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She spread her hands out before her in the air. “Of course. I’ll stay out of it.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes, and then Pamela leaned in a bit again and looked as if she was trying to decide whether to speak. “Just so you know, being a single mom…it’s great, Holland. I wouldn’t trade it.”
I raised an eyebrow at her.
“Well, maybe for the right guy. But Kenner’s dad was definitely not the right guy. So it’s better for us this way.”
It was nice to hear her sounding so confident about something that scared the crap out of me. “How’s he doing?”
“Kenner is great. He loves his teachers and he’s actually starting to identify words.”
I nodded. “Oh my gosh! He’s so little, though!”
“Yeah, it’s not necessarily a good thing. I never realized how much I get away with because he doesn’t read.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like the baby carrots. I told him if he kept eating them, there might be a prize in the bag. I told him it said so on the bag, and the other day he was in the refrigerator sounding out words. He gave me the carrot bag and asked which word was ‘prize.’ ”
I laughed, imagining Pamela caught in her white lie. “So is he off carrots, then?”
She grinned. “Yeah, but until he learns that broccoli isn’t really made from ‘tiny trees’ I guess I’m okay.”
We finished lunch and returned to the office, me dodging places where tall, handsome, broody CEOs might hang out, and Pamela offering me a sympathetic glance as I got off the elevator at my floor.
That night, like the entire week of nights that preceded it, was spent working late and then slinking home to crawl into my lonely bed trying to force my mind not to spin over what I might have done differently.
