by Shey Stahl
Grady draws back first, then Cash, and they both stand in front of me, familiar blue eyes troubled beyond their eight years. “You?”
“Yep. I’ll come get you from school at three thirty, and then we’ll go home for a snack, and then you have football practice tonight.”
They both nod and watch the kids around them, most holding hands with their parents to the front door of the school. Don’t think I don’t notice that every single one of these kids has both parents beside them. Happy parents who are still married. Divorce in our town just doesn’t happen, which makes this even harder on the boys.
I hold their hands, hoping to provide a little comfort in the vast uncertainty they’re facing today. Parents aren’t allowed in the school anymore for the safety of the children in the classrooms, and while I appreciate it, I’m sad I can’t walk them to the door and make sure they make it okay.
Austin approaches and ruins my alone time with them, with Brie at his side. She grabs his hand as if to say, I got him now. I’ll get to Brie and exactly what happened the night I became friendless later, but now’s not the time.
Do you notice how he doesn’t pull away? How his hand grips hers the way it used to hold mine?
“Dirtbag.”
“What?” Grady asks, having heard my mumbled name calling.
I blink, then clear my throat, smiling down at him. “Did Daddy pack you lunch?” He nods, and my eyes move back to Austin. “What did you pack them?”
He stares down at me as I stand. What a perfect analogy of our life together. Him always looking down on me. I can’t say it was always like that, but I certainly never felt equal to him. You couldn’t. In the presence of Austin Jacob, you’re either blinded by the light of his charm or left in the bitter cold of his shadow. There’s no in-between.
My world is now winter.
“Brie packed it. I think it’s a sandwich and carrots.”
“Cash doesn’t like carrots,” I tell him, not surprised he doesn’t know this.
“You look different,” Austin notes, searching my face and body for what appears different to him.
I jerk my chin up, my eyes, voice, and stance defiant. “I cut it off. Blondes have more fun.”
I don’t know why, but the moment our eyes catch, I want to rub it in his face I saw Ridge this morning. I want to see his reaction to the fact that his stepbrother is back in town. If I know Austin as well as I think I do, I have a feeling the response will be amusing to me.
Take a look at Brie beside Austin. If you haven’t noticed Brie yet or paid much attention to the backstabbing husband-stealing whore, look at her now. She’s about five foot nine, has long legs, and dark brown hair that’s now practically black.
Shh. . . she doesn’t know about her car, but do you notice how dark her hair is?
Fun fact here for you, that’s Austin’s doing. Naturally, Brie’s hair is a light brown, practically blonde. About two years ago she started dyeing it darker. Maybe I should have taken notice then she was after my husband, but I didn’t.
I’m, too, naturally pretty light-haired. My color is something between golden brown and dirt. Not pretty. Coloring my hair has been happening since I hit high school and with Austin, he liked my hair darker. Now that I think about it, slowly over the years I’d become more and more what he wanted and less like myself.
Now look at Brie falling victim to his ways too.
“I packed Cash pretzels instead because he said he didn’t like carrots,” Brie notes, smiling at me. How dare she smile at me!
Tell me something. . . is it wrong for me to want to rip the lunch boxes out of their bags, toss the food in her face, gouge her eyes out and stick my tongue out?
Given the boys are present, I won’t, but when the little dudes walk away, I might. I have already committed a felony this morning, tried to kill a man, and daydreamed about fucking Ridge. I could be capable of being a twatty turd who can’t forgive her friend for spreading her legs.
Austin breaks the silence and nods to the school. “So what, we walk them inside?”
My jaw clenches. It’s my natural reaction to hearing his voice. “We walk them to the door, Austin. They don’t allow us in the school for security reasons. If you had made it to the open house and ice cream social, you would know the morning procedures.” I smile. “Or. . . better yet, took them to school at all last year.”
Too much? Probably since the kids are present. Damn it. Look at the expression on his face. I went a little too far. You know, I always do this. I never know when to keep my mouth shut or stop when I’m ahead. I pry, like I’m trying to unstick a sticker until I lift the edges and then end up ripping the backing off too.
