Page 34 of The Perfect Divorce

I sigh with relief, following her gaze to Alejandro, dressed in jeans, work boots, and a tight white tee. He’s kneeling on the deck with his hands on a drill and the sun beating down on him. The power tool buzzes as he presses down, forcing a screw into a fresh wooden board.

“That’s Alejandro, honey. I hired him to fix the deck.”

She drops her arm and furrows her brow, watching him. “Why does he have so many tattoos, Mom?”

“Because he wanted them, and that’s his choice,” I say, handing her silverware.

Summer’s eyes light up as she takes the fork from me. “I want tattoos.”

“Maybe when you’re older.” I smile and leave her side, crossing the kitchen to plate my food.

“Like thirteen?”

“Not even close.”

“What about getting my ears pierced? Can I get that when I’m thirteen?”

“Maybe,” I say, returning to the table and taking a seat.

“But my friend Courtney got hers pierced when she was a baby. She doesn’t even remember it.” Summer pouts.

“I said maybe, sweetie. That’s not a no, so let’s not push it right now.”

She sighs and chews on a piece of bacon.

“Are you excited to spend the day with your dad in DC?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Kinda.”

“Why kind of?”

Summer tucks her chin in. “Because I wish you were coming too.”

I run a hand over her head, smoothing out her soft blond locks. As much as I’ve tried to keep her in the dark regarding Bob’s and my separation, on some level she already knows. Children are perceptive because they’re still developing and still trying to make sense of this world that can be so cruel and so beautiful at the same time.

“I know, sweetie. I wish I was too,” I lie. “But I have work to do.” Another lie. “Plus, it’ll be nice for you and your father to spend some time together, just the two of you.” That one’s the truth.

She stabs her fork into the quiche and takes too large of a bite. I encourage her to take a drink so she doesn’t choke. She’s nine years old, but it’s just a force of habit from her toddler years and a defect as a mother to always worry. My gaze falls on Alejandro again. He carries a board over his shoulder and sets it down, lining it up tightly against the one he just secured to the deck. He must feel me watching because he lifts his head and looks in my direction. I avert my eyes, refocusing my attention on Summer, who is shoving another massive bite of quiche into her mouth.

“Take a drink and take smaller bites next time,” I remind her.

She brings the glass of OJ to her mouth and chugs half of it, leaving behind a mustache of orange juice clinging to her top lip. I pick at my food, my eyes flicking back and forth between my daughter and the stranger outside. I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to have him around as I don’t know what he’s capable of. I know what his file says, what he’s done, or at least what he was held legally responsible for. But that doesn’t mean it entails every horrible act he’s ever committed. After all,myrecord is clean as a whistle.

“All done,” Summer declares. Only the crusts from her quiche and toast are left on the plate.

“Why don’t you go shower and pack?” I say, glancing down at my watch. “Your dad should be here soon.”

She jumps from her chair and takes off down the hall. The bathroom door closes, and a moment later, I hear the shower turn on. I should have canceled this sleepover after Bob threatened me, but it wouldn’t be fair to punish our daughter for her father’s erratic behavior. I just hope he can pull it together and, at the very least, provide Summer with an enjoyable and memorable night in the city.

My eyes are on Alejandro again. He tugs his shirt up to wipe his face, revealing wet, chiseled abs. I pull myself away, collecting the dishes and bringing them to the sink. But I can still see him through the window above it, screwing a wooden board onto the deck, his forearms bulging, his skin perspiring. I’ve never really watched anyone work with their hands. Adam never did any manual labor, and Bob wouldn’t even know what a screwdriver is. Alejandro pauses to take a drink of water, finishing off the bottle. He’s been out there for a couple hours now, and I’m sure he must be hungry. I prepare him a plate, pour him a glass of OJ, and walk to the sliding door, pushing it open. Alejandro lifts his head and smiles as soon as he hears me.

“I figured you might be hungry,” I say, extending the food and orange juice to him.

“You figured right.” He crosses over the hole in the deck where the boards have been removed, awaiting replacements, and takes the plate and glass, thanking me.

I pull the sliding door closed and carefully cross over the area with the missing deck boards. “It’s looking good,” I say.

“Thanks. I should be finished in a few days.” Alejandro pops a piece of bacon in his mouth and chews.

---