“This is the twenty-first century. Don’t husbands help with that sort of thing nowadays?”
Summer groaned, and Derek barked out a laugh.
“I’ll put them to bed so you two can talk,” he said.
Summer sent him what she hoped was an imploring look, but he didn’t seem to notice.
***
Willow made a big show of examining the couch cushions and brushing invisible crumbs off of them. Summer sighed again and eased herself down, massaging the spot on her right rib cage where she always got a cramp in late pregnancy.
“Please don’t tell me you’re going into labor,” Willow said when she determined the couch was clean enough to sit on. “I didn’t sign up for that.”
“What did you sign up for?” The baby shifted in Summer’s belly, and out of reflex, she ran a hand from under her breasts to the underside of her stomach.
“I just wanted to see you,” Willow said.
Her voice sounded pouty, but Summer’s anger remained burning hot. “Why now?” she said.
“Summer. You know I had a hard life. I didn’t have a robot husband to help me out, to pay the bills, to put you to bed or help with homework.”
“You chose not to have a husband,” Summer said. Her voice came out a whisper-yell in her effort not to let the kids overhear the conversation. “What did you say? ‘I don’t need a husband. No woman needs a man.’ Something like that, right?”
One of the kids squealed, and Willow winced at the sound.
“Why are you here, Mom?”
You’re probably homeless and need somewhere to stay.
Willow crossed one thin leg over the other. “It looks like you could use some help around here,” she said.
“We manage just fine,” Summer said.
“How have you been?” Willow said, then added, “Aside from knocked up, I mean.”
Summer couldn’t tell whether the concern was real. When was the last time Willow asked how Summer was doing? She couldn’t even recall.
“I’ve been fine,” Summer said.
“Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”
“We have water.”
“Nothing stronger?”
“No, Mom. Nothing stronger.”
“Sure, I’ll have some water. Thanks for offering.”
When Summer returned to the living room with a glass of water, Willow was standing up, examining the pictures on the wall.
“They’re beautiful children, Summer.”
“I know.”
“The oldest—what’s her name?—she looks just like you.”
Summer heard the unspoken, and just like me, but she ignored it and answered, “Her name’s Sarah.”
Softening a little, she pointed at the picture and named the other three children.
“And this one?” Willow pointed to Summer’s belly.
“I’m not sure yet. We haven’t decided.”
“Look, Summer. I’d like to stay,” Willow said. She continued looking at the pictures, examining each child’s face, running a finger down the glass in the frame. “I’d like to get to know you again, get to know your husband, and your kids.”
“Stay in Juniper?” Summer’s sixth sense tingled. It was waking up, stretching its muscles.
“No,” Willow said. “Stay here. At your house. Would that be okay?”
***
“You should let her stay,” Derek said an hour later as they prepared for bed.
Derek had driven Willow to the nearby Saguaro Inn with the excuse Summer was exhausted and the promise they’d call her tomorrow. Now, Summer turned back the covers on her side of the bed and slid between the sheets. She turned her back to Derek and closed her eyes. It was cliché to wish she’d wake up tomorrow and this whole thing would be a dream. Instead, she wished she’d wake up tomorrow and Willow would have changed her mind and driven as far away as possible. Florida, maybe. Maybe even right into the ocean. Yes, even better. Right into the ocean.
“You’re not going to answer?” Derek said.
“Nope,” Summer said.
Derek climbed into bed and turned off his bedside lamp. “She’s your mother.”
“Not really. Your mom is my mother.”
“She’s reaching out.”
Summer huffed out another sigh. “Now? After fifteen years? What the hell took her so long? She must want something.”
“I can see why you’d think that,” Derek said. “But I think you should give her a chance.”
“You do, huh? You don’t even know her. You don’t know the damage she can cause, just by being herself. I don’t want her around me, or around you, and I really don’t want her around our children. She’s toxic.”
“Maybe she’s changed.”
“Yeah. Maybe she’s changed,” Summer said. “And maybe I’m the Prince of Persia. Goodnight.”
A full minute passed, and Summer thought Derek had given up on the conversation.
“We can’t afford to put her up in a hotel every night,” he said just as she felt herself slipping into the welcome oblivion of sleep. “And we can’t just put her out.”
“I know we can’t afford to put her up in a hotel every night,” Summer said, cringing at the thought of a monthly hotel bill from the Saguaro Inn. “She can just leave.”
“Don’t you want her to get to know the kids?”
“I could give a shit.”
Summer could feel Derek’s tiny jolt of surprise through the bed springs. It might not register on the Richter scale, but she could feel it.
“You’re not acting like yourself,” he said. “Let’s revisit this in the morning.”
“Let’s not.”
***
Derek, of course, dropped immediately off to sleep. Summer stared into the darkness and listened to him breathe. Because Willow’s appearance, or reappearance, or whatever it was, had made her feel lonely somehow, she reached over and held Derek’s hand.
The right thing to do was to let Willow spend some time here. Summer knew that. But for once in her life, she didn’t want to do the right thing. She didn’t care whether she did or not. She’d rather send her mother packing. Willow and all her baggage could go ahead and take that long trip off Florida’s coast, as far as Summer was concerned.
