Page 68 of More With You

“It’s like not being invited to a party at kindergarten,” Ben explains, taking a moment. “They’ll be upset that they weren’t allowed to come, and they might be upset because they don’t know Summer very well—not like you and me.”

Grace dwells on her dad’s words for a minute, before nodding. “I’d be sad if I wasn’t invited.” She chews her bottom lip, clearly holding onto some lingering nerves. “But they do know Summer. I talk about her all the time. I like Summer so they like Summer.”

I exchange a gentle glance with Ben. We both know it’s not that simple, though we wish it was. If only adults could see the world the way children do, it would probably be a much happier place. Children make friends just by saying, “let’s be friends.” Children are awestruck by butterflies and a pretty sunset. Children see magic in the smallest things, and it makes me wonder at what point do adults forget to do that. When do we lose our ability to marvel at the world, instead of seeing only the dark and bitter and stressful side of it?

“Are you happy that Daddy and Summer are married?” Ben asks, fixing the panda barrette that holds back the front of Grace’s hair.

Grace nods eagerly. “Very happy! Summer looked like a princess!”

“What about Daddy?” He pretends to pout, and I find a laugh in me somewhere, which I thought would’ve been impossible, considering the situation. Then again, at the end of the day, we’ve already won this fight. We’re married, we’re staying married, and we’re looking forward to the future. There’s nothing the DuCates can say or do to intervene, now.

Grace chuckles. “Daddy looked like Daddy.”

“That’s good enough for me.” He ducks forward to kiss Grace’s forehead, before rising back up to his full height. While he’s holding the hands of his favorite girls, I’m the one who has to push the doorbell.

Mae answers a minute later, unleashing a startled gasp as she sees us standing there. Fear purls across her face and unease flickers her eyelids, as she hurriedly glances back over her shoulder. After all, she’s the only one, aside from Foster, who was there to witness the aftermath of that awful dinner. She’s likely heard things that would make my toes curl.

“Ben, what are you doing here?” Mae whispers, stepping out onto the front step and half-closing the door behind her. “It’s not a good time.”

Ben smiles. “There’ll never be a good time, Mae. Don’t worry, I doubt we’ll stay for long.”

“Ben, please…” Mae urges, looking sorrowfully down at Grace. “I’ll call you when things are calmer, but now really isn’t a—”

“Who is it?” Mrs. DuCate’s shrill voice echoes from the grand foyer, followed by the hasty clip of heels on parquet.

The door is wrenched wider, and Mrs. DuCate discovers for herself who is waiting on the porch steps. A master of keeping her cards close to her chest, her face gives nothing away. There’s not so much as a crinkling of distaste around the eyes or a pursing of the lips, just emotionless nothing. Although, I swear I hear a faint sniff, as her nose rises a quarter-inch into the air. She can smell what she thinks to be my unworthiness, I imagine. But, weirdly, it only makes me more determined to see this through, bolstered by the reminder that there’s nothing the DuCates can do.

“Benjamin,” Cybil says curtly. “What a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t aware that you had the new code for the gate.”

Ben smiles, but it’s cold. “I know how to reset it.”

“Of course you do.” She smiles back, equally frosty. “What I meant was, it would have been nice if you’d informed us. I would have sent you the code to prevent us all from having to learn a new one.”

“You know where to contact me, Mother,” Ben replies. “It goes both ways.”

Just then, Grace runs forward, breaking free of her dad’s grip, and throws her arms around her grandma’s waist, hugging her tight. A softness loosens the tension in Mrs. DuCate’s body as her arms instinctively go around her granddaughter. However the DuCates might feel about me and Ben, at least they’re human enough to be besotted with that little girl. It seems she can thaw even the iciest of hearts.

“I have so much to tell you!” Grace chirps, peering up.

Cybil strokes the girl’s hair. “You do? Would you like to have cookies and milk in the sunroom with Mae, first? I think your father has something he wants to talk about with me and your grandpa, but we can play hide and seek in the garden afterward?”

“Cookies! Yes! Are they chocolate chip?” Grace hops from one foot to the other, temporarily holding back the hostility with her general cuteness.

Cybil chuckles. “Would they be anything else for my sweet granddaughter? They’re the ones you liked in Italy. Grandpa had them imported specially.”

Of course he did. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, though I’ve never seen a less discreet display of bribery.

“Really?” Grace’s eyes bug out of her head, she’s so excited.

Cybil nods. “All for you, my precious girl.” She glances more sharply at Mae. “Well, what are you standing there for? My granddaughter wants her cookies and milk.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Mae reaches out her hand for Grace, who takes it immediately. Together, they venture into the grand foyer, Grace skipping happily at Mae’s side, when she suddenly turns over her shoulder and says, “Don’t be cross with Daddy, Grandma.”

“Why would I be cross with him?” Cybil says, with saccharine sweetness.

“You weren’t invited to the party. There wasn’t any cake or else I’d have brought you a piece,” Grace explains, and my insides plummet. It won’t be hard for a woman like Mrs. DuCate to put the slices together. Ben seems to be on the same wavelength, as his hands squeeze mine more tightly.

Cybil fixes a stiff smile to her expertly painted lips. “Oh well, not to worry. Run along and see if there’s some chocolate milk to go with your cookies.”

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