Page 124 of Townshipped
I look at the clock. Mom’s going to be bringing Ty home any minute. I need to let Em go so I can shift into Uncle Aiden mode.
“Could we maybe FaceTime?” Em asks. “You know, when the kids are around? Or maybe not with them, if you think it might upset them. Whatever you think.”
“The kids would love that. They miss you too. How about we call you after they both come home.”
“When they’re both home? Where’s Ty? Isn’t he with you during the daytime while Paisley’s at school?”
“He’s been spending a few hours with my mom every day so I can get work done. You know, now that my live-in babysitter decided to move to the East Coast.”
“How rude,” she banters back.
“I know. Something about the seafood being better than our burgers and corn.”
“She’d be crazy to think that.”
“You think?”
“I know it. Nothing beats Mad River Burgers.”
Hearing her refer to my favorite burger place does something to me. Who knew my idea of a seductive conversation would involve talk of a half-pound of ground beef piled with veggies and secret sauce on a sesame seed bun.
It’s not the burger. It’s her.
Though, that is a darn good burger.
I hear the knock at the front door. Em and I hang up, and I basically bound to the front door to greet my mom and Ty, a genuine smile on my face for what feels like the first time since Em left.
The rest of the day I try to focus on work, but my mind continually drifts to Em—the sound of her voice, her laugh, the heavy sigh when she confessed she was struggling to adjust to Boston.
I should feel awful that she’s not settling right back into her life there, but a part of me—admittedly, the selfish part—did a little happy dance when she said that. Okay. It was more than a happy dance. It was a full-blown halftime show with Dr. Dre, Mary J Blige, and Snoop Dogg.
Maybe Em fits here in Bordeaux. I can’t even allow myself to entertain that thought. It’s a slippery slope into more hope that ends in more grief. Still, my mood has been one hundred percent improved since talking to her.
When I tell Ty we’re going to call Em, he says, “I gonna dwaw her a pitchure.”
Paisley comes home while Ty is busy finishing up his masterpiece. Before I even get to break the news, Ty calls out from the dining room table, “We calling Em today, Pay Pay! Put your backpack away! We calling Em!”
Paisley looks at me with confusion etched across her face.
“I talked to Em today and she misses you two. We thought we’d have a video chat. Only if you want to.”
“I want to,” Paisley says, her face a mask of neutrality.
She’s still a tough nut to crack, but little by little she’s allowing me closer.
Paisley unpacks her backpack on the kitchen table, pulls out her schoolwork and hangs the pack on the hall pegboard. Once we have grapes, crackers, and cheese on plates at the island, I pull my tablet up to make the FaceTime call.
Em’s beautiful face fills the screen and I’m nearly knocked over at the sight of her.
“Hi, Em,” I say.
“Hey,” she says.
The moment feels intimate, even though miles separate us and children surround me.
She turns her attention to the kids. “Hey, guys!”
She gushes her greeting with a wide and unhindered smile.