And yet. Hadn’t she often seen one of Willow’s expressions on the faces of one of her children? Hadn’t she watched Sarah hold her book in exactly the same way Willow held hers, with one hand across the top, a pointer finger extended? Hadn’t Nate picked up Willow’s deep fear of thunderstorms? Luke deplored lima beans, and when someone spoke to Hannah, she cocked her head at exactly the same angle as Willow did when she tried to make sense of something.
The genetic tie was there. Could it really hurt to give Willow the chance to meet her kids, and vice versa?
Yes, Summer thought, it could hurt. Willow had hurt Summer when Summer was a child. Summer’s own kids wouldn’t be subjected to the same Willow experience she had, but still…
Summer’s body buzzed with restless energy. She got out of bed and went into the living room. She sat down at the computer and logged into FriendZoo. For reasons she couldn’t define, the posts she saw made her angry.
“Ridiculous,” she muttered when she saw that one of her friends from high school had posted a video of her “genius son” reading at age four.
The baby shifted inside her body. He or she was probably going to emerge into the world as a mini stress monster, and it would be all her fault.
“Sorry, baby,” she whispered.
Even though she knew it was a bad idea in her current state of mind, Summer began to type: Your kid may be a genius, but he’s a little freakin’ asshole.
It felt so good. She pressed Enter, and scrolled down.
A woman she had met in a support group of nursing moms had posted a selfie. Not a selfie where she was doing something fun or noteworthy, but a selfie where she was sitting in her car, looking freshly made up.
A few peopl
e had commented with things like Pretty! or Nice! but Summer didn’t think she looked pretty or nice.
So she typed: We don’t give a shit what you look like when you drive your kids to school.
She pressed Enter.
Another woman, an acquaintance from yoga class, had posted a photo of her newborn baby, with a caption about how adorable he was.
Yikes! I hope he grows into that nose.
She pressed Enter.
The baby shifted again, and Summer felt a small contraction. Poor thing, it was probably soaking up her anger right now. She almost couldn’t help it, though, nor did she want to. She scrolled down again.
The mother of one of Luke’s classmates had posted: Ugh. I am so ready for this day to be over. The kids are driving me crazy. Can’t wait for bedtime.
Summer replied: What the hell did you sign up for, having kids? Stop complaining.
Not one second after she pressed Enter, Summer heard her phone chirp from the bedroom.
“Shit,” she said. “I forgot to put it in silent. And who the hell is texting me at this hour?”
It was Josie: What are you doing up?
Summer sneaked back out to the desk and responded: How do you know I’m up? What are YOU doing up?
Josie: I’m making classroom decorations, of course. Go to bed. You’re growing a baby.
Summer: I can’t sleep.
Josie: All that mean is keeping you awake.
Summer: I thought you were doing work stuff, not sitting around on FriendZoo.
Josie: Are you Summer, or Winter?
Summer laughed out loud at that one. Good one.
Josie: Yeah, I thought so. Get off FriendZoo or you’re not going to have any friends tomorrow.
Summer: I can’t sleep. Pregnancy hormones.
She didn’t say anything about Willow’s visit. That wasn’t a conversation to have over text.
Josie: I hereby forbid you from making even one more comment on FriendZoo tonight.
Summer: Fine.
Josie: What’s wrong?
Summer: What do you mean?
Josie: You’re not acting like yourself. You never post mean shit, even when people deserve it. You’re right, that baby is super ugly. But you’re usually so nice.
Summer: I don’t know.
Josie: Really?
Summer: No.
Josie: … (this is me, waiting)
Summer: I’m just stressed. There’s a lot going on.
Josie: Luke and the heart thing?
Summer: That, yes. And it’s worse because I can’t sleep.
Josie: You definitely won’t sleep if you’re on the computer. Go back to bed.
Summer: Okay.
Josie: Love you. Everything will turn out fine, I promise.
Summer: Okay. Love you. ‘Night.
Josie: Goodnight.
Summer chuckled as she walked back into the bedroom, thinking, Winter. That’s a good one. It’s my alter ego.
***
Of course, the first text from Josie had woken Derek, and when she went back into the bedroom, he was propped up on one elbow, waiting for her.
“Still thinking about Willow, huh?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“Who was texting you?”
“Josie.”
“What were you doing out there?”
“Just surfing the net.”
He chuckled. “FriendZoo?”
She sighed. FriendZoo had become almost a compulsive habit. She found herself looking at her phone at the strangest times, scrolling through pointless posts. She’d once read a post that said, “I”m taking a break from FriendZoo for a while. Lately, it’s like opening my fridge even though I’m not hungry, and staring at the contents just to see what’s there.”
That about summed it up.
“Yes,” Summer said. “FriendZoo.”
Derek shook his head and rolled his eyes. “So what were you thinking?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
He patted the bed, and she laid down next to him.
“That baby is sure getting big,” he said.
She laughed. “I know, believe me.”
“So?”
“I was just thinking that maybe I should let the kids get to know Willow. Not for her, but for them. You know?”
“It’s not a bad idea,” Derek said.
