Page 91 of Takeover

“Whatever, Vickie. Is there a point?”

“No. Just sayin. And the kid treats you like a mom. He came to you for everything when you all were there on Sunday.”

“Well, Vick, that’s what happens when you get involved with someone with a kid. It’s a package deal, and I knew that going in. The kid is great, so that’s a bonus.”

She looks at me through the screen as if she’s trying to read my mind.

“Are you and Alan still coming over for dinner tonight?” I ask her.

“Yeah. Maybe you can tell us what the hell you were so upset about on Sunday.”

“I was just irritated. Some shit involving Vincent’s mom, but I can handle her.”

“Damn right you can, otherwise that bitch will have to deal with me. I’m not playing around. I will cut a bitch over my sister and brother.” We both laugh after that statement. Vickie’s not kidding. She would.

“It won’t have to come to that.”

“Girl, it better not, but this is why I don’t date men with kids. There is always some crazy ex lurking in the background.”

“You’re right about the ex, but she’s his son’s mother. Everything else is good, though,” I tell my sister. We talk for a bit longer until she has to return to the classroom.

Lindsay is not the reason I was angry on Sunday. I was angry at myself for being blindsided. I should have anticipated this, and I’m disappointed for not being one step ahead, but the person I’m really angry at is Ethan. And the fact that we haven’t had time to talk about it is also frustrating. He’s been busy working fourteen plus hour days. We text and talk throughout the day, but this is not a conversation to be had when your boyfriend is across the country for work, dealing with a crisis.

The afternoon flies by, and as soon as Carla brings Vincent home from school, I dismiss her for the day. Joan prepares dinner, and once Susan cleans the kitchen, everyone is gone and I take Vincent to his swim lesson, which is held in the swimming pool in the building. It’s a private lesson, so he’s the only one in the pool with the instructor.

While Vincent swims on his back, I video that part of the lesson and send it to Ethan. He doesn’t respond, so when the lesson ends, I take Vincent back upstairs to bathe him.

By the time I get him dressed, Vickie and Alan arrive. Vincent makes a beeline straight to Alan, and while they make a mess with Legos, Vickie and I share a glass of wine.

“Such a mom,” she says again.

I roll my eyes at her. “Yeah, I have it so hard. Other people do all the cooking and cleaning, and I get to enjoy all of this.” I wave my hand around the penthouse.

“He’s gone and left you in charge of his son, Tar,” she whispers. “That’s huge.” She smiles wide at me, and looks into my eyes, waiting for me to say more, but I look away. “What?” she asks. She puts down her drink and grabs my hands.

I look behind my sister only to find Alan strolling into the kitchen.

“Where’s Vincent?” I ask him.

“He went to go get some more toys. What did I miss?”

“Tara is about to confess something,” Vickie says. I look at her and raise my eyebrows. “I know you. Spill before the kid comes back.”

I look around, and when I see no signs of Vincent, I say, “I told you his wife started some shit, and when I told Ethan to wait and calm down before he confronted her, he pulled the ‘Vincent is my son’ card.”

Alan leans back in his chair, and his face transforms. My normally relaxed brother is gone. “That’s bullshit,” he hisses. I tap his hand to calm him down.

“I agree. We haven’t talked about it because he’s been gone.” As I’m opening my mouth to say more, Vincent comes running into the kitchen, his arms full of action figures. The smile leaves his face when I tell him it’s dinner time.

While the four of us share the roasted chicken dinner that Joan made, Vincent talks nonstop to my siblings, and they indulge him by answering every question. They take it a step further by asking him questions. He loves the attention, and when my phone rings, he’s too busy talking to ask if it’s his dad.

I excuse myself from the table and run to my office. I see his face the minute I accept, and I let out a breath of relief.

“You look exhausted, baby,” I say to him. He smiles into the phone and runs a hand over his face. Even from here, I can tell his usually clean shaven face has about two days’ worth of stubble.

“Is that your way of telling me I look like shit?”

Hunter fills the screen before I can answer. “You really do, boss,” he says.

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