Must Love Logs (Must Love Series Book 4)

by Xavier Neal

  God, I love having a day off of work…

  Glad we took Mama’s advice and made the most of our time.

  Chapter 10

  Nothing like being knee deep in grout and getting a call that you need to come pick your children up from school.

  I shove the safety goggles up into my hair. “What do you mean my boys are waiting for me in the office? They’re supposed to be having frozen yogurt and talkin’ my wife’s ear off about the crazy day they had.”

  The Assistant Dean clears her throat and lowers her voice. “I’m sorry, Mr. Shaw. That is not at all what happened.”

  Aggravation burrows itself deep in my chest.

  One day.

  One goddamn day!

  That’s all I asked for.

  Grouting tile even in a smaller half bath can take more time than most people realize, which is why I arranged with my wife to pick up our boys from school. Plus, it’s been so long since she did it that it’d make a nice surprise. She loved the idea, added the suggestion of frozen yogurt, promised Yasmine wouldn’t mind her cutting out a bit early, and proceeded to give me the nice surprise of a hand job while I brushed my teeth before bed. We talked about this shit Monday. It’s Thursday. How the hell could she forget that quick?

  “Mr. Shaw?” The Assistant Dean gingerly questions, breaking my livid train of thought.

  “Yeah. I’m…I’m on my way.”

  “Very well,” she hums. “I’ll let your children know.”

  My finger has barely ended the call when Hollis concerningly asks, “Everything okay?”

  I don’t bother to hide my cringe. “Not exactly. I uh…I need to go pick up my kids from school.”

  He gives me a casual shrug. “No problem. Family first.”

  A way of life my fucking wife needs a refresher course on.

  “Do I need to do anything in there?” Hollis points to the bathroom behind me. “Maybe clean up?”

  Carefully removing the gloves from my hands, I explain, “Just chuck all the shit in there except the container of grout. I’ll rebuy anything on my own dime if necessary.”

  “You won’t,” he immediately denies. “You’ve done enough free shit for this family. You’re already charging me way less than a normal contractor would. I can handle replacing tools or items you didn’t have the time to properly care for because of an emergency.”

  Thing is…this shouldn’t be an emergency.

  She should’ve been there to pick them up.

  Unless something happened to her…

  Fuck, now I feel like an asshole.

  What if she didn’t forget?

  What if she’s hurt?

  My voice does its best to remain steady. “Thanks, man.”

  On the way out of the house, I dispose of my gloves and wave goodbye to George who is grumbling at something on the T.V. I hustle back home, dialing Sienna’s number in the process.

  There’s an unwanted surprise when the call is picked up. “Sienna’s phone.”

  I do my best to mask my irritation. “Why are you answering her phone, Langston?”

  “Her hands are busy.”

  He’s gay.

  He’s really gay.

  He’s not just pretending so that he can trick chicks into “making him straight”.

  No.

  He’s got a boyfriend who I’ve met once when Mama agreed to watch the boys, so I could go out with her and her friends rather than just wait for her to get home.

  Cause at least one of us should give a fuck about our marriage.

  “Is it an emergency?!” Sienna shouts in the background.

  “No.” I shove the key into the ignition at the same time I grumble, “It can wait.”

  “You sure?” Her coworker delicately digs.

  “Positive.”

  Without so much as a goodbye, I hang up, toss the phone into the seat beside me, and haul ass to grab the boys from school. The drive is filled with me cussing out my frustrations, screaming along to “Sad but True” by Metallica, and contemplating whether or not to break my “no smoking in the truck” policy. While there’s clear disappointment on their faces from my arrival instead of their mother’s, the promise of pizza for dinner instantly erases it. They skip the portion of rambling they normally would do to make music requests instead. Kenny’s sudden interest in Dan + Shay and Kyle’s off the wall song choice of Coldplay has me beyond perplexed.

  When the fuck do hormone swings start?

  Isn’t it too early for me to be able to interpret their emotional levels by their song choices?

  Neither are go to bands for me or their mother by any means, so I’m curious as hell where this desire is coming from.

  Thankfully, on our way into the house, Kyle confesses his new favorite color is yellow, hints his interest, and Kenny offhandedly reveals his motives. “Chanty sings that song all the time, Dad.” He tosses me a happy, yet frustrated expression. “All. The. Time.”

  I lightly chuckle. “I get it, bud.”

  “She said she listened to my favorite song-”

  “Wanted Dead or Alive. Bon Jovi.”

  “Yeah,” Kenny veers the direction of the kitchen, “so I had to listen to her favorite song.”

