Page 14 of The Slapshot and the Single Mom
That stops her in her tracks, and she looks down at the terrible painting in her hand, then back at me. “Really?”
“Really.”
With a shrug, she holds it out to me. “Okay. If you want it, it’s yours. I have enough terrible artwork that I don’t need to add to it.”
“It’s really notthatbad,” I try to say, but she gives me a pointed glare that says she knows I’m lying. “It’s not!” I insist, and she just shakes her head and continues walking.
By this time, the streets are less crowded than when we walked here earlier, and we’re not in a hurry like before, so there’s no real excuse for me to grab her hand to keep us together. As we walk back to The Salty Salmon and our respective cars, I cast about for some way to extend the evening. We’ve had drinks. We’ve painted. Would she be up for a late movie, maybe? We talked about that, but I’m not even sure how late the showings run on a weeknight.
But when we get close to the Salmon, she stops and points at an olive green Subaru parked on the street. “This is me,” she says.“Thanks for tonight. That was a lot of fun, even if I’m a terrible painter.”
“Maybe you just need more practice,” I suggest.
Laughing, she shakes her head. “Maybe. I enjoyed it despite my lack of skill.”
“That’s what counts.” I’m grinning at her, about to suggest the movie idea again. Or food. I think there’s a diner nearby.
But she sucks in a deep breath and pulls out her phone, glancing at the time. “I should go,” she says, sounding a little regretful. “I have work tomorrow. And odds are I’ll have to figure out childcare on the fly in the morning, so I want to be well rested.”
I grunt in response, hating that her ex is such a complete douche.
“Thanks again,” she says, pulling out her keys, and I realize, this is it. This is my only chance to try to see her again.
“Can I get your number?” I ask. “I know the last time I asked you blew me off, but that was before we had drinks at the Salmon—twice—and bonded over terrible paintings.” I give her my most charming smile, and she laughs.
“Yoursisn’t that terrible.”
“Oh, such high praise! It’s notthatterrible, but it’s notgood.”
She shrugs, her lips compressed in a restrained smile.
“Seriously, though,” I persist. “I had fun tonight. Let me take you out again.”
She sighs, and this time it’s more regret than anything. “I told you earlier, nights like this happen once in a blue moon. I have my son pretty much all the time.”
I shrug. “I can handle that. I’m up for spontaneous plans most of the time. Let me give you my number, then text me so I have yours. You can reach out if another night like this falls in your lap, okay?”
After another doubtful look, she finally shakes her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “Okay. Fine.” She unlocks her phone, taps on the screen a few times, then looks up at me. “What’s your number?”
CHAPTER NINE
Maggie
True to form,Kyle texts me the next morning letting me know he’s dropping Liam off at ten. Sighing, I read his text several times, typing and deleting multiple responses before just sending back
Okay
It sucks.Hesucks. Since I’m at work, I call my mom so she’ll meet Liam at our place because trying to get Kyle to take him to my parents’ is as futile as trying to get him to keep his son until I’m done with work. But also, what if I had plans for after work today? What if my mom weren’t available? He’d said he’d keep Liam until six o’clock this evening. Weren’t they going to go swimming or something? Go to a beach somewhere? Why can’t this man who tried to make himself look like the best dad ever do the most basic shit with his kid who worships the ground he walks on?
Every time Liam interacts with his dad, even if it’s only a video call a couple times a week, he’s telling me about how Dad loves this, Dad loves that, Dad’s favorite team is the Golden State Warriors, that’s why it’s my favorite team too. Dad says if I work hard at practice, he’ll take me to a basketball game. Dad says, Dad says, Dad says …
It’s all bullshit, of course, but telling Liam that will just break his heart and make him mad at me. So I nod and smile and say, “That sounds great, honey,” and sweep up the pieces of his broken heart when his dad inevitably crushes it once again.
Everyone assures me that he’ll figure it out eventually, and probably he will, but that means my sweet little boy will have his heart broken over and over and over again until he does, and I hate that for him.
I’m supposed to be editing clips to post on shorts and reels throughout Brock’s socials, but instead I stare blankly at the screen, trying to figure out how to salvage this day. By the time I get off work, it’ll be too late to drive to a beach. But I could take him this weekend, that way he has something to look forward to.
What could we do tonight?
