by M. E. Carter
I stifle a giggle. Maura may think their step-mom is the best thing since sliced bread, but Fiona still isn’t convinced.
“And please, please don’t make Greg move again. I love him and I love Peyton and I miss them when they’re gone. Amen.”
It breaks my heart that my sweet sensitive girl is worried about something I can neither confirm nor deny. I wish I could do something to make her feel better, but until I have information, there’s nothing I can say. We’re all stuck in limbo. So I do what I can do—I kiss her on the head, my lips lingering for longer than normal as I silently request that her prayers are answered.
A final tuck of the blanket, some “I love you’s,” and a flip of the light switch, and I’m alone with my thoughts, no longer using the kids as a distraction from my own personal fears.
Keeping myself busy seems like the best course of action. Not only because things like a final load of laundry needs to be put way and last-minute dishes need to be clean. No, I’m trying to keep my thoughts from going out of control. But, try as I might, it doesn’t work.
I keep thinking about how it felt when Greg moved away last time. I understood, then. I really did. It was so, so painful, but he’d made the right decision for Peyton. She needed her father and going with her was the only way to do that.
This time feels different, though. This time, he’s setting a precedent for the future. Will he continue to follow Libby every time she moves on a whim? Will he face his own fears and fight her back? Will he figure out a way to stay? Is it important enough for him to stay with me?
Am I that important to him?
Rationally, I know none of these decisions have anything to do with me. We aren’t married. We aren’t even engaged. Until he proposes, we have separate lives that overlap, they don’t intertwine. But I trusted that he wouldn’t hurt me again. I trusted that he was done with Libby’s games. Now I’m questioning all of that. And it all boils down to one issue.
I just don’t think I’m strong enough to lose Greg again.
Sure, I can function for my kids. I can even function for myself. But my heart would be closed off for good. There’s no way I could open myself up to that kind of heartache again. Ever.
Not even if Greg came back.
Finally, finally, my phone dings with an incoming text, right as I’m closing the dishwasher and drying off my hands. It’s him.
Are you up?
Trying to sound calmer than I am, I respond.
Me: It’s 9:30. Of course I’m up, goofball.
Greg: I don’t want to knock and wake up the girls. Let me in? Please?
Approaching the door, I take one last deep breath and remind myself there is nothing to worry about until there is. I need to have an update before I jump to any conclusions.
But then the door opens, revealing the man I love more than life itself. Suddenly, the anxiety I’ve fought all day long combined with him looking tired and disheveled are overwhelming, and I dissolve into a puddle of tears.
He reaches for me, pulling me into his safe embrace and holds me while I cry, murmuring words of reassurance and stroking my hair. I barely hear what he’s saying, focusing on my breathing and his scent.
When the tears finally stop, he pulls back, cupping my face in his hands, gently wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “Why are you crying, baby?”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
His shoulders drop. “It’s been a really, really long day. Two of my coaches called in sick, so I had to cover every single class.”
“You weren’t avoiding me?” It comes out like a question because I’m still reeling from all the pent-up emotion. It makes sense that he wouldn’t have time to contact me if people called in sick, but I’m still in that stage where I need lots of clarification.
His eyes widen. “Oh god, no! That’s why I sent that text. I didn’t want you to worry. I think I had a total of ten minutes at my desk today, and that’s only because the office manager forced a pen in my hand to sign paychecks. I still haven’t even opened my emails.”
“Oh.” My eyes are downcast, but my hands are clinging to the front of his shirt, his arms still wrapped around me. I want so badly to ask what happened with Libby, but I’m still so afraid, the words won’t come out. Thankfully, he knows the wait is killing me.
“Before I say anything else, I need you to hear me. Elena, look at me.” He tilts my chin up with the tip of his finger, looking me in the eye. “No one is moving.” My breath hitches. “You hear me? We are not moving.”
My entire body sags and I feel like I can breathe again. “Really?”
“Really,” he confirms again. “Even if Libby goes, I’m staying.”
“But Peyton—”
He cuts me off. “I threatened to file for custody.”
Well doesn’t that make my eyes blink fast as I wrap my brain around what he just said.
“After I got that phone call, I went straight to her house to confront her. Told her I was done playing her games and if she even thinks about moving, I’ll file for full custody, citing an unstable home environment.”
“You did?”
He nods. “Sure did. I told you I’ve been jotting down notes when things didn’t sit right for the last couple of years. But since we went to San Antonio, I’ve been documenting everything. And I called Aputi today.”
I look around, wracking my brain, trying to remember the name. Then it hits me. “The ex-boyfriend from San Antonio.”
“Yep.” He clasps his arms tighter around me, forcing my hands up and over his shoulders. “Do you remember how he told me about his daughter moving away from him?”
“Vaguely.”
“It hurt him really, really deeply. And as much as he really liked Libby, he always recognized she wasn’t exactly doing right by Peyton. I think it may have brought up a lot of old hurts for him or something. Maybe that’s why he was so good to Peyton. I don’t know.” He shakes his head like he’s refocusing his thoughts. “Anyway, he’s usually a pretty chill guy. But when I talked to him today, he said the one thing he hates more than anything is a mother using the child to get back at the father. And that he’d testify on my behalf if it comes down to it. Even if it makes Libby hate him.”
