“You’re my favorite kid.”
“I’m an only child, so I hope so.” I gaze at the girls playing. Even if Simon goes to work on Monday, his athletic shoes will be at the door and his hoodie is hanging up in the mudroom. The guest room bed is always neatly made, but the drawers are full and the closet has his suits. Last Sunday, he ran back to the condo to refresh his weekly suit supply. He’s incorporating into our lives.
“Want us to bring anything?”
“Just yourselves and whatever goodies Mom’s going to spoil the girls with. Um, Dad…”
“Uh oh.” He knows my tone. He guessed I was pregnant with Abby my junior year of college by how I greeted him when I called.
“It’s about Simon.”
“Do I even wanna know?” He’s partly joking, but I know he cares for Simon too.
“Remember when you said kick him out or move him in? It seems that I picked moving him in.”
Stunned silence is my reply. A few moments pass. “Do I even want to know?” he says again.
“We’re taking it slow.”
“Nat. He’s living there.”
“I know. I mean, he’s in the guest room and we haven’t told the girls that we’re trying to work things out. He’s been doing a lot better juggling work and home life, but…”
“But what, kiddo?”
I rub my forehead. “But it’s Simon.”
“He hasn’t been hiding who he is. Here. You tell your mother.”
I chew the inside of my lip while he hands the phone to Mom.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
I go straight for the news. “Simon and I are trying to work things out.”
“That’s… good?”
“I hope so.” So much for a resounding yes.
She hears everything I haven’t said, but spoke about enough last year. “Are you happy, honey?”
I would be ecstatic, but the underlying anxiety won’t go away. “It’s been a month and he’s been around more than he was for years before we split.”
“Okay. That’s a start.”
“We’re taking it slow, but he’s living here.”
A disgruntled noise drifts over the line. “He’s living there?”
“It’s easier that way.”
“For now maybe.” She fielded a lot of grandkid time when I was meeting with lawyers and signing papers. And she provided a shoulder when I broke down in her bathroom, smelling like chopped onion and salsa, and told her my decision. “Well, you two are adults, and you’ve both been reasonable so far. I just… I just hope that he’s really seen the light and knows what’s on the line.”
The sliding door opens and Simon steps out. His suit jacket is off and his tie is long gone. His sleeves are rolled up his forearms and he’s holding a couple of longnecks.
“Me too.” I accept the drink, warmth washing over me that we’re slipping into a routine I love and have missed for so long. “I’ll let you go, Mom. We’ll see you Monday.”
I hang up. Simon’s stretched out in the lounge chair next to me. His trousers are tight around his thighs and hips. He takes a leisurely pull off his bottle, his abs flat and his steely gaze sweeping across the lawn.
I can’t wait for tonight when I get him all to myself. “How was your day?”
“Busy.” His focus switches to me and his eyes heat as he takes me in. I’m not wearing anything more than a dab of mascara that’s probably worn off and a narrow pink headband to keep my curls off my face. The wind stirs them up, but not enough that I have to bind them entirely.
But the way Simon looks at me makes me feel like I’m wearing an evening gown that compliments my curves instead of exaggerating them, when instead I have on pink fabric shorts that match my headband and an old white T-shirt.
“How was your day?” He’s sincere.
“Good. Errands and stuff. Nothing earth-shattering.”
“That’s always nice.”
While he was at work, managing millions and millions of his clients’ dollars and networking with the firms he invests in, I was running to Target, the grocery store, and taking the car in for an oil change. The afternoon was full of putting groceries away and quiet time for all of us. What I did is nothing like what Simon does all day, but he never treated me like I’m lesser for it.
I have friends who stay home and their spouse makes only a fraction of what Simon brings in, but they act like they get to dictate everything that happens in the home while claiming they don’t have to lift a finger because that’s the job of the person at home.
Simon considers us partners. It’s why it hurt so much when it seemed like he forgot about us entirely, when he assumed that his job was critical to keep our home life the way it was.
I love our house, but if his job went through some tough years, I’d downsize in a heartbeat. As long as we’re all together. But Simon refuses to go backward in life and that includes keeping everything we worked for. I hope his bachelorhood is firmly in the past.
He shifts in his chair and sets his beer down. The glass clinks ominously on the top of the patio table. “I, uh, got a request for an interview. A few actually.”
“For what?”
“That article.”
Oh. Hatred sweeps through my veins like a summer drought, turning all my warm fuzzies into tinder. Simon and I are working on us. Why do I still hate that article and any reference of it?
Because he’s not eligible. He’s mine.
My hand tightens around my own beer. If I set it down, I might crack it or the table. “What do they want to talk to you about?”
“Probably another interest piece. Word of it made the rounds and the local news wants to talk to me and a few of the local magazines would like a feature.” The corners of his jaw flex. “I can’t say no. It’d look bad for business. But I have to know what I can say. About us.”
* * *
Simon
I play it cool, waiting for her answer. My fingers are folded across my stomach to keep from fidgeting and I keep the hopeful tone out of my voice.
I act like I’m negotiating a contract.