Austin’s jaw clenches now, a frown set on his stupid, handsome face. “I would have, Aly, had I not been working.”
This is where we start fighting.
I catch myself though, because of Brie who attempts to lead my kids to the school. Yeah, right. Like I’m allowing that to happen.
They don’t go with her. They wait for me, their sweet boy faces staring at me.
I look down at Cash and Grady, leading them toward the school. “Who’s excited for second grade?”
Grady raises his other hand, skipping beside me. “I am.”
“I’m not,” Cash mumbles, dragging his feet. He reminds me of a moody teenager, just six years too early.
If there were ever two extremely opposite identical twins, it’s these two. They never agree on anything, aside from sticking up for one another and sleeping in the same bedroom. Ever since they were babies, you can’t separate them at night. They have to be in the same room, and even if they are separated, they find each other in the middle of the night like two lost souls. It’s adorable.
Just as we get to the front door, their friends see them and yell for them to follow them. And just like that, with a quick hug, an “I love you, mom” yelled over their shoulders, they’re gone with their friends. No kisses even.
While it sucks I didn’t get the same needy please-don’t-let-me-go hug I did last year, I get why they took off so quickly. Hello, they’re second graders now!
Do you notice the way they didn’t say anything to Austin? Or Brie?
Ha. Take that wannabe mommy!
You know, it probably isn’t that she wants to be their mom. Brie never wanted kids. She wanted my husband.
Austin nudges my arm with his. “I have their bags in my Jeep.” And then he starts walking away while I stand there staring at the boys until the door closes behind them. Then and only then, will I walk away from them at school.
I don’t make eye contact with Brie as I walk to the Jeep. Not once. As far as I’m concerned, she doesn’t exist. I’m reaching for the bags in the back when her cell phone rings.
She answers and Austin hands me the boys’ pillows. We don’t make eye contact either. I’d rather not ever make eye contact with him again.
You’re probably wondering why they don’t have pillows where Austin’s staying, aren’t you? Well, they’re particular about their pillows. That’s a conversation for another day.
I take the pillows to my van, then go back for their bags about the time Brie is all angry-faced and pink-cheeked. “What do you mean someone took a bat to my car?”
I grab the rest of their stuff and twist around quickly, trying to contain my knowing smirk I can’t seem to hide.
Before I can get away, Austin clears his throat. “I have them in two weeks then?”
He never remembers the parenting agreement. He’s supposed to have them every other weekend and once during the week. Half the time on his weekday, he forgets or says he’s working late. I don’t buy it. He forgets I can still track his phone through Find My Friends.
Stupid idiot never turned it off.
“What about Wednesday? You’re supposed to have them. . .” I give him the resting bitch face. “Or did you forget. . . like you forgot you were married?”
Like how I added the last part? I’m resentf
ul. Remember that girl I said I was this morning? The refreshed and recharged one? Apparently, she’s long gone.
Austin draws in a deep breath. “Christ, do we have to do this every time we see each other?”
Brie’s watching us, well, Austin, and it’s kind of fun for me because I know what she’s doing. She wants to see if there’s any emotion left. She’s analyzing every look he gives me because while she had the upper hand when we were married, now that we’re separated, she’s constantly worried he might want me back.
Guess what? I kicked him out. He wanted to stay married after I found out he was cheating on me. Said we should work it out for the kids. This isn’t Sister Wives. And here’s something else. I’m a mother of boys and if I “work it out” for the kids, what is that telling them? That I stayed with a man who treated their mother like shit? That cheating on your wife is okay?
I don’t think so. Though I never wanted them growing up in a “broken home,” the idea of them seeing me as a weak mother was far more demeaning to me.
Now take a look at my face as I stand before Austin. Do you notice the way my cheeks are tinted pink and my lips are flat? Do you think I’m pleased with his question?