I gape at him. Documenting behavior is one thing. Having an ex-boyfriend testify against you changes everything.
“And she knows that? Libby knows Aputi would testify?”
“She knows. I think that’s what finally made her realize how serious I am. But just to make sure, as soon as I left, I put in a call to my attorney.”
“What did he say?”
He smirks in victory. “Let’s just say Libby will be receiving a strongly worded letter regarding my intensions, should she push me. In case she doesn’t believe me.”
I am floored. Like, lay me out, step over me, I am not moving, floored. I knew he had it in him to stand up to her, but I never realized he would shut her down so easily and efficiently. Assuming Libby knows he’s serious and doesn’t keep pushing the issue. But even then, there is no longer any doubt in my mind that he would immediately sue for custody if it came down to it. There’s also no doubt in my mind he would win.
My thoughts go into overdrive, thinking about how that would work in the future. Obviously, that would mean babysitting her every night while he finishes up at the gym, but I love Peyton like she’s one of my own. There wouldn’t be any complaints from me. Greg and I are a team.
He kisses me sweetly on the eyes, distracting my revelry, as if he’s kissing the last of my doubts away. “Are you alright? I know it’s a lot to process.”
I smile, eyes still closed, enjoying the peace that comes with knowing everything is going to be ok. No… that’s not right. It already is ok.
Pulling him down to me, I kiss him gently on the lips, hoping to convey my relief and my love and my acceptance of his situation. His big hands go back to my cheeks, holding me in place as the kiss goes deeper.
“I love you, Elena,
” he maintains, never taking his lips off mine. “Just know, someday, I’m going to marry you.”
My face breaks out into a joyful grin and I don’t bother putting a filter on my words. “I would love nothing more than to marry you. But before you decide that, you need to know one thing.”
“What’s that?” he asks in between kisses.
“I’m not having another baby.” Indicating toward my belly, I continue with, “This shop is closed.”
“No way,” he agrees with a chuckle. “I already have four weddings to pay for. We’re not having another and risking walking down the aisle a fifth time. That would be my luck.”
“Wait… you’re planning to pay for my girls’ weddings, too?” I can’t help the wide smile now. He’s not only charming. I know he’s being truthful, so of course I’m swooning again.
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I love them. They’re my girls. All four of you are. I want to take care of all of you and make you happy.”
“You already do,” I say, kissing him again. “You already do.”
Epilogue
Five years later
Greg was right when he said he was going to marry me. Less than a year after he bought the house next door, we gave up trying to do things on the society-approved timeline and went for it. We knew we were going to be together forever and raise our girls as one big happy family anyway. What was the point in delaying the inevitable?
Best decision we ever made.
Planning a wedding while working and raising children seemed like such a daunting task, we opted to celebrate the way we do it best… with a backyard barbeque. It was basically all the same people who come to all the birthday parties anyway. They just all dressed in their Sunday best and a florist set up white flowers everywhere.
The one hitch we ran into wasn’t much of a surprise. Greg warned us that Christopher would be a loose cannon as a ring bearer and it was probably a better idea to keep the rings in his pocket than actually put that child in charge of the jewelry.
He was right.
I guess Christopher got bored as he was waiting to walk down our makeshift aisle. As soon as his foot hit the back patio, he took off running, threw the pillow right at Greg’s face, and then climbed to the top of the play scape. I mean, all the way to the top. At the peak of the fort, one foot on each side of the roof.
My matron of honor spent my wedding standing underneath the structure so she could break her son’s fall if needed. No judgement here. We all agree, broken necks and mini-tuxedos don’t go well together. There’s no way to get your money back if a penguin suit has to be cut off in the ER and those deposits aren’t cheap.
A caterer put the final touches on the party, providing an amazing hot dog bar, complete with all the fixings you could ever imagine, and weiners cooked to perfection. Greg fed me the first one, wedding-cake style, and didn’t even smash it on my face.
He’s so romantic.
I became Mrs. Greg Brady that day, a fact Callie never seems to let go of. And honestly, with as many kids as run around here, the last name seems perfectly fitting.
In the shock of all shocks, and I say that sarcastically, James and Keri broke up shortly after Greg and I got married when she found out he was cheating on her. Part of me wanted to roll my eyes that she was so shocked a man who got engaged to her while he was married to someone else could suddenly fall out of love with her. The other part of me cheered when she took him for half of everything he had. Which was half of what he started with when we got divorced. So now he has a quarter of everything he started with.
You’d think he would learn his lesson. Nope. He’s already married to someone else. That’s wife number three. So far. Good luck, dude.
