Page 41 of The Perfect Divorce

“There you are. Good as new,” I say, looking up at Alejandro.

His expression is serious, his eyes flicking all around my face. And then he leans in, brushing his lips against mine. They’re warm and soft, and he presses into me a little harder. I’d say this was unexpected, but I could tell from the first moment we met, he wanted to do this.

The front door opens, and we break apart.

“Mom!” Summer yells. Her shoes thud against the wall one at a time as she kicks them off.

She stops in her tracks when she spots Alejandro seated at the table, rubbing the palm of his hand.

“Oh, hi,” Summer says with wide eyes.

Alejandro nods and says, “Hey there.”

“Alejandro, this is my daughter, Summer. Summer, Alejandro.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” he greets.

“Nice to meet you too. I like your tattoos.”

He cracks a grin, briefly examining his colorful arms. “Thanks.”

I hear another set of shoes clomp into the house. Bob rounds the corner, walking down the hallway without even a glance in our direction. His footsteps are heavy, and a moment later, the bathroom door shuts with a thud.

Summer runs to me and wraps her arms around my waist. I kiss her head and return the hug.

Alejandro gets to his feet and flicks his head at me, signaling he’s going back to work. I nod, all business. His gaze is intense, and he doesn’t take his eyes off me until he’s out on the deck, pulling the sliding door closed behind him.

“Did you have a fun time?” I ask, lifting my daughter’s chin with my hand and inspecting her pale face.

“Yeah,” Summer says, looking up at me. An inch or so below her bottom lip, right on her chin, I notice a bruise, shaded with hues of blue and purple. It’s small, only the size of a nickel—but it’s there and it wasn’t there yesterday.

“What happened here?” I graze a finger over it.

“I slipped when I climbed up on the counter to reach the peanut butter, and my chin smacked the countertop.”

“You know you shouldn’t be climbing on counters.”

“I couldn’t reach the peanut butter, Mom. I’m too short,” she says, slightly nudging away.

“Your father could have gotten it for you.”

“He wasn’t home,” she moans.

I tilt my head, squinting at her. “What do you mean he wasn’t home?”

“Dad said he had to go do something.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “But that means I don’t need Anne or Natalie to watch me anymore, right? I was fine all by myself.”

“How long was your father gone for?”

“I don’t know.” Summer shrugs. “I watched a few episodes ofStranger Things, so like three hours.”

I press my lips firmly together. I’m livid with Bob. He asked to have Summer stay overnight with him in DC and then he leaves her home alone—to do what?!

“I was fine, Mom,” she huffs, picking up on my displeasure.

I relax my face because she’s not the one I’m mad at, and I don’t want her to ever be afraid to tell me things, even things that will royally piss me off.

“Why don’t you go unpack and get your homework done?” I say in a calm, happy voice.

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