Comparing my marriage to boardroom discussions leaves a sour taste in my mouth, but I also recognize how fragile our relationship is at this point.
“Us?” Natalie looks away, her expression deep in thought. “Why would we be any of their business?”
“Because my single status was the point of the whole article.” That and my wallet. I should’ve never done it. Helena had a point about the free advertisement and getting my name out there to a new audience.
I’m at the precipice of cashing in on that fame. I’ve already accepted the interviews because I’d look like an elitist ass who didn’t help local entrepreneurs. I stock their magazines in my office and page through them on my way out the door. This is my chance to do more for them while also getting Gainesworth Equity in front of potential clients, or promising companies seeking investors.
“I don’t know,” she finally says. “I just told Mom and Dad. Do you think we’re ready to tell the whole world?”
“It’d only be the Fargo viewing area.”
She rolled her eyes toward me. “The girls don’t even know.”
“We can talk to them.”
“They’re too young to understand,” she says in a definitive tone.
Don’t I get a say? “I don’t think they are.”
“You weren’t the one answering questions about why you weren’t here. Or why you weren’t around Christmas morning. You weren’t drying their terrified tears when they thought there were monsters in their room but you weren’t here to save them.”
Her points were each heartbreaking, but she’s forgetting one thing. I sit forward, my elbows on my legs. My voice shakes with repressed emotion. “I had my own times when I was calming them in the middle of the night because they’re in a new place and you’re not there. They’ve cried on my shoulder about us being apart too.”
Fleeting emotions run t
hrough Natalie’s face. She’s not used to me getting this heated in a discussion, not toward her. But talking to me like I don’t know my own kids hits on a sensitive spot I haven’t inspected in a long time.
Natalie, Abby, and Maddy are my life. Yeah, I’m gone a lot, working hard for them. But I do the best I can to keep up on their life. To be present when I’m around. I heard Natalie’s complaints of how much I was gone and I’m working on that.
She gets up and disappears into the house. I glance at the back yard. Maddy’s in the sandbox and Abby is on the swing, each in their own world.
I go after Natalie. She’s at the counter. Her hands are pressed on the top and she’s glowering at the surface. Even though we’re on the brink of a fight, I still take a moment to admire the curves of her legs. My blood warms, reminding me to tread carefully or my days worshipping that body will be limited.
“I didn’t mean to get so upset.” I learned the art of I’m always wrong early. I can credit years of my own parents arguing and wondering why my father didn’t step back and admit that he was in the wrong once in a while. The ol’ Gainesworth pride. “I understand what you’re saying.”
She huffs out a breath. “It’s one thing to understand, but another to actually get it. They have to come first.”
Telling Natalie that I understand used to mollify her before. But saying it when I didn’t feel it led us to this point. I have to prove I get it or this argument could have me packing my bags, something I never want to do again. “Then I’ll play off the eligible bachelor bit and try to change the subject.”
Displeasure ripples over her face. I feel the same way. I have no issues going on TV and putting in print that I’m trying to win back my wife. But if she wants a buffer between the world and us, then I’ll give it to her.
“They’re going to be tenacious.” She waves her hand to me. “I mean look at you.”
Seeing my chance to dissolve the tension between us, I swagger over. “You think I’m good-looking.”
Her scowl is only partly playful. “It’s why you get away with so much.”
I’m briefly taken aback. “So much what?”
“Moving in? Sneaking into my bedroom each night.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “My office.”
Taking her on her desk the other night is an especially fond memory. It was the first time we’d done it in that room. “I believe you were the one that made the first move.”
A smile plays over her lips. “My parents are coming over on the Fourth. Want to do hamburgers and hot dogs?”
“Absolutely.” Since her parents know about us and are willing to come hang out when I’m here, maybe they’d be open to watching their grandkids for a date night Sunday evening before the Fourth.
I can’t gather Natalie into my arms. We’re right in front of the window and I respect her desire to keep our rekindling private.
Natalie licks her lower lip, making it hard to stick to my good intentions. “You really think all they’re going to care about is that you’re single.”
“If they think I’m ready to mingle, yes.” I peek outside to make sure I’m clear and give her a quick kiss on the forehead. “I’ll take care of it.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
I lift a shoulder. “I did that stupid interview. I have to pay the consequences.”
“It…” She wrinkles her nose. “It was a good piece. Tasteful, surprisingly.”
“I got a few extra clients. I was afraid it’d scare the companies I wanted to invest with, but it was good publicity. They either don’t pay attention or don’t care since I was shown in a good light.”
“Helena has good instincts.”
“She does.” I think back to the last month. “She’s been… different the last few weeks.”
Natalie busies herself, getting out the supplies for sub sandwiches. “How do you mean?”
“More professional. Distant. It’s not like she’s an ass kisser, but she’s definitely cooler toward me.”
“Well, you have been handing off a lot more duties with little warning. Maybe it’s interfering with her own life.”
“I don’t know anything about her life. But she can always say something.” I tilt my head to admire Natalie’s ass while she’s digging in the fridge.
