Page 70 of Parentmoon

“Let’s give this a day, okay? Let the kids settle in and we can discuss what needs to be done later.” Dallas’s voice is rational, further irritating me.

I can’t look at him.

Kids. Michael and Keli aren’t children. They’re adults and their decisions are theirs.

They’re getting married after all. They’re having a baby. They’re moving away.

Stepping around Dallas, I take a deep breath, swipe at my face once more and head for the house. Once inside, Keli’s expression is panicked, and Michael’s face is covered in concern.

Plastering on my best smile, which nearly splits my face, I fight for cheerfulness and suggest, “Let’s have breakfast.”

With my armor in place, I brace to make it through our first day as the four of us.

Where Dallas and I are separate entities again.

+ + +

At breakfast, I’d been mostly quiet, listening to the plans being suggested around me. Keli has convinced her father that getting married on the sand, under a few shady palm trees, is perfect. Nature and God’s creation, and all that. Dallas still wants a priest, although Catholics aren’t technically allowed to marry outside of a church building. Michael decides finding a local one is the first item they’ll tackle tomorrow.

To Dallas and my surprise, a marriage license only takes two days to process, and Keli and Michael already applied.

Keli has an alternative dress.

I have no idea what I’d wear. My mother of the groom dress hangs in my bedroom closet back home. The money I spent on it was the most I’d ever spent on a single article of clothing for myself. I loved it, but with the necessary alterations, I couldn’t return it. I’ll never wear it, which strangely reminds me of my wedding dress. Worn once. Didn’t work out.

After breakfast, we go to the main pool. Laria and Philip are there and meet Michael and Keli.

Of course, Philip’s first comment, upon learning Michael and Keli are reunited and what they intend to do in Belize, is negative. He pats Michael as he warns, “Run, man. Run.”

Dallas gives Philip a scathing glare. That’s his daughter a stranger is telling my son to run away from.

“You need a bachelor party,” Philip adds next, wiggling perfectly waxed brows.

“Had one already,” Michael states. Bachelor and bachelorette parties are no longer a night at the local bar with a sash over your chest, identifying your future. Oh no, now it’s a destination, with a weekend of activities and matching T-shirts.

Keli had T-shirts made for Mother of the Groom and Mother of the Bride that were to be worn the day we all had our nails and hair done. Another article of clothing I haven’t worn.

“I have a plan,” Dallas says, reaching out and squeezing my son’s shoulder. “Wednesday we can fish.”

I almost want to scream when I hear Dallas say he has a plan. He’d mentioned he had one earlier. What fucking plan? Did he plan to ruin our children’s wedding? The thought is preposterous, but my reasoning has left this island today. Despite my anger, I refuse to believe Dallas could be that devious.

Michael smiles, bashfully lowering his head. He adores Dallas.

“The ladies need something special, too, then,” Laria suggests. “A spa day?”

Can I have a second massage in a week? Hell, why not? I need another one after this morning.

“We’ll get massages and find a place to do our nails,” I tell Keli who smiles back at me. Her nails are already perfect, but she’ll humor me. We’ll spend a day together.

“What about flowers?” Laria asks.

Philip groans. “The missus decided to get a little job with a local florist back home.” He rolls his eyes, hitches a thumb over his shoulder like his wife can’t hear him . . . or his insulting tone.

Laria already told me she took the job to get out of the house and earn some of her own money. She hated relying on Philip, and I recognized the feeling. She also couldn’t justify being at home while her boys were in school. Plus, she loves flowers.

She holds my gaze as her husband defames her. In her defense, I counter Philip. “I’m certain we can find something local.”

“I can make you something,” Laria offers. “I’ll speak to the staff.”