If you answered no, you’re right. I’m actually pissed off because how dare he? I don’t argue with him every time. Last Wednesday I didn’t say a damn word to him, and I can easily turn this around on him. But I don’t. Instead, I fake smile and tell him, “I’m late.”
That certainly seems to be my answer for everything today.
I’m not late. I don’t have a job, but I’m late for my Monday morning grocery shopping.
“Yeah, right. Late for grocery shopping,” he mumbles. “God forbid you get off schedule.”
I point my finger right in his face and drop Grady’s football in the process. “Don’t start with me. Just because I like to have a schedule doesn’t mean I have to explain it to you anymore. We’re getting a divorce, remember?”
I may have said that a little louder than necessary because do you notice all the questioning stares coming my way from the moms in the parking lot?
I do. I can feel their judgmental eyes wanting to pop out of their sockets because I yelled at Austin Jacob, their dream guy. Believe me, I don’t think Brie is the first one to test out my husband. Eh, sorry, almost ex-husband. If I asked any one of these wine-drinking Zumba-CrossFit-soy-latte moms if they thought I should stay with Austin, they’d tell me I was crazy for letting him go.
Yeah, well, they willingly toss themselves on the ground to do burpees for fun, so what the hell do they know?
And I’ll admit it, this schedule thing may be a fault of mine. I like schedules. Most mothers do. I stick to them because they work for me. And if something gets in the way, like actually anything, I get upset if my schedule or the boys is altered in any way. Obsessive compulsive? Maybe a little.
Austin leans in, and I’m tempted to grab his tie too. Maybe choke him. “How can I forget we’re getting a divorce, Alyson?”
“Well.” I pause and snicker because I think I’m funny. “Your cock couldn’t remember you were married, so I’m assuming you’re a little forgetful at times.”
And this my friends causes him to spin on his heel and leave. At least I accomplished something good this morning. Pissing Austin off.
I wave to Brie, who’s staring at me. “Hope there wasn’t too much damage to your car, ya lying whore.”
Mother of the year right here. Mother of the fucking year.
Much like this town, I haven’t stepped foot in Lake Shore Academy since I left. Never wanted to. I hated this school when I lived here. Which is surprising because I spent more time being expelled from it than actually attending class.
Despite my personality of not particularly liking people, I enjoy teaching kids. Kids I can deal with. Adults, I’ve never liked them. Might be something to do with them being authority figures, and that’s just something I’ve never enjoyed.
I also hate talking to people. Probably because in my experience, everyone in this fucking town talks at you, not to you. I don’t teach that way. I teach kids with the understanding that they’re equals. Smaller equals, but still present and capable. My Aunt Katherine, the principal at the school, she teaches the same way, which is why I have no problem working for her.
What surprises me is she’s completely different from her sister, my mother, Madalyn.
Madalyn Campbell is quite possibly the devil. Growing up with her was a nightmare. I’m convinced she’s a descendant from Nazis themselves. She’d literally cut your head off and serve it to you in a fucking bowl.
My parents divorced when I was twelve because my mom had been having an affair with Brooks Jacob. Austin’s—my friend at the time—dad. That led to Austin and my relationship turning from friends to stepbrothers. I liked him a lot less the more time I spent with him and then not at all. About the time he showed interest in Aly. That’s when I started to hate him.
My problems didn’t come from my parent’s divorce like most would think. I was trouble from the start, and their problems came from me. All parents will tell their children it’s not them or some bullshit excuse of “this isn’t because of you.” That wasn’t my experience. My mother flat-out said we didn’t work because of you. But she’s also a fucking liar so why should I believe anything that whore has to say?
I know my way around the school and smile at all the children who pass by me and the infectious laughter of the little girls.
Not surprising but I gain the lingering glances of the mom’s ushering their children toward the entrance.
I know I’m late, but not late enough that classes have started. I should have at least twenty minutes. My cell phone dings in my pocket as soon as I open the office doors, all four of the ladies behind the counter staring back at me with looks that either say they want to eat me or murder me. Could be a mixture of both.
