by Katie Cross
“Yes, of course.”
I leaned forward to give the folder back to Daniel, hoping to dislodge Jade’s hand from my shoulder. Thankfully, her fingers slipped away.
Daniel waved the folder away. “That’s for you to take. I’m glad you’re open to it.”
Who was this man? Why was he so different than the Daniel I always argued with? The one on his phone. The one who pushed my buttons on purpose. Who showed up late with excuse after excuse.
“We have an appointment with the school next month, if you’re okay with it,” Jade said. “Thanks to Daniel pulling a few strings with some work buddies, we could get them in next year. Plus, it’s just down the road. The girls could walk on their weeks with us, and it wouldn’t be a far drive for you.”
Their weeks with us, rang through my head. As if joint custody had already been granted. Now I couldn’t help but wonder if I was the delusional one.
“Great,” I choked out. “Thanks.”
“We’d like you to come to the meeting,” Jade said. “We want you to be as involved in this as we are.”
“Sure. Just … text me the details.”
“You okay?” Jade asked, peering at me.
“Yep. Fine. I just … I have to get these papers to Lizzy, and I have a hous—some work to do.”
“Oh, right. Of course. Well, thanks for coming over,” Jade said with a wide smile. “I’m glad you got to see where the girls stay and have a better idea of their life over here.”
I’m not sure I am, I thought, but forced a smile.
“Thanks again.” I whirled around.
“Oh!” Daniel called to my back. “Thanks again for letting us help with the after-school bake sale today. We’re excited about that. Took the day off and everything.”
“Are you taking cookies?” I asked.
He looked at Jade, who nodded.
My fists clenched. Lizzy had told me that they didn’t need any more food for the bake sale. Our coconut dream bars had sold out within twenty minutes last year, even though my attempts at a healthy cookie had bombed.
Was she embarrassed by me?
By the time I extracted myself from the house, tears clogged my throat. Now I didn’t just doubt whether I was doing the right thing by fighting him for joint custody. Now I wondered if the girls wanted me at all.
It wasn’t until I was almost at the school that I realized I hadn’t mentioned the play to Jade. I dismissed the idea of texting her.
No.
Let Daniel be responsible for himself.
Chapter 13
The Mermaid’s Whisper
Material swirled around my legs as I studied the costume in my lap the next evening. Lizzy looked up from where she sat at the table, engrossed in her script. Every now and then she’d say something out loud, then close her eyes, cover her book with her hands, and attempt to repeat it.
Her eyes widened when she saw the sparkling sequins. “Are you done?” she whispered.
“I think so … do you like it?”
I grabbed her finished costume by the shoulders and held it up. Sheer, shimmering purple material fell from the shoulders to the middle of the back, and a sparkling emerald sheath would encase her legs. Her hands flew to her cheeks.
“Mom!” she squealed. “It’s perfect.”
A shot of pride welled up in me. It really did look good. No Pinterest fail for me today. Lizzy clutched the fabric to her chest and whirled around. The droning of a lawn mower fell quiet, leaving the neighborhood in silence. I glanced out the window. Where was Lana?
I stepped to the door and into the backyard.
“Lana?”
The low murmur of voices near the fence caught my ear. Jim peered over the fence, one arm slung over the top. Lana stood below, waving a giant stick in the air. She’d pulled her hair away from her face in a messy ponytail and, in the five minutes out of my eyesight, streaked mud across her cheeks.
Wonderful.
“Ambushing is more about stealth than brute force,” Jim said. “You have to really pop it on the head to kill it.”
My eyes shot wide open. What the—
“But I gotta kill it!” Lana waved the stick around. “Which means I need a heavier club. This thing is a joke.”
Jim’s eyes narrowed. “Good point. Can you lift anything heavier?”
“Yeah. I’m strong. Look!”
Lana spun around with the force of one of her swings and toppled to the grass. I leaned against the house and folded my arms over my chest. In the background, Lizzy hummed a song from the play.
“I have an idea,” he said. “Just a second.”
He disappeared toward a shed in the corner of his backyard. Lana waited—somewhat impatiently—until he reappeared with a lightweight whiffle bat. He handed it to her across the fence.
“Try that.”
“But that’s too light!”
“Lighter is faster. See the holes? Air moves through it better. It’s basic physics. That’ll knock out any monster.”
She hefted it around, considering.
“Besides,” he continued, “it’ll fit under your bed better than that gnarly stick. I don’t think your mom would appreciate all the bark in her house.”
“Better than monsters.”
“Have you tried any monster spray yet?”
Her eyes grew wide as globes. “No! Do you have some?”
“Of course I do.” He scoffed. “Every self-respecting soldier keeps some around. Wanna borrow it?”
“Yes!”
She spun in circles while Jim disappeared again. When he returned, he handed her a clear blue spray bottle, which she accepted with a dizzy stumble forward.
“Here you go. One dose of monster spray. That’s a special recipe. Just let me know when you run out.”
Her nose crinkled. “What about my sister?”
“That’s fine. You can share with her.”
“And my mom?”
“Is your mom afraid of monsters, too?”
