Page 53 of Penthouse Prince
She hasn’t said that word before. But every time a cartoon mommy comes on the screen, I cringe, and have been waiting for this. Maybe to Grier, any woman who takes care of you, cleans your hands, and plays with you is called Mommy?
It’s sweet and heartbreaking and impossible, and I have no idea what to say to Grier. How do you explain the truth to a two-year-old?
Corrigan still hasn’t said a word. I tentatively touch her hand, only for her to pull it away. Under her breath, she says, “When we get back, we need to talk.”
Fuck.
I nod, feeling a little numb.
We quickly finish our meals. I don’t know about Corrigan, but eating the rest of my food feels like forcing dry sand down my throat. Without another word, we drive home.
Once we get Grier settled down to nap, I follow Corrigan back downstairs, where she says quietly, “We have to stop this, Lex. It’s not fair to Grier. We’re obviously confusing her.” Her voice cracks, and she looks down at the floor. “I can still be your babysitter, but that’s all I’ll be. No more sharing meals, no more going on outings together, no more sex. It’s not healthy.”
I just stand there staring at her, struggling to think. What the hell can I say to that?
I was just as disturbed to see Grier confused about who her mother was. I’ve always known I’d have to explain to her someday, when she was old enough and the time was right. But I always thought I had a long while, so I never worked out how best to approach that conversation. And now I’m afraid it’ll need to come sooner rather than later.
At the same time, hearing Grier call Corrigan Mommy also triggered a wave of that sense of rightness, of how things could be, should be.
And the idea of losing Corrigan again, this time before we were even really back together, makes me feel like punching something.
Corrigan swallows hard, looking away and blinking fast. “I’m sorry. I have to go.” Before I know it, she’s turned and headed out the door.
The sound of the latch closing jolts me. The shock of losing her now, as an adult who has much more at stake, is so much more painful than it was all those years ago.
And I know it’s entirely my fault.19* * *LEXINGTONCareful not to wake Grier, I carry her to the car and strap her into her seat. As much as I’d like to tear off straight to Corrigan’s place, I have no idea how long our conversation will take or what kinds of things we’ll need to say that Grier shouldn’t overhear. So instead, I head to Mom’s.
Dawn answers the doorbell, blinking in obvious confusion.
“Lex? What a wonderful surprise,” Mom calls from her recliner.
As I come inside with Grier conked out on my shoulder, I get close enough for Mom to see the somber look in my eyes, and her face falls.
“Is everything all right?” she asks in a low voice.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” I say softly, deciding it’s best not to get into it right now. “Sorry for not giving you any warning, but can you watch Grier for a couple of hours?” I ask, erring on the side of extra time, just in case. “I just, uh . . . one of my contractors just called, and I have to go meet him at the property immediately.”
“Well, I’m always happy to see my grandbaby . . .” Mom looks at Dawn, her brow furrowed. “But would you be okay with that? I don’t want to impose.”
“It’s fine with me,” Dawn says, her voice quiet like ours.
“Thank you so much,” I whisper with a sigh of relief. “Sorry again. I’ll pay you double for these hours.”
Dawn’s eyes widen. “You don’t have to d—”
“Really, I insist. It only makes sense, since you’ll be looking after two people. And I promise I’ll come back as soon as I can.” Hopefully, I won’t be an emotional wreck when I do, or I’ll have to finally answer Mom’s questions about Corrigan and me.
“Is there anything she needs?” Dawn asks.
“I’ll bring her bag in, but right now she’s in the middle of her afternoon nap, so she should just sleep for most of the time,” I say as I pass her gently into Mom’s outstretched arms.
As if on cue, Grier stirs, mumbling, “Gamma?”
Mom chuckles softly. “Yes, sweet pea, Grandma’s here.” She settles Grier in her lap and rubs her back soothingly until her breathing starts to slow again. “Shh . . . that’s a good girl. Sleepy time now.” Looking up at me, Mom whispers, “Good luck with your business. But in the future, try not to work so hard, okay? I worry.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll try.”
I’ll definitely need that luck—this meeting is the most important I’ve ever had. I head back out the door and shut it quietly.
