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She had to be joking. Had to be. Marigold had been married to me for nearly ten years. She knew I was not the type to sign up for anything like this, especially with her.
“I did not. And I’m beginning to wonder if you did it. Goldie, if you wanted to spend more time with me, all you had to do was ask.” Dropping an elbow to the table, I rested my chin in my hand and gave her a serene smile.
I found a button. I pushed.
“I have no earthly idea why you would think I’d volunteer to spend time with you.”
“Hmm, you did invite me for coffee.”
She scoffed, and her voice went up another octave. “I invited you because—” She took a deep breath and slumped in her chair, suddenly looking tired. “Regardless of who got us into this, we’re signed up for it, so we’re doing it.”
My chest ached at the trepidation in her tone, but I kept up with my needling. It was my default mode when it came to my ex-wife. “You wanted to meet for coffee to discuss this? We can meet up the night before and make a poster, then set up a portable table on site. It’ll be fine.”
As long as there were prizes, it didn’t matter. That’s all the kids were interested in. Besides, they’d all be over at the dunk the principal booth.
Marigold’s face was flushed, and I was pretty sure smoke was coming from her ears. “Make a poster the night before? This isn’t high school, Liam.”
“Exactly. It’s not high school. It’s elementary school. Those kids don’t care if we work our butts off or if we throw a sign together the night before, toss out some suckers, and call it a day.”
I expected a fight. I wanted a fight. I liked when we did this. I liked the noise, the pull. The way her cheeks flushed and how she bit her lip. How when we fought, she looked like she was ready to wrestle me to the ground.
But what I got gave me no satisfaction. There was no fury, no fire. Just an ungenuine smile laced with a hint of sadness. Just a trace, but that trace spoke volumes. “I should’ve known this wouldn’t work.” She shook her head. “Sorry to, uh, waste your time.” She pushed back from the table, her chair scraping loudly against the concrete floor.
Guilt gnawed at me, and a lead weight dropped into my stomach. I’d been so focused on my own anxiety, racking my brain for reasons Marigold would want to meet, that I hadn’t considered how hard it was for her to ask me to be here in the first place.
She’d never suggested meeting up without the boys. And if the roles were reversed, I would’ve been sick about it.
She stood then, smoothing out her dress and swallowing thickly but keeping her expression neutral.
“Wait.” I angled forward and grasped her wrist. The motion pulled at my sleeve, uncovering the small tattoo that peeked out from under my watch. The one that matched hers. Her tattoo was on display now, too, just inches from mine. They were identical, and for the first time in years, they were side by side.
They were simple, really, just the outline of two small marigolds. We were barely eighteen when we made the last-minute decision to permanently mark ourselves with a symbol of our love. The artist prepping Marigold for hers wouldn’t quit looking down her shirt. Naturally, I got pissed, so I demanded he work on mine while a woman who had holes in her earlobes the size of my fist tattooed Marigold. We left the shop giddy, laughing and stumbling down the street to get ice cream and sit at the park.
Sometimes, it all felt like a fever dream. Like if I wasn’t staring at proof of that moment, like if I couldn’t feel the warmth of Marigold’s soft skin under my hand, then I couldn’t be sure it ever really happened.
Above me, her breath hitched. Then she yanked herself free of my grasp and wiped her wrist against the fabric of her dress, as if trying to erase the memories that came along with that tattoo. Maybe that was where we differed the most. She wanted to wipe away the memories. I wanted to note every detail and keep them as a memoir.
She didn’t sit back down, but she didn’t rush to leave either. She dipped her chin, her face a canvas of dejection. “I’ll just tell the boys I couldn’t do it. Adeline was right.”
Adeline. That name piqued my interest.
“Adeline Phillips? Is that why you want to do it so badly?”
She whipped her head one way, then the other, scanning the coffee shop like I had shouted she who shan’t be named across the whole building. “Shh.” She glared at me. That fire was back. “Someone’s going to hear you.”
I leaned back in my chair, hit with a bolt of excitement at her fiery response. “Ah, so that’s what this is about.”
“What?”
I took a sip of my coffee, proudly keeping the mouse fairy turned outward. “You just want to beat Adeline Phillips.”
She scoffed, practically stomping her foot. “That is not true. I want to make my boys proud and win a trip to Hershey Park for their class. They deserve it.”
“And because you want to beat Adeline.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. This time it wasn’t frustration marring her features. It was an emotion I was unfamiliar with coming from her. “It’s not that I want to beat her. It’s that she told her son, who told Miles, of course, that you and I wouldn’t be able to work together long enough to make this happen. And for whatever reason, I thought we could. I thought—”
“Wait.” I held up a hand.