She backs out and tosses a bag of farmer’s market lettuce by the buns. “She’s probably not comfortable pointing out that the demands of her job have changed, but the pay hasn’t. Or that the extra work interferes with her home life.”
“I’m not a bad boss. Why wouldn’t she be willing to talk to me about her position?”
“Just because you would have no problem shooting the breeze with your boss before transitioning into your opinion on work and how much you’re paid doesn’t mean everyone is like that.”
She’s referring to the time in college when I turned a non-paid intern position into one with a decent hourly wage. I think about her point and make a mental note to talk to Helena when we get back in the office next week. Maybe I should check in with Charlie too.
When she breezes by me, I snag her arm and gently pull her in. “Thank you.”
She tilts her head back. “For what?”
“You make me a better man. A better boss.”
She softens under me and I go in for a kiss. Giggles at the sliding door precede the whoosh of it opening.
Natalie stiffens and spins around to grab the silverware for tonight. I let a beat of disappointment hit me in the chest before reaching over her to get the plates.
“Mom, guess what?” Abby’s grin widens. “Dad! Guess what?”
Maddy crowds around her. “She can flip.”
Natalie’s brow raises. Sometimes these guessing games aren’t nearly as exciting for us. “Flip over what?”
“Off the back of the swing,” Abby answers. “Watch.”
Our supper planning is paused as we go out to watch. All I can think about—other than hoping Abby’s flip is as innocent as skipping across soft grass and not something that gives me an early heart attack—is how fast Natalie pulled away.
She’s really afraid the girls will find out. To me, that means she lacks confidence in us.
I’m going to change her mind. And I’ll recruit her parents into giving us a date night to do it.
Chapter 15
Simon
Natalie fidgets with the menu, flipping it back and forth. She’s uncomfortable and I start to doubt myself. I made reservations at one of the few fine-dining places open on a Sunday. The girls are sleeping at Natalie’s parents and will come home tomorrow at lunch.
Her nerves bring back memories.
The year before we were going to graduate college, Natalie showed up on my apartment doorstep, her eyes full of tears, and told me that she was pregnant.
We’d been dating nearly two years by then and had our future planned out. Her feelings had streamed across her face along with her tears. She’d thought she’d lose me. She thought our hopes and dreams would radically change.
Her family was waiting to move to where we ended up, but she thought she’d be moving back in with her parents and trying to finish her degree online. Each tear that had streaked down her face was evidence that she thought I’d rocket out and live my best life, sending her and the kid a little money here and there.
I wasn’t worried. That night, I looked at the girl I fell head over heels for and thought about the ring burning in my pocket. I’d wait to propose until she knew I was doing it for her and not because she was pregnant.
I’d pulled her into my arms, told her everything was going to be all right and between me and her parents, we’d get through school—together. My own parents thought I was insane, but I didn’t miss their lack of surprise. It was a given that I wouldn’t live up to my brother. Ever.
Those years had been hard, but some of our best ones. They laid a thick foundation that I never thought would fracture.
But it did. And tonight I have to convince Natalie once mo
re that divorce is only a bump in the road. No, that’s not right. It’s like the arrival of Abby. An event that puts out signs of where our life is going. We don’t have to change course if we don’t want to.
“Everything’s so… adult,” she whispers.
This is supposed to be a fun evening. We couldn’t afford places like this when we were a young couple with small kids. By the time we could, we just didn’t. Natalie would probably say it was because I was working all the time and yes, that had something to do with it.
I think we forgot to make us a priority. We still aren’t and Natalie won’t change her mind. The girls came first.
“They serve the same food you buy at the farmer’s market.” The big draw of the place is how it sources most of its ingredients locally.
“I guess. But I’m at the farmer’s market in sweats and Nikes.”
Her curls are styled tonight. Less frenzied. I like frenzied, but I also like polished Natalie. She’s wearing a sundress and a gauzy cardigan to cover her shoulders. I look like I stepped right out of the office, except I left the suit jacket at home.
Truthfully, I hated putting even this on. My time back at home and handing more work over to Helena has given me a new appreciation for casual wear. Summer is not the time for suits and in the frigid winter, I’d rather dress in a nice warm parka from NorthFace and wear a stocking hat. And boots. I miss shoes that actually keep my feet warm.
I shake off the thought. I worked hard. Dress for the job you want. Being a dad isn’t a job. But I like the uniform.
Natalie orders a pasta dish and I choose the walleye with green tomato salsa.
“It’s not macaroni and cheese, is it?” she says wryly.
She’s relaxing and I commit to taking her on more of these dates. To remind her that she’s an adult with her own needs, and soon, a business owner.
“How’s the training going? For the half-marathon,” I ask. She’s usually down in the gym when I leave for work. I only stopped once to tell her goodbye. She seemed flustered. I interrupted her groove.
“Good. I meet Aleah twice a week and I’ve been getting in the extra runs on my own. She helped me work out the schedule so I get tomorrow off.” Her smile is sheepish. “I never thought I’d be a runner.”
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