  “Again.” My laugh is short. “I get it, bud. I really do.”

  He flops down at the kitchen table. “I think I like it.”

  I’d like it more if it didn’t remind me of my younger days with Sienna.

  “Her voice is so pretty, Dad.”

  Excitement can’t help from popping into my eyes as I lean against the counter. He likes a girl. Well, a girl his own age. The older woman crush he has on Tri doesn’t count for anything.

  “Miss Eisenhower thinks so too. It’s why she’s Ariel.”

  “And she likes your voice, which is why you’re Eric.”

  Kenny blushes the same way he also does whenever he’s complimented about singing.

  Trying out for the school musical and getting the lead instead of one of the smaller parts was a surprise to all of us. Turns out he really does have a helluva voice. Much better than mine. I went to the audition, per his demand, and proudly watched. It was as if I didn’t even know the kid on the stage. He damn sure wasn’t my shy seven-year-old that complained he hated having to talk in front of his class. No. The kid on the stage owned it. Didn’t need a piece of paper to remember the words. Didn’t need to be directed to the right notes. He just…shined.

  Rehearsal has been hell, but worth it. He has to stay after school for an hour three days a week. The addition to an already busy extracurricular life has me burning gas and caffeine in tandem. Juggling his three activities and Kyle’s started bordering near impossible until the costume mom, whose kid actually is Flounder, volunteered to drop him home post musical practice to prevent me from having to drive all the way to get one kid, kill time, and then have to go all the way back to grab the other. Kyle’s need and determination to play every sport we get a flyer for is equally exhausting. He also had a mom volunteer to pick him up and bring him home from soccer practice since they live a few streets over. I couldn’t be more grateful for the help. Lord knows their mother can’t be relied on.

  She hasn’t even come to see them play or perform.

  Fuck, she couldn’t even stop baking cookies or brownies or sucking frosting out of a tube long enough to get them from school.

  Kenny pulls out his homework, his rehearsal binder, and continues gushing about Chanty. In between his crush rambles, I manage to order us pizza, clean the kitchen, and fuss at Kyle to practice his handwriting instead of doodling on his page.

  Just as I finish setting Kyle up to watch Justice League Unlimited so I can run lines with his brother, Sienna joyfully bursts through the door. “Mom’s home early!”

  Despite the fact they were completely abandoned earlier, our sons haul ass her direction, excited to see her.

  Goldfish-like memories come in handy.

  They hug her tight from both sides, trapping
her near the front door. “Missed you boys, too.”

  Not enough to pick their asses up like you promised.

  My arms fold firmly across my chest as I watch their interactions.

  “Thought I’d make pasta for dinner and cookies for dessert. How does that sound?”

  The doorbell rings in objection for me.

  “Pizza!” Kenny and Kyle shout in unison.

  “Yup,” I casually acknowledge. “Go wash your hands.”

  They run off to follow the instructions while Sienna huffs at me. “Pizza? Really? I was gonna make ‘em dinner tonight.”

  Too pissed off not to fight, I snip, “Jus’ like you were gonna pick ‘em up from school?”

  Her eyes widen in dread.

  “Excuse me,” I grumble under my breath. “Need to get that.”

  My wife moves herself out of the way to allow me to answer the door. The cheerful, polite demeanor I deliver to the pizza delivery woman isn’t difficult nor is it intended to come across as flirting.

  I am a dick about many things.

  An asshole in many forms.

  But that ain’t one of ‘em.

  “Eddie,” Sienna starts, following me back into the kitchen. “I-”

  “Nope.” Dropping the boxes on the stove, I shake my head. “I don’t wanna fucking hear a word you have to say right now.”

  “Eddie-”

  “No, Sienna.” Our eyes momentarily lock. “Because if you start talkin’, we’re gonna start fightin’, and that’s the last thing I want the boys to see.”

  “Mom!” Kyle chirps from behind her. “Can we have soda?”

  She starts to answer, yet is cut off by me. “Not tonight. That’s a Friday and Saturday thing, Small Fry.”

  He pouts and plops down into his seat. “Can we still have cookies?”

  “Sure!” His mother exclaims warmly.

  I reach for the plates out of the closest cabinet on the right. “Hope you’re talkin’ about Oreos because there isn’t any dough in this house.”

  “And why not?”

  “Why would there be?” Placing two plates on the counter, I cross over to the fridge to grab the rest of the meal. “Baking cookies is something you’re supposed to do with them. Not me.”

  “Remind me why you can’t again? Is this where you give me some overly masculine bullshit?”

