.”
Thankfully, my grandmother didn’t overhear the conversation, but she must recognize the apprehension in my expression.
She asks, “Do you want me to come?”
I reply, “Thank you, but no. It’ll be fine.”
I’m done with Liam and his bad moods, demands, and lack of manners. Most of all, I don’t want Grandma Dolly to know I’ve failed, again. It’s time for me to part ways with this man. To leave, exit stage left. It breaks my heart to imagine leaving KJ, but the childcare center seems like a great place, and he can still see Grandma Dolly twice a week.
When we get to the elevator in the Old Mill building, Mrs. Kirby approaches with her dog.
“Good morning,” I say with a little less sparkle than usual.
She looks me up and down, and the dog immediately proceeds to try to pee on my foot. I yank it away and am careful not to step in the puddle.
Mrs. Kirby says, “Looks like the kid had an accident.”
I scoop KJ into my arms. He is dry and great with the bathroom. I tell myself to be kind and rewind to the moment before her dig.
“It’s chilly for early April. A great day for baking.”
“Don’t bother bringing me any of that cake.” She makes a face.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say airily.
When the elevator dings, she bustles past me. I sign to KJ that I’m going to get some towels to clean up the dog’s mess when something washes over me.
The woman rejected my cake. Said my kid, er, Liam’s kid, peed on the floor and didn’t return my friendly greeting. Maybe it doesn’t pay to be nice.
By the time I unlock the door, I’m cranky, no I’mraging.
That’s it. No more Miss Nice Gal.
After KJ settles in for his nap, I march to the new workout room I had installed here in the loft where I find Liam bench-pressing what may very well be several hundred pounds. Shirtless. Abs on display.
Doing my best to minimize the distraction, I say, “What?”
He racks the bar, towels off his face, and slowly rises to standing. “We need to talk.”
“I’ll say.”
He looks me over as if seeing me for the first time, or in a new light. Maybe it’s because I didn’t bounce in here riding a unicorn and bow before his royal majesty while wearing a radiant smile.
Dripping with sweat, he says, “I have to shower.”
That means I’ll have to wait. Typical. He disappears into the bathroom.
Oh, this means war. I’m done. It’s over. Instead of retreating, I go to the kitchen, take out a carton of heavy cream, and whip it into a frenzy.
