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I shrugged. “I think so.”
“So it has nothing to do with the way you two look at each other like no one else is in the room?” She dunked her tea bag and gave me a serene smile, like she wasn’t throwing grenades at me left and right.
My heart rate took off at a gallop at that statement. It took me a minute to find the wherewithal to even respond. “What? We absolutely do not.”
I scoffed at the absurdity. Last week at family dinner, when Luke and Layla were talking about newlywed life, Liam made a joke about our honeymoon escapades, and I genuinely stared at my butter knife and considered how much pressure it would take to draw blood.
“And if we did, it would be because we’re running through ways in which we’d like to kill each other and how to make it happen without witnesses.”
Mama B let out a subtle chuckle and raised a hand. “Had to ask. Keep in mind I have had five kids of my own, so I understand feminine urges.”
My stomach felt like it was turning inside out. I loved Mama B more than I loved most people, but having a conversation about my ex-mother-in-law’s feminine urges was not on my to-do list for today. Or ever. It was up there with having an impromptu lingerie party—thank you, Calla—and opening a gift from Liam’s mom that turned out to be an all-too-lacy scrap of fabric. If it could even be called that. My face was heated that whole night. The worst part? When she shrugged and said, “How do you think I ended up with so many kids?”
I groaned. “No. No feminine urges over here.”
Except possibly on the rare occasion when your son pops up wearing compression shirts. I forced that thought into the recesses of my brain. Nope. I would not mull that over. Any sane woman would allow herself a passing glance at his tattooed forearm poking out.
She smirked, like maybe she’d call me out, but then she schooled her features and pasted on that sweet smile again. “Either way, I have a feeling this project will turn things around for you two. Give you the opportunity to become friends again. At the very least, it will give you more time to acclimate to being in a room together without feeling like you want to stab each other. It’ll give you a sense of pride that you sacrificed all that time for your sons. It would be good for you, I think.”
I nodded, placating her. The possibility of Liam and I ever becoming friends dissolved the day I packed our bags. Mama B was tenacious and unwavering, and I didn’t have the courage or the energy to argue with her over it. If we were going to debate, I’d need flash cards and resources, a whole jury probably.
She hummed and nodded, watching out the window that faced the backyard. The boys were running across the grass, Nerf guns loaded, with Jerry hot on their heels, his own plastic weapon and foam bullets in hand.
She took a deep breath and mumbled words that sounded like “the winds are changing.”
I turned back to her. “What was that?”
“Nothing, dear. Now head on out. And take that slice of cake with you. Actually, I’ll pack up a few more. These boys have had enough.”
We stood, and I followed her into the kitchen, where she loaded three slices of coconut cake onto a plate and covered it with foil. Then Mama B patted my bottom and rushed me out the door.
“Don’t let them have too much sugar,” I reminded her. “And make sure Dallas doesn’t try to get on the roof again.”
With a wave, she closed the door on me, leaving me standing there alone and mulling over one overwhelmingly daunting question. What now?
Walking into Romfuzzled always felt like I was checking in on one of my children.
When the old building had gone up for sale at a perfect price, I was desperate for my brother Luke to get it. His whole adult life, he’d wanted to open a bar, and when the opportunity had come up, he’d nearly missed it.
I may or may not have been living vicariously through him, considering he was still young and ambitious. He had the drive and the time but not the finances. That was where I’d come in. And Adam. He pitched in a bit when we got into serious talks about purchasing the place and opening up a bar. I guess he needed something to do as well.
I needed an investment, and I knew potential when I saw it. When Luke said he was ready, I was there with the money, no questions asked. I put my faith in him, and he did not disappoint.
The bar didn’t open for a few more hours, but the side door was typically unlocked. Judging by the familiar cars in the lot, I wasn’t the only one who’d figured they’d come hang out for a bit. It had become our regular spot. If we were lonely or wanted to catch up, we came here.
After the bewildering meeting at school yesterday, I needed a break from my routines. A night away from work, a night spent with my favorite people.
Marigold acted like working with me on a small project like a festival game was the end of the world. The woman’s eyes had practically bugged out when she’d seen our names on the sign-up sheet. Like they’d volunteered her to go skydiving without a parachute.
Did I love to poke her buttons? Absolutely. Because I liked to see that fire in her eyes when I pressed on just the right one. The way that flame flickered and how her mouth twisted lit me up inside. Her attitude and comebacks made me feel less empty. If I could get her to laugh or smile, I probably wouldn’t know what to do with myself, but no matter how hard I tried, annoyance and anger were the only emotions she’d directed at me in years. And if that was all I could get, I’d take it.
Fury was better than nothing. Better than silence.
God knew I couldn’t handle silence anymore. My big house was full of it when the boys weren’t around. The lack of noise had gotten to me so badly this afternoon that I’d turned my sound system all the way up and blasted the music. Yet it still felt too quiet. I’d changed and worked on tiling the shower in the guest bathroom, but I’d given that up quickly. I needed voices, people. I wasn’t meant for isolation. I’d always been this way. In high school, I’d do schoolwork at the dinner table while Mom cooked. In college, I’d go to the library.
Even at the end of our marriage, when the silence between us was deafening, I wasn’t alone. Marigold would shuffle around, playing with the boys. The sounds of baby toys and cries were oddly comforting. I never thought I’d miss the days of Sesame Street and “Baby Shark” on repeat, yet here I was. Even the quiet resonance of Marigold shushing the boys to sleep in a rocking chair in their small room had given me comfort. The way the chair creaked on each rock back, and the sweet, low sound of her voice as she sang them lullabies had settled me as much as it settled our babies.
Now I’d created a life in a giant house on a few acres. I’d updated and upgraded every aspect of the place. Yet I missed those days. The ones we’d spent in that tiny all-too-crowded apartment with an oven that burned everything and a freezer that didn’t freeze.
