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I buckled him in, and when I turned the car on, I was instantly assailed by the sounds of Dylan’s music—loud and obnoxious.
“Not today,” I said under my breath, hitting the button that would sync my car’s system to my phone’s music. If I had to entertain other children and spend my afternoon listening to crying and cleaning off sticky fingers, Dylan could deal with grown-up music for a while.
We were halfway there when I realized I’d forgotten the birthday card on the kitchen floor.
Someone like me, someone overwhelmed by minor details, had learned to let go and accept the fact that I’d always be twenty minutes late with my toddler intact and life would go on.
I parked across the street from the neat house that looked like the others that surrounded it. The only thing different was the sad little balloon on the mailbox. Rain wasn’t good for balloons, I guessed. I unlocked the doors and as I reached for Dylan, I heard someone call out my name.
Dexter ran across the street, his dark jeans and black shirt making my heart pound a little faster. I loved him that way—dressed casually.
I looked away and grabbed Dylan, who was in a much better mood. He smiled and babbled and when he saw Dexter, kicking and wiggling and reaching for his dad. I let Dexter take him and placed the diaper bag’s strap on my shoulder, Phoebe’s gift in hand.
“Everything all right?” he asked, and I had to look down at my appearance before I shrugged.
“Why? Does it look like something’s wrong?” I asked in return, nervous that I had something in my teeth—or worse, a booger.
Dear God.
I wiped at my nose just in case. Then I ran my tongue over my teeth for good measure, and we headed toward the house. I was happy that I’d tied my hair up. The moisture in the air would’ve made it a frizzy mess.
“No. You just look a little tired,” he said.
I tried not to frown. That wasn’t something a woman wanted to hear. “I could use a nap. Or a full night’s sleep.” I winced at the edge in my tone. It was my own fault I wasn’t getting a full night’s sleep. I’d been the one to insist that Dexter and I not be together. And Theo didn’t get up for Dylan on the nights he was home. Granted, I didn’t work regular hours, but I was still drained.
“I can take him for a few hours tonight.” He ran his hand over Dylan’s hair and my heart smiled. “Go take a nap. Or visit Miranda. I’ll drop him off around nine tonight. Sound good?”
I nodded and looked at him as we stood on the front steps. I had no idea why we stopped walking, but I felt as though, with everything going on, I hadn’t gotten a thorough look at him in a while. There was a part of me that wished if I was going to raise Dylan as a single parent, Dexter would be out of the picture. A part that thought if I had another man in my bed, I had to get away from Dexter. But Dylan kept us tethered to each other.
And my dealing with Dexter was sweet pain. The kind I ached to experience. I reveled in my broken heart. I picked up the pieces and handed them over to Dexter every time I saw him. And every time he left, he smashed them right back on the ground.
But I didn’t bother regretting the fact that my heart was his. That it was his to do with what he saw fit. Sweet, sweet pain.
I loved that I didn’t love Theo violently. My love for him was a lull. It was akin to being able to catch your breath after a run. It didn’t consume me, and I liked it as much as I hated it.
I was being pulled a million different ways. But I didn’t want to change it. If I didn’t have Dexter, I’d take the split seconds—the time we spent with Dylan, the late nights rocking my baby to sleep alone, the awkward moments when Theo didn’t realizehewas the odd man out. Because even though I loved the lull, I still craved the excitement, despite myself.
All these thoughts banged around in my head as Dexter stared at me with a happy Dylan in his arms.
The front door opened, breaking the moment, and Rachel blinked before offering me a smile. She waved at Dylan, cooing at him, and I resisted the urge to take him in my arms. When she reached for him, I handed her Phoebe’s gift instead.
After all this time, I still didn’t trust Rachel. My crazy recognized hers, and I knew she wasn’t finished. It was only a matter of time before she’d act out again, despite Dexter’s assurances. He had about as much control over that woman as I did.
Phoebe ran to the door and I smiled. She was growing into a beautiful young lady. We made our way inside, Dylan still in Dexter’s arms, Phoebe chatting excitedly in her princess costume. I spared a glance at Rachel who looked at Phoebe the way I looked at Dylan.
If there was anything I was sure about when it came to Rachel, it was that she loved her daughter.
But she was still a crazy bitch.
Dexter took Dylan toward the other kids and my eyes followed. I was still stuck in that newish mom paranoia stage, although I’d gotten better about not sweating things like being late. When Dylan touched something dirty, I fought the urge to wash his hands. When he fell, I wanted to cry for him and keep him safe from the world. And when I heard his shriek, my heart would stop, the world pausing until I knew whether it was borne of pain or happiness.
“Thank you for coming,” Rachel said from behind me.
I nodded, not bothering to turn. I didn’t want to be a bitch, but it was my involuntary reaction to her.
I’d seen her around since the day she’d lied about Dexter proposing. She was considered family, after all. And though she made a point to try to be cordial, I couldn’t be kind. I’d seen her without her own mask of kindness.
“Dylan hasn’t seen his sister in a while,” I replied, shifting a bit away from her when she came to stand beside me.
