Page 69 of Give & Take

It’s Sunday night. Twenty hours since the kiss that broke the swing.

Not that I’m counting.

Mortification makes my stomach do a one-two punch. “No,” I say, a little snappily. I clink a dinner dish into the rack a little too hard. “The porch ceiling’s got rot,” I say, “so the swing’s staying down.” I would have said thanks for the offer, but I already told him this over dinner. Having Mike around, even in these short spurts where we play nice for the sake of the children, is so deeply draining.

Throw my absolute foolish, out-of-my-mind moment last night with my nanny into the mix and I kind of want to scream. Half at myself, half at Mike.

Still, every time I replay that kiss in my mind, my insides feel like warmed up syrup that comes too fast out of the bottle. Heat rises up my chest so fast I wonder ifI’m actually having a hot flash. I hope to God it’s too early for that. That would just make things eight thousand times worse.

And things are already bad.

Luckily, my superpower is remaining cool as a cucumber under any and all pressure. It really helps when dealing with drunken assholes at work. And ex-husbands.

“Thank you again for the offer, Mike,” I say. “But what I could really use is someone to haul the swing and all those rotten boards away. Since you’re here.”

I don’t feel hopeful. And Mike immediately looks regretful. His eyes dart to the stairs as Nova yells something upstairs and Aurora yells right back. They’re supposed to be getting ready for bed, but they’ve been bickering since Mike brought them home for dinner. They’re both in the middle of giant sugar crashes that started the moment they walked in the door.

Mike clears his throat. “I just meant I could help get the hook back up in the ceiling.”

It won’t go in the ceiling, Mike. The boards are rotted. I’ve only told you that ten times in the past hour!

I keep all that inside, instead fishing around for the dishwasher detergent. “Fine.”

“Why don’t you ask Rick?”

“Rick?”

“Yeah. Yournannylooked more than capable of carrying a heavy load.” He smirks.

Fuck it. I break my cool. “His name is Raph. And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Geez, Lan, I was just kidding.”

I bite my cheek so hard I taste blood. It’s not difficult; the inside of my cheek is swollen thanks to me biting it in the fall the other night. “Shit,” I mumble, reaching for a paper towel.

“Are you okay?” Mike asks my back. It’s in that tone, of course, that doesn’t actually mean he cares.

“I’m fine.” I grip the edge of the sink.

At this point, I’m trying hard not to freak out like I did last night.

Last night, after we fell, I sent Raphael away with words I don’t even remember. They couldn’t have been very kind. He’s been gone all day again, so I haven’t had the chance to check in. To say I’m sorry for whatever I said to him. To tell him last night was a huge mistake and can’t ever happen again.

Today he’s been at Mac and Shelby’s, doing some kind of manual labor for them. Not that I’m bitter about it and want him back here, instead.

He’s texted me though, about a thousand times. Checking to see if I’m okay, if the girls are okay. Reminding me about a hundred times not to go near the swing.I’ll take care of it as soon as I’m back.

“Ok” was the only text I’d sent back. I couldn’t deal with anything else. I’m terrible. I would freak out if he did that to me.

When I look back at Mike, his expression’s slightly puzzled. I let too much time pass after his bad joke. He didn’t actually think anything was going on between me and Raphael, of course. Who would? I’m old. I look goodfor my age.But now he might be considering it. Fuck me.

“Mike, I’m serious about hauling away the swing,” Isay as I lean over the sink, dabbing my mouth. “It would be a big help.”

“I don’t think it’ll fit.”

Mike’s got a big gas-guzzling SUV. It’ll fit. As much as I said I’d never let him bother me again, the old stab of let-down that was a constant in our marriage reappears, blazing sharp.

“Then say goodbye to the girls and go!” I snap.

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