“I just don’t want her to hurt them. Disappoint them. Make them crazy.”
“You’re here to protect them. Besides. You grew up with her, and you turned out okay. I mean, you know, considering.”
She elbowed him gently, and they both laughed.
“Sorry I was a bitch earlier.”
“No biggie. I’m used to it.”
“Shut up.”
“Seriously. I think it’s a good idea to give the kids the opportunity to know their other grandmother. The two of you don’t have to be BFFs or anything. We don’t have to spend every day or every weekend with her. But letting them get to know her, a day at a time, will be fine.”
“As long as she’s not still drowning herself in bourbon.”
Derek shrugged. “Just lay the ground rules.”
“Easy for you to say,” Summer said.
“I’ll help you,” Derek said.
“Fine.”
“Fine. Now, can we go to sleep?”
“Yes.”
This was exactly why she had found Derek so appealing when they first met. He served as a calming influence. Even as a teenager, his insights were pretty profound. Tomorrow, she’d call Willow and invite her over. For a visit. Lunch, maybe. Maybe she had changed. Maybe the kids would like her.
Or maybe she is exactly the same.
“Shut up, Winter,” Summer whispered into the dark.
In any case, Summer would find out tomorrow.
CHAPTER FOUR
Morning came, just like it always did. Summer didn’t sleep at all and she felt a tiny bit of relief when Hannah shouted, “Morning! Up!” from her crib just after six a.m.
Derek startled awake, and Summer laughed as she heaved herself to a standing position.
“You can sleep in,” she said.
He sighed and turned over. She felt a tiny stab of jealousy. Why could he fall asleep so easily? That feeling dissolved when she walked into Hannah’s room and her daughter reached for her, squealing happily.
“Hi, baby,” she said. “Good morning.”
Last night she felt pretty strong in her resolve to call Willow this morning and invite her to spend a few days at the house. But now that this morning had arrived, the sun slicing through the window to illuminate Hannah’s disheveled hair, Summer started feeling doubt again.
She went through the motions, setting a handful of cereal on Hannah’s high chair tray and then putting a pot of water on the stove to boil for oatmeal.
Inviting Willow to stay, even temporarily, would be like inviting her back into Summer’s life … and Summer wasn’t sure she wanted that. Last night, Willow hadn’t smelled of bourbon, but Summer wouldn’t be surprised if she had walked over to the convenience store and bought a bottle after Derek dropped her off at the hotel. At this very moment, Summer thought as she added oatmeal to the water, she was probably waking up with a headache, shielding her eyes from the brightness of the sun and from the reality that her own daughter hadn’t allowed her to stay in her house the night before.
The boys’ giggles interrupted Summer’s thoughts. She smiled. They were undoubtedly coming up with some prank to pull on their big sister, judging by the way they became stone-cold silent as they passed by her bedroom door on their way to the kitchen. Luke, a mischievous smile on his freckled face, sat down at the table, and when Nate elbowed him, he pursed his lips trying to hide that smile.
“What are you two up to?” Summer said.
“Nothing,” they answered in unison.
“I’ve heard that before,” she said.
“Mom, the oatmeal’s boiling over,” Nate said, hoppin
g up to turn down the flame on the stove.
“Sorry. Distracted.”
“Where’s Grandma?” Luke wanted to know.
Summer bit back the urge to snap, “Don’t call her Grandma.” Instead, she took a deep breath and said, “She stayed at a hotel last night.”
“Why didn’t she stay here?” Nate asked.
Fortunately, while Summer began formulating her answer, Sarah screamed, and the boys, cackling, scrambled off to her bedroom to enjoy the fruits of their labor.
“They put a huge spider on my pillow!” Sarah shrieked as she tore into the kitchen, the boys just steps behind her, laughing like they were mad. “I thought it was real!”
Summer couldn’t help but laugh as she put an arm around her daughter and hugged her close.
“Good morning,” she said. “Not the best way to wake up, is it?”
“I’ll get them back,” Sarah said.
Summer could practically see her plotting. She took bowls out of the dishwasher and began slicing fruit, and Summer felt a rush of gratitude for her own children and the home she and Derek had created for them, however chaotic it was. The Willow question could wait, for a few hours at least.
***
In addition to the chess club, Summer joined the track team and the Earth Helpers club sophomore year. Derek followed suit and the two of them spent every waking hour together.
One afternoon, he invited her over under the guise of watching videos of Steve Prefontaine, but they both knew the real reason they wanted to watch videos together was so that they could sit side by side on the couch, and maybe even hold hands. Their relationship hadn’t progressed beyond friendship, but Summer felt a peculiar flutter in her stomach whenever their hands touched during a chess game, or when he jogged past her during track practice and tugged on the end of her ponytail.
Delaney and Josie teased her about how much time she spent with Derek, and Josie, who they’d made the unofficial expert on all things related to romance, said wisely, “I can tell he likes you by the way he smoothes his hair every time he sees you.”
(It turns out that wasn’t quite a dead giveaway. Derek’s hair-smoothing habit was just that and he did it a million times per day.)
The Motherhood Intervention: Book 3 in the Intervention Series Page 3