  “Swear jar,” Kenny mumbles.

  “No, this is where I give you some overly bitter dose of reality shit.” I snatch the sliced cucumbers, apples, and ranch dressing out of the fridge. “As much as I would love to have time to do little baking projects with our boys, I don’t. Homework, rehearsal, T-ball, soccer, Karate, ballet, and now Kyle’s swim class demands keep me plenty busy between cookin’, cleanin’, payin’ bills, renovatin’ George’s house, and tryin’ to make fucking plans with you.”

  “Swear jar,” Kyle chirps.

  Another reason not to argue in front of them.

  It’d literally cost too goddamn much.

  Sienna swiftly presses her lips shut.

  Once I begin to arrange food on their plates, I state, “Kenny get drinks for the table.”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “I can do it,” Sienna softly interjects.

  “Yeah, well, it’s Kenny’s chore this week.”

  “Since when do they have weekly chores?”

  “A lotta shit has happened since I started stayin’ home with them, but your attention is always elsewhere.” The sourness in my tone stings. Before either of our kids can say anything, I add, “Swear jar. I know.”

  Kenny grabs two Capri Suns from the fridge and puts them on the table for him and his brother.

  I place an adequate amount of food on each plate, grab napkins, and promptly deliver their dinner. Sienna plasters a smile onto her face and takes a seat between them. She asks them about their day, and they spill every word they possibly can. Like the doting husband I can’t help but be, even when I’m fucking pissed, I deliver her a couple slices as well as an ice-cold beer but don’t bother joining the conversation. I let her have a moment with them all to herself knowing its what they need. Knowing its what they miss. Pure anger prevents me from eating, yet the smoothness of Runt’s beer momentarily soothes my nerves. Sienna volunteers to run lines with Kenny while Kyle and I play a board game. She joyfully helps them get showers and into bed. Her deciding to do the nightly routine allows for me to do my routine preparation a little earlier than normal. By the time they’re tucked in and she’s returning to the kitchen where I’m finally eating as I nurse beer four, I’ve decided that sleeping on the couch for the night would be best.

  Even if it should be her who takes the couch, it won’t be.

  Women are rarely ever sentenced there.

  Sienna slides herself into the seat beside me.

  Just her presence is enough to kill my appetite.

  Fuck, that’s new.

  I prepare to stand up when her hand lands firmly on my forearm to keep me in place. “You just gonna keep runnin’ away from talkin’ about our problems?”

  “Oh, is that what I’m doin’?” My sneer is immediate. “”Cause that implies your ass is around to talk about ‘em with.”

  Her glare is expected. “I’m right fucking here.”

  “Yup. You are.” I gulp down more beer. “Now. ‘Cause it’s convenient for you. ‘Cause you feel compelled to be. ‘Cause there’s obviously nothin’ else you would rather give your attention to. ‘Cause-”

  “Fuck, I get it, Eddie. I’m a selfish bitch.”

  Instead of verbally agreeing, I have another swig.

  She snatches her touch away like my skin suddenly burned her. “You think this shit is easy for me? Any of it?”

  “Why the fuck is everything about you, Sienna?” The glass bottle is slammed onto the table. “There are three other fucking people in this family and one other person in this goddamn marriage, or have you completely fucking forgotten those little facts?”

  Her scoff is surprising.

  “You act like I don’t understand what it’s like to work all the damn time and have a family that needs me…like I don’t fucking understand how hard it is to feel like you gotta pick one or the other-”

  “I don’t think you do!”

  “How the fuck would you know?! You’ve never asked! You never questioned if maybe I made shit look easier than it was!”

  “The only thing you ever said to me about it was you missed us!”

  “That’s because I talked to your ass about other things! More important things than the fuckin’ woe is me pity party shit I was feeling! I used the time I could’ve been bitchin’ about how hard everything was to give a shit about whatever new recipe you tried or who was havin’ a birthday party you needed to bake for or how you were scared we wouldn’t be able to afford private school!”

  Her jaw bobs in speechlessness.

  “No matter what was goin’ on, no matter how fucked up shit was at work, I still made time to listen to you, something you seem incapable of doin’ for me.”

  “You’re over exaggerating!”

  “Am I?” My bite is venomous. “Tell me one thing…one goddamn thing…you remember me doin’ to George’s house.”

  She speedily starts to reply yet is surprised by her own inability.

  “Exactly.”

  The smug smirk she receives is proceeded with me trying to leave the table again only to have her hand land on my arm. “You’re pissed off because I can’t remember shit about something I didn’t think you thought was a big deal?”