Page 128 of What About Us
I watch her go with a smile in her direction. When she gets halfway up the stairs, she stops, and her nose scrunches up in thought.
“What’s up, sweet girl?” I start unpacking the food we picked up from Nat at Timber’s Treats.
“Can I still call you Mama Finnley?” she asks, her backpack dangling from her fingertips.
Hearing her call me that tugs at my heart strings. I want that more than anything and the thought hits me like a ton of bricks.
“We’ll talk to your daddy, ok?”
“Ok.” She nods, grinning. “I hope he says yes.”
“Me too, sweetheart.” I watch her disappear up the stairs, my throat tight and eyes stinging with tears. My heart is so full, it feels like it might burst, and I can’t wait to tell Hudson about our day.
We’ve decided not to tell Paige we were married until we’ve had time to ease her into us being in a relationship first. Especially with how sad she’d been about Tristen canceling her trip. He and I both feel very stronglythat Paige deserves to know, but we want it to come from us. We haven’t hammered out all the details of what that will look like yet, but we will tell her soon. Kids are resilient, and after today, I’m hopeful she’ll take it well. What Hudson and I have is amazing, but Paige comes first. For both of us.
I spread out a blanket on the floor, setting out the food. After pulling up the newest princess movie Paige can’t stop raving about, I head upstairs to change.
I live out of laundry baskets. So, I rummage around for something comfy to wear, and pull out a pair of dark red leggings and a matching sports bra, then swap out my contacts for my glasses. I don’t mind washing or folding laundry, especially if I have a spicy audiobook in my ears and a view of my insanely hot husband, but I despise putting it away. Letting my hair down from the thick French braid has me moaning from how good it feels to unwind it after a long day.
Paige appears in the doorway to my bathroom, and I catch her in the reflection of the mirror.
“Ready,” she says in her sweet voice. Her arms are laden with babies, her pillow, and the pink throw from her room. Clutched in one hand is the small case that holds all her doll clothes and accessories. I can only see her nose and eyes, and her voice is muffled by the bulk of the blanket. “Can we play family after the movie?” she asks.
Running my fingers through my hair, I turn to her. “Absolutely. We can do whatever you want.” I smile at her, and she beams up at me before turning on her heel and heading back through my bedroom.
Snagging Hudson’s old NYU hoodie from the foot of my bed, I pull it over my head and shove my arms through the sleeves while I descend the stairs. His earthy, spicy scent envelops me.
Paige has lined up her baby dolls on the couch and she’s sitting crisscross on the blanket, her mouth full of a bite of her sandwich. She expertly calculates her insulin needs, while I head in to the kitchen to dose myself.Soon, I’ll have my pump, and these insulin pens will be a thing of the past. Halle-freaking-lujah.
Once I’m settled on the floor next to her, I dig into my food. Paige makes comments all through the movie, making me laugh as she munches on carrots and celery. At one point, she gets up and dances around the living room, then pulls the blanket off her babies and asks me to tie it around her shoulders like the cape the princess wears when she’s outside of the castle so no one can see her fancy dress and give away her real identity.
She parades around the living room, curtsying and pretending she’s dancing with the prince. “Did you know my mommy was Cinderella one time?” She spins, her arms held up like she’s dancing with an imaginary partner, while the credits on the movie roll.
I swallow the gulp of water I just took and nod. “I do.” I’ve moved to the couch, feeling every bit of my thirty-six years, with a stiff back and numb ass from sitting on the floor for an hour and a half.
Tristen didn’t actually play the part of Cinderella, but in Paige’s mind, Tristen is the most beautiful and talented ballerina in the whole world, and there is no way she was made to play any other part.
“I didn’t get to see her dance, but she said we can go to Paris someday to see her,” she says it with all the confidence of a six-year-old who still thinks her mother hangs the moon.
I smile and nod, wondering if she’ll ever accept that Tristen is never coming back. An unexpected pang of sadness washes over me. I hate that Tristen will always disappoint her, especially if the past is any indication. Hudson and I are waiting to tell her about us for valid reasons, but maybe if she knows I’m her stepmom, knowing I will be there might lessen the sting when Tristen misses things. It may not be the same, but her dad and I will make sure she knows that she’s loved every day. I’m hopeful it will be enough to fill in some of those cracks.
“Do you think my mommy will come home for Christmas? I want her to see the tree lighting in Town Square,” Paige rattles off. “I know it’s not as cool as Rockefeller’s tree, but it’s still super-duper pretty. Don’t you think?”
Hearing Paige talk about her mom like she would actually set foot in Timber Forge makes my stomach twist, and I don’t have the heart to tell her that she will never call this town home.
“I think it’s even prettier than Rockefeller’s,” I tell her, forcing a cheerfulness I don’t feel into my voice. I’m protective of both Paige and Hudson when it comes to that woman. Besides the fact that she has always been just this side of horrible to me—never really coming out and saying she hated my presence in their lives, but never being over friendly or even cordial, either.
She’d tolerate me when I’d visit, with her nose in the air, like the uppity socialite she was. And the couple of times Jeff and I visited, Tristen tended to gravitate more toward my ex than she did to me. Whatever. I never cared much. And I suppose it made sense. Jeff and Tristen both came from money, and both were too arrogant for their own good.
Good riddance to them, as far as I am concerned.
“Can we play family now?” Paige asks, swiping the homemade cape from around her neck and brushing her slightly sweaty hair off her forehead.
“Sure.” I nod.
She plops down next to me and picks up the mama doll, which she pushes into my hands. The doll is dressed in overalls and a T-shirt, her blond hair straight, but fuzzy.
“You be the mommy, and I’ll be me. Daddy can be working at Timber Haus for now, and we can pretend we’re shopping,” she says. She picks up her doll and runs a hand over the crazy black hair that is matted from taking the dolls into the tub with her.