I cleared my throat and stepped out onto the grass. Jim and Lana’s heads snapped up at the same time. Although the fence obscured part of his mouth, I caught a smirk.
“Moooom!” Lana screamed, barreling toward me with bat and spray in hand. “I’m going to go monster-proof my room. Bye.”
She plowed into the house.
“Hey!” I called after her. “What do you say to Mr. Jim?”
Her head popped out again. “Thanks, Mr. Jim!” she called before she ducked back inside. I crossed the lawn barefoot.
“She’s been struggling with nightmares for a few weeks now. She won’t tell me what the monsters are, just crawls into bed with me. Thanks for that.”
“It’s just water,” he said. “I added a few drops of vanilla so it smells good.”
“I’m impressed.”
He shrugged. “Cora used to struggle with it too.”
“Well,” I said, turning back to the house. The fading daylight cast an early darkness on the ground, bringing cooler air tinged with a light spring perfume. “Thanks for helping her out. I’m glad she felt she could talk to you about it.”
He cleared his throat. “Sure. No problem. Listen … do you ever, uh, go out?”
“Out?”
“Dinner.”
He rubbed a hand over his head. Although he still met my eyes, a lingering uncertainty caught me by surprise. Was Jim asking me out?
“Sometimes.”
He nodded, then pushed away from the fence. “Well, have a good night.”
And just like that, he slipped away. I stared at the fence, wondering if I’d just imagined it. Did Jim chicken out?
With a sigh, I started across the lawn again.
Men.
That evening while the girls lay in bed and the stars glimmered one by one in a dusky sky, I dropped my yoga mat on the porch, left the front door open, and sat down. The dull drone of the fan pulling in the cooler night air buzzed in the background. I closed my eyes and fell into a qui
et place where I let my whirling thoughts simmer.
“You all right?”
My eyes flew open to find Jim standing off the porch, hands on his hips, peering at me. I cleared my throat.
“Yes,” I said. “Are you?”
“I’m not the one sitting in the middle of my porch with my eyes closed.”
“You should try it.”
“I’ve done my fair share of yoga.”
“You don’t strike me as the type.”
He rolled his shoulders back. “My muscles tightened on deployment all the time. Stretching routines helped, so I went to a few easy classes. Nothing intense. No standing crane, or whatever that is.”
Trying to imagine Jim twisting his body into some of my favorite positions amused me. I motioned next to me with a tip of my head.
“Have a seat.”
To my deep surprise, he obeyed. He leaned back on his hands, his legs stretched out in front of him, like a kid. It was the most casual—the most normal—I had ever seen him.
“Did you come to check on the neighborhood crazy lady?” I asked.
“Yep.”
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“New form of neighborhood watch.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Finally giving in to the obvious, I unwound my legs and mimicked his pose. It felt good to lounge. Night had descended with the slow, easy strains of cicadas. I drew in a deep breath, catching a hint of lilac.
“You were going to ask me out tonight, weren’t you?” I asked.
He didn’t even flinch. He was always self-assured and confident, which made his quiet awkwardness endearing.
“Totally chickened out,” he said, shaking his head.
“Aren’t you some great military hero?”
“Nope.”
“Am I scary?”
My gut tightened, and I didn’t realize until I said that words that I was afraid of his response. I didn’t blame anyone for being a little afraid of me. Sometimes I was afraid of myself.
“Yep.”
I gently slugged his shoulder. “Shut up,” I muttered, and he laughed.
His hard exterior cracked slightly, and he allowed a quick smile. It lit up his face, showing light crow’s feet around his eyes before it disappeared. He didn’t smile nearly enough, the grumpy curmudgeon. The tension faded.
“I’m not good at this,” he said.
“Friendship?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. I was kidding.”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t. Twenty years in the military and over ten deployments make it difficult to be friendly.”
Trust a guy like Jim to be nothing but brutally honest.
“I’m inclined to agree.”
“Only with you, though,” he said. “Everyone else is easy enough.”
“Another compliment?”
“Hardly,” he scoffed, then shook his head. “That’s beside the point. I’m really bad at doing this, so I just want to get it over with.”
“Beat around the bush here, please.”
“I want to take you on a date.”
His eyes bored into mine. Although they were a light, glacial-blue color, there was no coldness in him. Certainly not while he was acting this awkward. His cheeks, however, had a little more color than normal.
“Oh,” I said, arrested.
Even for Jim, that had been outright.
“Good. You’re finally speechless. Listen, the military doesn’t exactly prep you for asking women out on dates. It’s been a while since I’ve been around this block, all right? I’m not actually ready to go on a date, even though Cora tells me to. That’s beside the point—I think I will be soon. I just wanted to test the waters and—”
“Sure.”
He paused. “Sure?”
“I’ll go.”
He eyed me. “Simple stuff. Like dinner.”
“Are you going to make it?”
“No reason to resort to cruel and unusual punishment.”
I couldn’t help but appreciate his moxie. Years had passed since I’d been on a date. After the divorce, I’d dabbled once or twice in the dating world again. Mostly for friends who needed to provide someone for a blind date. Once with online dating.
All of them had failed. Miserably.
“Going out to dinner sounds lovely.”