We actually don’t hear from James very often. He stopped picking up the girls on his scheduled weekends a couple years ago and only shows up every once in a while. Like when he’s showing off what a good dad he is for his new wife. At first, it was hard on all the girls. Especially on Fiona. She has the most memories of him so I know, at a minimum, she’s disappointed in who he turned out to be. I do, however, suspect Maura is more affected than she usually lets on, but the girls have an amazing therapist who reassures me that everything they’re feeling is appropriate and they’re open with her about their feelings and are incorporating healthy ways of coping with their grief. It also helps that Greg does an amazing job as a stand-in father. But they’ve always loved him, so it doesn’t surprise me at all. It also helps that we got custody of Peyton.
Yep. She lives with us full time now. Libby started dropping Peyton off more and more because she was “busy” or “had to work.” We didn’t mind at all. In fact, we encouraged it. Our home was the most stable environment Peyton had and the more she could be surrounded by normalcy, the better off she was. Eventually we had enough documentation that we went ahead and filed for full physical custody. Libby fought it at first, but when her own mother agreed it was best for Peyton, she went ahead and signed off on the change. She also raised holy hell about losing her child support, but we never once heard her complain about losing her daughter. It was a huge sign that we did the right thing, even though it was stressful and expensive.
Many, many times over the years, Greg and I have laid in bed, discussing how we found these losers and how the hell they fooled us into marrying them. Clearly, they are terrible people. So we’re either really stupid or they are very good at showing different sides of themselves depending on the situation. Welcome to the age of entitlement and narcissistic behaviors. Ain’t it grand?
“Mo-OOOOOM!!”
Greg winces as Fiona’s shrieking voice bounces around the room. I slap his hand away from the bowl of chips I just poured, but he’s determined.
“Those are for the party,” I remind him as he finally gets one and pops it in his mouth.
“If I have to put up with a dozen teenagers tonight, I get to snack on their food. Even trade.”
We look over when Fiona comes storming in the room, stopping to put her hands on her hips and shoot us a glare. “Why are there nine-year-olds at my party?” she demands in that tone all thirteen-year-olds have. “This is a boy/girl party for teenagers only. So why are they here?”
“Because they live here,” I respond. “And you can’t kick them out of their house.”
She huffs. “Can you at least kick them out of the garage? They don’t need to be at my party.” She looks down at our hands, Greg’s still clasped in mine, his arms still wrapped around my waist. Crinkling her nose, she adds, “And can you stop, like, doing that?”
“Doing what?” Greg asks innocently and begins kissing his way down my neck. “Kissing your mother? No can do. Her kisses are too sweet.”
Fiona turns and tramps away mumbling, “You guys are disgusting,” under her breath. The whole thing makes me laugh. He loves embarrassing her.
“You do realize she’s the least-dramatic of the bunch,” I say, as I pull away to grab the hot pads and pull the pigs-in-a-blanket out of the oven. “Once the others start going through puberty, we are totally screwed.”
“And I will have fun embarrassing them with our acts of love. Ow, that’s hot,” he blurts out, dropping the croissant and shaking out his fingers. Serves him right for grabbing food straight off the cookie sheet before it has a chance to cool.
Before I can reprimand him for stealing more party food, a booming voice calls from the front door. “Is that dinner I smell?”
Aputi rounds the corner and kisses me on the cheek, handing me a platter of freshly made taquitos.
Yes, Aputi. He’s been the most surprising addition to our fold.
Right before we got married, as we were trying to figure out what to do with Greg’s house, he got a call from Aputi. Turns out, his daughter lived in the area and didn’t want to stay with her mother anymore. In her full-blown teenage years, the two of them weren’t getting along and she wanted to get to know her dad better. Of course, Aputi jumped at the chance to raise Amber f
or the few remaining years of her childhood and decided the best course of action was to move here so his daughter could still be close to her mom.
In that moment, we became rental property owners and it’s turned out great having them live next door. Not only is his daughter, Amber, our favorite babysitter, the love of Aputi’s life was practically around the corner. Her name is Deborah.
Yes, that Deborah. As it turns out, the uptight, high strung, half-crazy woman who ended up divorced when her husband decided she was too OCD for his taste, is the perfect match to this quiet, huge, intimidating Samoan dude. He calms her crazy. She takes care of him. They adore each other and it’s ridiculously cute to watch.
“Thanks,” I remark, putting the platter next to the rest of the food. “Where’s Deborah?”
“She’s cooking the rest of the taquitos and trying to get Trevor off the Xbox.” He snatches a handful of chips out of a bowl, eliciting a glare from me that he completely ignores. “She’ll be here in about ten.”
“You didn’t want to wait for her?”
An ornery smile crosses his face. “I’d rather be here to see the fireworks when Christopher shows up.”
“Christopher is coming?!?” Fiona screeches again.
Greg immediate rubs his ear with his finger, a grimace across his face. “Weren’t you just in the other room? I need to attach some bells to your shoes. You’re getting too sneaky as you age.”
Fiona completely ignores Greg, too busy staring me down. I look back at her like she’s being ridiculous. “Of course, Christopher is coming. This may be your first girl/boy party,” I chide as a shove the bowl of chips in her hand to take out to the garage, “but this is our family.”
She stomps her feet, some sort of garbled half yell/half scream coming out of her mouth before she turns on her heel, flipping her hair over her shoulder in a huff as she leaves.