Page 51 of Love…It's Complicated

For anyone to assume any woman has life under control is out of their minds. Whether you’re single and looking for love, married with two kids, or riding a wave somewhere in between, you constantly feel like there’s another level you should be at. We get angry at things that happened in the past and always look toward this expected happiness that will come in the future. Well, I do at least.

The highs are exhausting to climb, and the downturn is exhilarating, yet as soon as you enjoy it, it’s time to start uphill again.

Being a woman is a fucking roller coaster.

After our workout, I run home to do homework with the kids, take a quick shower, change clothes, and kiss them good-bye. Dad is taking Hunter and Izzy out for pizza and ice cream while I head to the middle school for Isabella’s parent-teacher night.

When I get to the school, the parking lot is full, so I have to park on the main road and walk an impossibly long distance to the building. Just as I’m approaching the entrance, a familiar Mercedes enters the lot. I see Tyler inside, talking on his speakerphone. I’m about to wave to him to say the lot is full when a car starts backing out of the closest spot near the entrance and Tyler pulls his car in.

Figures the prick would show up right on time and get the closest spot.

I go inside and sign in at the security desk, then follow the hallway to Isabella’s History class. We’ve been asked to follow along with the student’s daily schedule and see the teachers in the order our kids have them each day. History is her first class of the day, so I take a seat in a chair in the hallway just outside the room.

The hallway looks the same as when Tyler and I went here. Yellow-tiled walls, white linoleum floors, and fluorescent lighting that’s cruel to preteens going through their changes. Even the lockers with their scratched-up metal frames line the walls. You can tell they’ve been painted since, yet the dents in the steel remain.

The double doors at the end of the hallway open. Tyler struts through, as only he can, with his long gait, shoulders back, and a brow that is furrowed in a serious manner. He’s looking down at his phone, yet the seas would part for how his mere presence demands the space before him be cleared. His body is a weapon, used to command a room, and when he lifts a brown eye to his opponent, it’s disarming in the best way.

I don’t think Tyler ever knew just what kind of presence he had until he started working in finance, taking meetings, making presentations, and closing deals.

As a teenager, he was an athlete, working the field with talent and grace.

As a man, he became serious and persistent. It’s a sex appeal that ages well. The arrogance that came with success did not.

“Hey, Lyss. She running late?” He nods to the closed classroom door.

“He. Mr. Adams. I just got here and took a seat.”

Tyler knocks on the door. “Is he just sitting there, twiddling his thumbs?”

“He’s probably meeting with another parent. Are you in a rush?”

“Dinner plans,” he states matter-of-factly, and I widen my mouth and bob my head, unsurprised.

Based on the bright blue button-down he has on—something he never would have worn when we were together—I should have assumed he was going out.

Tyler takes a seat beside me, his legs spread wide, and he looks at me, as if finally realizing that I’m sitting here. “You just shower?”

I touch my damp head. “No. I walked through the car wash on the way here. Thought I’d see what it was like to get slapped around by the bristles for a while.”

He grins with a pinched mouth. “Sounds like it hurt.”

“Not as much as you did.”

“Lyss …” he reprimands with a sigh.

“Ty …” I match his tone. “I’m just joshing you. My hair is wet because I just showered after a long kick boxing session, where I envisioned the bag was your face.”

He chuckles as he puts his phone in his pocket. “Now, that I don’t doubt.”

The door to the classroom opens. A parent exits the room, followed by a man with black hair and matching dark eyes. He has stubble on his chin, and from what I remember, he married at the Wolfson Manor.

“Victor Talini,” I say as I stand from the folding chair.

He points at me and squints his eyes, as if trying to remember where he knows me from. “You worked my wedding, right?”

“Yes. I was your wedding designer from Lavish Events. Jillian Hathaway was your wedding planner.”

Victor smiles and snaps his fingers. “Right. Nicole handled all the wedding planning. Crazy seeing you here. I was talking about you not too long ago. My cousin, Allison Lalayne. I believe you met with her. She ended her engagement. Terrible situation, but these things happen, I guess.”

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