His brow furrowed. “Uh … you wouldn’t make me plan mini golf or anything, right?”
“Please, no.”
“Where would you want to eat? If you left it up to me, I’d take us on a twelve-mile ruck march for fun.”
A twelve-mile ruck march? This guy had promise.
“Food is a good place to start,” I said. “Woo me with a dinner and scrumptious dessert.”
The wrinkles evened out on his forehead.
“I could do that.”
“Topics of discussion can be anything but the girls’ father.”
“Fine. Strained political tensions in the Middle East, probably.”
“You’d be talking a lot to yourself, then,” I said, laughing.
“I’m the most informed conversationalist I know.”
“What do you do now that you’ve retired from the military?” I asked.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“No job, right?”
“Not right now,” he growled.
“Do you get bored?”
“Never bored,” he said a touch defensively. “Let’s just say I have things that keep me busy, but there are … you know … stretches of time that are less full than others.”
I grinned. “So you are bored.”
“Not bored,” he muttered, “just selective.”
“Military retirement isn’t everything you thought it would be, I’m assuming?”
A rare moment of honest vulnerability flickered across his face. “No,” he said. Something deeper caught my attention. “It’s definitely not. Listen, I’ll let you know when this can happen, all right? Thanks for being willing to go out with a grumpy veteran who doesn’t know how to do this.”
“Anytime.”
He stood up, seeming relieved. Before I knew it, he’d crossed the lawn without a word of farewell. The grass crunched under his feet as he left, as if he couldn’t get away fast enough. I watched him go, bemused.
Something told me it would be a date to remember.
Whenever it happened.
New THHS Meeting conversation opened in WonderFriendApp
Opened by: BITSY
Bitsy: Just a friendly reminder: Megan is in charge of our next meeting, which is tomorrow.
Megan: Thanks, Bitsy. I totally forgot!
Bitsy: That doesn’t reassure me.
Lexie: Nor does it surprise me.
Rachelle: Me either.
Megan: Just for that, I’m making a quiz.
Bitsy: Maybe this will work out. See you tomorrow.
Conversation CLOSED by BITSY
A simple American restaurant bustled around me.
Red-and-white tiled floor. The smell of juicy hamburgers, sizzling bacon, and melted cheese lingering in the air. My mouth watered when a tray of tater tots bobbed by. When slathered in cheese and bacon, they were my ultra-secret greatest weakness.
Self-care to the extreme, or so Lexie would say.
Janine smiled as she leaned closer over the table. She wore a blue blazer with a diamond pin tacked on. The brooch brought a lump to my throat—she’d bought it when Mom died. Janine’s eyes sparkled.
“Well,” she drawled, “how are things? I’m not going to lie. I’ve been eagerly anticipating a chance to get together. And that hair? I love it.”
“Thanks.”
The rest of the answer stuck in my throat. Fine, I wanted to say. But that would be a lie. I wasn’t fine. Not after seeing Daniel’s house and hearing—quite often—about the success of Jade’s cookies at the bake sale. Janine stirred her water with a straw while she waited for me to gather my thoughts.
“I don’t know,” I finally s
aid. “It’s been really hard—but good—to be committed to self-care every week.”
“Has it gotten easier?”
“Once I figured a few things out.”
“What’s your favorite form of self-care?”
“Never what I thought it would be. Shopping by myself at Target is top of the list. Taking a nap. Not being the leader of every meeting of the Health and Happiness Society has actually been really nice. Looking at cookbooks. Isn’t that weird? By the end, I feel happy.”
She smiled. “It often isn’t what we expect.”
A waitress stopped at our table with two thick, porcelain plates. “Grilled chicken sandwich with French fries,” she said, setting Janine’s food in front of her. “And a Reuben with coleslaw.”
My stomach growled. The Reuben. My favorite meal of all time. Something about the interplay of sauerkraut, marbled rye bread, and Thousand Island dressing dripping off the pastrami made my belly sing. After refilling our water, the waitress moved away. Janine turned back to me with a glance at my plate.
“No salad? No steamed broccoli?”
“Not this time.”
“Definite progress.” She reached for the bottle of ketchup. “Are you still counting calories?”
I blinked, arrested mid-thought.
Was I still counting calories?
Only when I grabbed my phone and looked at my app did I realize that it had been four full days since I’d last logged in. Messages cluttered my inbox. You all right? No updates! Getting worried. There was even an open thread titled, Anyone seen BitsyMom2 lately?
To not log in? That hadn’t happened in…
Years.
After Daniel left, the binge-and-purge cycle had gotten so bad I’d almost passed out one day while holding Lana. Finally, deciding that the only way to control it was to record it, I’d started keeping track of what I ate. I’d never missed a day.
Until now.
“Wow,” I whispered.
Janine grinned. “That is self-care in action.”
My brow wrinkled. An army of emotions flooded me. Elation. Terror. Relief. Was this a good thing? I could lose control again. If I could just let go of calorie counting, what else could I stop doing? Then again, I’d lost control while calorie counting. Maybe none of it hinged on control.
Or not in the way I expected.
“You don’t seem excited,” Janine said, studying me.