Page 111 of Ella Gets the D
My jaw drops. “Ms. Thelma!”
“I’m old, baby, not blind.” She pats my jeans with a warm smile, one I now know masks devious thoughts, and leans back on her elbows to stretch out her legs. She’s wearing a peach sweat suit and black and white high-tops that are too cute for words.
Katharine scoots closer. “Are you talking about Julian?” His butt is delicious.”
Whoarethese two?
Haile is off to the right, four rows in front of us with the sibling of another player. Out of earshot from her grandmother and Grier’s mama thirsting over my man.
“He’s very good with Jackson,” Katharine says, her focus now on the top half of Julian’s tracksuit where it belongs.
“Doesn’t he teach him Japanese? And Duke?” Ms. Thelma adds in the last part to play down why Jackson and Julian are close. She’s been to the townhouse a few times, but she remains a trusted vault of secrets. When she’s not throwing shade.
Katharine’s eyes grow three sizes. “Wonderful and impressive! Learning another language so young will benefit him when he gets older.”
Right now the benefits include him watching anime with a mixing bowl full of cereal, but sure. I add a “Yup” and take a bite of the blueberry muffin I packed in my basket of excessive goodies. Morgan and Duke had a scheduling conflict since his baseball season has started, but her spirit is here in the snacks I lugged. Minus the figs and soft cheese.
A play on the field ignites Julian’s cheer, but his fan club I’m wedged between isn’t done singing his praises.
Katharine leans in front of me to speak to Ms. Thelma. “I’m surprised he’s not courting anyone.” I keep my chuckle low at her choice of words, like we’re in aBridgertonepisode. “Successful lawyer. Great with kids. Multilingual.”
Heisgood with his tongue.
“Who knew he was such a the family man?”
The bitter breeze of winter rolls its head through the fresh cut grass and buds of flowers perfuming the air. Rows of eyes shift from the pitch to the tall figure in a lightweight black peacoat and fitted gray pants.
Charles hovers next to his mother, his green eyes piercing the distance between us, before he takes a seat in the row in front to face me. Wisps of jet-black hair tapered neatly at his collar flutter in the faint breeze.
“What are you doing here?” Our standoff is a trade of icy glares. There’s an edge to my voice that leaves no doubt I am not here for any of his bullshit.
His mouth thins with displeasure he forces into a smile. “I’m here to watchour sonduring his first rugby game.”
You’d think he’d watch Jackson play instead of scowling at me with the time he magically found in his schedule to attend the only sporting activity since we separated. He only cares about others when it benefits him, which begs the question: why today?
Charles’s sharp gaze wanes when Katharine clears her throat. He leans over to kiss her cheek. “Mother.”
“You remember Ms. Thelma.” She nods to the now empty space next to me. Katharine’s brows dip. “Where did she go?”
Good question. I didn’t hear her get up, but then again, I am facing off with evil.
“Keep going, Jackson!” Julian’s energetic call swivels Charles’s focus to the field, where our son runs feet from the try zone before an opponent snags his flag. His claps reach the bleachers with a grin to match, until he sees my ex. Julian glances from him to me with a stone expression. Our eyes land on Haile, who left the bleachers to run around with Arabelle.
“Interesting.” A chill hangs on the edge of Charles’s words and coils his back. He turns just enough to give me his profile, which is lit up with rage.
Katharine casts me a sad glance and squeezes my knee. “It’s wonderful you could make Jackson’s game. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it,” she says to her son’s back.
Charles digs into his pocket for his ringing phone and stands, but not before his cold eyes slip over the screen to me. “We are a family. Nothing will change that.” With the phone raised to his ear, he heads off to take the call.
Here all of ten minutes before work calls him away. Or another woman. The distraction is irrelevant. What matters are the two humans we created when we could stomach each other for more than three seconds at a time.
I scan the field to find Jackson high-fiving a teammate. He’s getting older, and he’ll remember who was present and who wasn’t. Charles deserves whatever comes from his actions, but not at the expense of my son’s emotions.
Ms. Thelma shimmies up the stairs with a switch of her hips and plops back in her seat. “Did I miss anything?”
I snort. Charles and I will need to figure out how to coparent without shooting daggers at each other. Iwantthat, but his controlling antics have worsened since I left.
A soft hand lands on my leg. “Don’t you give that man an ounce more of your energy,” Ms. Thelma says. “A hit dog will always holler, especially the ones who mess up their home.” Her eyes soften above her plump cheeks, which stretch into a smile. “You turned pain into power. For yourself and those babies.”
