Page 111 of Beautifully Messy
“Nope. Neither are your parents. Their flight was canceled because of the storm.” I slip further away. “We’re making pasta. I’ll put Anna to bed. Then…Is this horrible of me?”
She half laughs. “You’re single. He’s single. What’s stopping you?”
“You don’t think it’s in bad taste? You know, here?” I ask, heart thudding as I try to picture the next twenty-four hours.
“I’m the last person to ask if you want someone to talk you out of it.”
“You’re such a bad influence. See you tomorrow.”
“Wait—Syd?” She quickly adds: “Hope you packed some cute underwear.”
And hangs up, leaving me sputtering with indignation.
Cute underwear? Yeah, no.
But I look up and see him staring at me. Well… maybe on second thought.
Thirty-Four
Annanestlesbetweenuson the couch to watch her favorite Christmas movie. Little Cindy Lou Who sleds down the hill, desperately trying to deliver her letter to Santa. The dog, Max, licks her face after her epic crash. She watches with wide-eyed wonder until her eyelids begin to droop.
“Mama, skating tomorrow?” she asks dreamily.
“Of course, Bug, if the rink’s open.” I reach for her, but James is already moving.
“I’ve got her.”
He lifts her, her small body folding into his broad frame, and tucks her head into the curve of his shoulder. The same way he held her all those years ago, caring for her as an infant.
He carries her up the stairs and lays her in bed. She curls around her ladybug and her sleepy voice drifts out: “Will you sing me Twinka, Twinka, Unca J?”
I turn away, fighting the swell of emotion tightening my throat.
It was the end of a beautiful day. One of those days in D.C. where winter receded and spring burst forth even in January. It was two weeks after we left the cabin. Anna and I had spent the entire day outside. At bedtime, Mason stood in the doorway, watching. She had looked up at him, hopeful. “Dada, sing Twinka, Twinka?”
He mumbled something about being tired and walked out.
When I looked at Anna, her eyes quivered in tears, but I saw her swallow them down instead of letting them fall. So reminiscent of how I responded to my parents’ dismissals.
It was a small thing, but it was the moment I knew. I just needed it to be done.
That was the night I told Mason we were separating.
It hadn’t been easy. The conversation had unraveled into anger, blame, and hurt. While at times he plays the part of respecting my wishes, he still asks when I’m coming home. I don’t think he realizes this is permanent, even though the divorce papers have been filed and custody agreements are in place. He clings to the delusional hope that I’ll “come to my senses.”
Now, standing in the doorway, listening to James’s deep voice crooning the lullaby while he tucks the blanket over Anna, a wave of longing sweeps through me. This is what it should have always been.
“So, what should we do now?” He walks over, monitor in hand, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips.
We’re alone. Anna’s asleep. This night is ours.
“We could read. The sunroom is lovely this time of night. I have a new book I’ve been dying to crack open.” I tease, grabbing his hand and interlacing our fingers.
“Hmmm, interesting idea. I had something else in mind.” His grin widens, that devastating dimple deepening. “We could test out the new hot tub.”
“Let me think. That’s a hard choice. I’d say hot tub, but I don’t have a swimsuit with me.”
“That’s no problem.” His voice lowers to a pitch that has the hairs rising on the back of my neck. “I’m sure you have a pair of shorts and a sports bra. Why don’t you get changed, and I’ll make sure it’s set.”
