Page 41 of Better Daddy
Sully growls. “I’m going to kill Brian.”
T.J. tilts his head. “Why?”
Sully tries to keep his voice even. “You can’t use that word, pal.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a bad word.”
His little lips turn down in a puzzled frown. “Whyis a bad word?”
Sully stands and roughs a hand down his face. “Dammit.”
T.J. steps back, cringing. “That’s a bad word, Dad.”
Before this can go off the rails, I step between them and guide T.J. out of the bathroom by his hand. “No, the worddammitis a bad word. Your father wasn’t cursing at you.”
“But that’s the cat’s name.” The innocence in his tone makes it impossible not to smile.
“I know, baby.” I press a kiss to his cheek. “Be good tonight, okay? And yes, you can walk the cat so long as Cal or Brian is going with you.”
My brother-in-law appears out of nowhere with his mammoth cat on a leash. I try to stay far away from the animal. I get the sense that he only likes Brian and his paws are freakishly long.
“Looks like your car is here. Want to walk down with us?” Cal asks.
I glance over my shoulder at Sully, who’s stepping out of the bathroom wearing a frustrated scowl.
My heart aches at the sight. He handled the situation with T.J. well, even if he didn’t have the success I’m sure he hoped for.
That’s the thing with kids, though. They’re great at throwing wrenches into even the best-laid plans.
Assuming he’ll brood for the rest of the night, I drop my phone into my clutch, preparing to walk out with T.J. and Cal.
Sully skirts around me, surprising me by ruffling T.J.’s hair easily, and says, “Give me a second, and I’ll join you.”
Remembering just how cold it is today, I scurry to our bedroom to find my jacket. In the doorway, Sully stands, already holding it out for me. Hesitantly, I turn and slip my arms into it, and when he lifts my hair so that it doesn’t get caught and brings his cheek to mine, I shiver.
“Have a wonderful time tonight, sweetheart,” he whispers.
“Thank you,” I say, voice caught in my throat. As I step into the stairway, I can’t help but wish that I allowed Sully to take me after all.
On the way into the city, Julius texts, informing me that several junior partners are meeting for drinks at a bar a block or so from the party, so I give the driver the address and ask him to drop me there. When I arrive, everyone is tipsy, including Julius.
“Oh, Mommy cleans up nice,” he teases when he spots me.
I hit him with my purse. “Shush, you.”
Secretly, I revel in his compliment. Because though he was teasing, I know him well enough to know he meant it. After the way Sully looked at me, then T.J., and now Julius, I feel like I’m floating. I haven’t dressed up like this in so long, and it feels good to be noticed.
Forty-five minutes later, we walk into the restaurant where the party is being held. In New York, Christmas parties are more about showing off than they are about celebrating the holiday season. This is how firms boast about how well they’re doing. Judges and clients are invited. Colleagues from other firms are often on the guest list as well.
I scan the elaborately decorated room, relaxing a bit when I don’t spot my parents. I’m not out of the woods yet, since they typically show up at functions like this. But they’re punctual people, and they don’t hang out at the bar, so their absence means it’s possible they won’t be here at all.
It hurts, feeling this way. I hate that my instinct is to hide from them. But I’m not ready for my mother’s judgmental response when she discovers I’m pregnant or the demands she’ll make. She’ll most surely tell me the divorce is off. That if I have any hope of having a career, it’s imperative we raise our children in a two-parent home.
Millions of single parents make it work, so the second thing isn’t even a consideration for me. And the divorce? That’s definitely not off.
Even if my husband’s heated gazes are making my stomach do that swoopy thing again, and he’s clearly making an effort with T.J.