It’s a message from my aunt telling me to come back to her office.
I glance around the room, the air conditioning slapping me in the face as four office ladies stare at me. It’s been my assessment over the years that women over forty, they want me. That’s not me being cocky, that’s me being honest. Cougars exist, and they love the young ones with tattoos and a tie. I have both. What does that mean?
Cougar bait.
“You look just like your mother,” a woman says to my right.
The fuck I do!
My glare sweeps to hers. I hate it when people say that. I don’t say anything to her. Remember? I don’t like talking. But I do know this lady. It’s Charlotte Brenner. She’s old as dirt and still working at the school.
Briefly I wonder if she remembers me as the kid who glued her ass to a chair when he was in third grade or if she’s forgotten about that by now. Maybe her memory has faded over the years.
“You’ve sure grown up, dear.”
She’s forgotten for sure. Or maybe she has me confused with Henry, my cousin. Completely possible given her age.
I wink and nod to the back office where I assume my aunt is.
Katherine’s office is at the end of the hall overlooking a vineyard.
Campbell Vineyards. My mother owns it. If she had her way, she’d own the racetrack too. It’s always about who own more with her. Now do you see why I had to come back? Had I not, I knew the moment I signed the rights over to Glen and Helena, my mother would manipulate them into selling it to her, and then everything my dad worked for would be gone.
I wouldn’t let that happen. She’d have to kill me first, and you know, don’t think she hasn’t contemplated that a time or two over the years.
The moment I open the door, the hinge squeaks and Katherine’s beaming smile greets me. It’s moments like this I don’t regret returning home. Aunt K was always my favorite aunt, and to be fair, my only aunt because Uncle Vic never married.
Moving around the side of her desk, she welcomes me with a warm hug, wrapping her arms tightly around my waist. I rest
my chin on her head, pulling her in close. I’ve never been much of a hugger, but it’s Aunt K. You hug her when she gives your ass a job.
Aunt K draws back, holding me at arm’s length. She shakes her head. “You’re all grown up!”
I shrug. “I guess so.”
“You’re a man now, Ridge.”
“It happens.” I laugh. “Am I late?”
“No, you’re just in time. I can’t thank you enough for filling in on such short notice. Your class had their open house the other night and met with Ms. Thompson. She’s in the class next to you and teaches the other second grade class. If you need anything, she’s extremely helpful.” She hands me the class list. “This is your student roster. I must warn you, Cash is a handful.”
My eyes sweep to the last name. Jacob.
I find it funny Aunt K is warning me. You remember my stepbrother, right? Same guy.
Our eyes lock because the last name of Jacob means something different to both of us. “Anything like his father?”
Aunt K’s lips flatten, but she can’t hide the smirk. “Nope. He’s trouble. Grady is a bit more reserved. Quiet kid.”
“Older?” The only reason I ask this is because I want to see how much Aunt K is going to tell me about Austin and Aly. I know everything from them getting married, to the boys, and now the impending divorce, but I’m not about to tell her I know all this. I never give my intentions away that easily.
“They’re twins. Both in your class. Their mother didn’t want to separate them this year.”
I nod, and she knows I’m waiting for her to say her name.
“Mrs. Jacob thought it’d be better having them in the same class.”
I nod, again. It’s like a goddamn truck just hit my chest. I think I even gasp. Suddenly, I don’t want her to say it. I want to believe Aly didn’t marry that piece of shit.
I grab the student list from Aunt K and she nearly laughs. Probably because she knows me a hell of a lot better than I initially thought. “Is she why you came back, Ridge?”
See? Told you. I had a reputation around town, as you can imagine. For the sake of you thinking I’m a dirtbag. . . or what did Aly call me? Dipshit? Either way, I’ll rephrase. If a girl says no, I listen. I’m not trying to force anyone into any situation they’re not comfortable with. I may not have wanted to hear it, but I listened.