Page 40 of When It's Us
I chuckle, because although I live there, and love it, I can see why someone might not. It’s barely a map dot. “Yeah, I gathered she wasn’t too happy about it.”
“This road trip is exactly the kind of thing twenty-year-old Ginger would have done. Which drives my mother insane. I mean, she would have expected something like this back then. But at thirty-eight, it’s…different. And way out of character. Wrenley would tell me I’m being melodramatic. I tend to do that.”
I flick a glance in her direction and a smirk curls my lips.
“Fuck off,” she says, but there’s humor in it. “I think it comes from constantly having to be ‘on’ all the time growing up, you know?”
I don’t, but I nod anyway. Being sandwiched in between my brothers and my twin sisters, I sort of got lost in the shuffle most of the time. Especially by the time Hales came along. But there wasn’t ever a time when I felt like I had to be anything other than who I was. My parents are great, but I’ve always been the lone wolf.
“Anyway,” she says, “I was raised by a minimalist mother with a penchant for trying to control my life at every turn, and a father who, while he loves my sister and me, would rather spend his time on the golf course than be home with his high-maintenance wife and daughters. I grew up a straight-A student, a member of thehonor society, and even had a formal introduction insociety.” She says that last part with air quotes, and I raise my eyebrows.
“People actually still do that shit?” Her mother sounded like a nightmare, and Ginger was starting to make a whole lot more sense. It couldn’t have been easy living with a parent that constantly picked at you or pushed their fucked up ideas of what they thought your life should be like on you.
She shrugs and goes on. “Everything was a competition between which of my mother’s friends' daughters would marry first, and who would snag the richest husband.”
“Sounds fucking excruciating,” I say.
“Yeah,” she nods, then winces, “God, that was a lot.”
“You’re good,” I tell her, surprised how little her chatter bothers me.
“I learned pretty quickly to do what I was told. So, now you know. All up to speed on everything you never wanted to know about me.”
She blushes a bit, and I get the impression she’s embarrassed by the overshare.
“How is your relationship with your ex?” I don’t know why I ask it, other than I’m finding I like talking to her. Almost as much as messing around with her.
“It’s good.” She nods. “We’re good. He’s a great dad. But even he’s worried about me.” She pauses like maybe she’s said too much, and I glance over at her. “When I got divorced, I sort of threw my life into my boys.”
“I can see that,” I say, nodding. I’m completely blown away by how much she’s sharing and even more by the fact that I care.
Interesting.
“Peter, my ex, he’s getting remarried, having a baby.” She sighs. “Moved to Seattle, of all places.”
“Wow. Big step,” I say.
Her answering chuckle is mirthless. “Yeah, you could say that.”
She folds her arms across her chest, rubbing them absently before seeming to remember the blanket on her lap. She pulls it over her shoulders and leans her head back against the headrest, eyes fixed on the scenery outside the passenger window. The shift in her posture—from poised and on edge to quiet and defeated—hits me harder than I expect.
I rub a spot on my chest. The idea of a father willingly putting distance between himself and his kids doesn’t sit right. I don’t have kids, and I’m not as close with my parents as some of my siblings are, but my pop was everything. He taught me to work hard, chase what matters, and live every day with purpose. For him, that was ranching and raising a family. For me, it’s my work and the freedom of the road.
“That’s gotta be hard on Tate and Jordan.”
She turns to me, a curious look on her face.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing, I’m just surprised you remember the boys’ names.”
My eyebrows knit together. What could she possibly think of me—that I wouldn’t remember her boys’ names? I spent all afternoon with them at the lake last summer and spent a bit of time with them again at Hank and Wren’s wedding in January. Tate wasn’t exactly my biggest fan, but Jordan warmed up to me quickly. “Anyway, my lease is up in December, and the crazy part?” she says, rolling her head to look at me. “Peter asked me to go with them.”
I snap my eyes in her direction. “With him and his new family?”
She wobbles her head back and forth. “Well, notwith themexactly, but he mentioned me moving there too; he doesn’t want to miss time with the boys.”
That admission makes my jaw clench, and my fist tighten on the steering wheel. What kind of man asks his ex-wife to uproot her own life because of a choicehe’smade? Then again, what the helldo I know about relationships, ex-wives, and raising kids? Fuck all, that’s what.
