I lightly knock on the bathroom door and call out to her. “Layla, it’s Emerson and Poppy,” I say, waiting until I hear the lock unlatch, then open the door. Layla’s sitting on the edge of the tub hunched over in tears, her cardigan sweater in the sink. Poppy and I kneel in front of her, and her tears come out harder.
“What is this about?” Poppy asks.
“I’m a dairy cow,” Layla says.
“A cow?” Poppy cries. “You’re one of those bitches that came home from the hospital in your damn skinny jeans. You’ve even got the elusive ITG going on.”
Let me just state for the record that the inner thigh gap, or ITG, is the most ridiculous body standard to date. Whichever male sexist pig came up with that should be strung up by his balls.
“Greer spit up all over my cardigan,” Layla says. “And I don’t have anything to change into.”
I say, “You still have on your camisole.”
“Look at me!” Layla snaps and straightens her posture. “My boobs are so huge, it’s obscene. I can’t go out there like this.”
Layla makes a good point. Her breasts are so big it looks like her chin is resting on them. And like Poppy said, she’s a skinny little thing, so she does look very top heavy.
Layla goes on, “Emerson, do you know what your stupid brother told me? He told me I look sexy!”
“He just wants to take those babies for a test drive,” Poppy says. “It’s his only chance to have some big ones to play with.”
In normal circumstances, Layla would laugh at that, but not today. I know what it’s like to be a new mom—hormones all over the place, unsure of yourself, scared you won’t ever feel normal again. I start to slip my shirt off. “Here, let’s switch. This top is really big and flowing, so your breasts should fit.”
“What if I leak on it?” Layla asks.
“Then I’ll have an excuse to go shopping,” I say.
“You’re so sweet. Are you sure?”
“Of course,” I say, and Layla puts on my shirt. It fits her perfectly. Her camisole on me is another story. It’s pretty tight, but I won’t let on that it bothers me. I just took naked pictures. What’s a little cleavage?
Everything now under control, the three of us step out of my mom’s spare bathroom looking like the badass women we are, like Charlie’s Angels, like gals who are not to be messed with. We find Gage leaning against the wall, waiting. He pulls Layla into his arms and mouths “thank you” to me and Poppy.
“Since Poppy’s in town,” he says, “why don’t the three of you go out tonight? I can watch Greer.”
Poppy and Dash are staying the night at my house, so she offers up Dash to watch my kids. “Great,” I say. “I guess I’m free. Layla?”
Gage can sense Layla is hesitant, guilty about leaving the baby. “I really think you need some time away,” he tells her. “Will be good for you, Layla—just no urgent care trips this time.”
“No guarantees,” I laugh out.
“Come on, Layla,” Poppy says. “We’ll just go for a few hours. We’ll work around your milking schedule.”
Giving Layla a little nod, I say, “The best moms know when they need a break.”
Layla nods, and Poppy and I walk downstairs, giving her and Gage a moment. As soon as we hit the bottom step, Poppy’s eyes fly to Dash, standing with little Greer, a huge grin on his face. I look down at Poppy, a look of concern on her face. “I’m going to lose him over this,” she says.
Based on the way he’s loving on that little girl, she may be right. But Poppy has a right to her feelings, too. I don’t believe a woman has to have children to be fulfilled in life, and she shouldn’t be made to feel that way or ashamed because she doesn’t want kids. “You need to have a real conversation with him about this,” I say, walking over to steal my niece from him, hoping she and her boyfriend will finally talk.
Greer is a beautiful baby. How could she not be? Her parents look like they walked out of the pages of Southern Living. I so love babies, everything about them, really, even though I was scared shitless when I thought I might be pregnant again. I take in Greer’s little face, that new baby smell. Some of the happiest times in my life were when my kids were babies, and I loved being pregnant. Call me a freak, but I loved every second of it. I never felt sexier than when I was big and round and full of curves that mattered. Now my curves typically serve no purpose other than annoying me.
I walk past my mom’s living room and see Connor playing on the floor. He’s growing up too fast. Not so long ago, he was consumed with his imaginary friend, a crocodile that walked on two feet. It drove me a little nuts at the time, but now I miss it.
Greer starts to fuss a little. Whenever my kids fussed, I’d take them outside. It always seemed to settle them. I open up the door to my mom’s picture perfect Savannah backyard, complete with the rose bushes my dad planted for her. Everyone who knows our family knows the story of the rose bushes, how my dad planted them when he was dying, wanting my mom to be surrounded by his love even when they were apart. I know he’d be happy his roses were surrounding Greer now. It makes my heart hurt that she’ll never know him.
“Hey,” he says from beside the outdoor bar, placed for the occasion.
“Mateo,” I say, my voice a little too high.
Maybe because I was consumed with the photo shoot this morning, or because the church service was only for family, I didn’t give any thought to him being here today. My mom was in charge of invitations, so she must’ve invited him to the party. I shouldn’t be surprised he’s here, though. He’s become one of Gage’s best friends, aside from Dash.
We haven’t seen each other since my drunken attempt to mount him at my brother’s condo. He called, but I was with the kids and couldn’t answer. I should’ve called him back, but I was still embarrassed by my behavior, even if he wouldn’t hold it against me.
His eyes slip down my borrowed camisole, clearly displaying too much skin for the occasion, my bra straps showing. There’s no telling what he’s thinking, but I’m not going to offer an explanation for my clothes. Better to keep him guessing. And from the look on his face, his imagination is working overtime.
Feeling myself starting to sweat and motioning to the gift under his arm, I ask, “What did you get for the baby?”
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he just blushed. “A picture frame.” His nose wrinkles up. “It’s lame, huh? Do people even print pictures anymore? Ah, hell.”
I start to giggle. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen the man unsure of himself. Leave it to a little seven-pound baby girl to shake up a two hundred pound man. “People do print their baby pictures. I’m sure they’ll love it.”
“My mom suggested it,” he says, giving Greer’s tummy a little tickle.
That’s sweet. He told his mom about my niece’s baptism. She was even involved in the gift. He must have a good relationship with her. Wow, his hotness level just increased by ten.
“Did you fly in just for this?” I ask.
“Yeah, and I’ve got to fly back later tonight. With Gage out so much, I’ve been slammed.”
“Me, too,” I say. “So how have you been?”
He raises an eyebrow at me, as if to ask “Is this how you want to play it? All casual?”
“I’ve missed you,” he says.
Looking around to make sure no one but Greer is within earshot, I say, “I think maybe now’s not the best time.”
“Maybe you need to think a little less and feel a little more,” he says, running a finger along my arm.
“Mom!” Connor screams. “Jacob just hit me.”
Grabbing Connor, I tousle his hair. He’s met Mateo before, but only briefly. “Little snitch,” Jacob says, joining us. “I knew you’d run straight to mom.”
I hate for Mateo to see this, but this is my life, who I am. “Why’d you hit your brother?”
As usual, all I get from Jacob is radio silence. “I caught him sneaking a beer,” Connor says.
&
nbsp; “Fucking little snitch.”
“Jacob!” I whisper shout, not wanting to upset the baby.
“Hey, Connor,” Mateo says. “You like convertible sports cars?” Connor nods excitedly. “Come see the rental car they gave me at the airport. If your mom says it’s alright, I’ll drive you around the block.”
Of course, I let Connor go and thank Mateo while trying not to strangle Jacob. I know he’s a teenage boy, still angry about the divorce, but my patience is running thin with him these days. I spend the next several minutes trying to talk to him—not lecture, just talk—but I get nothing from him—just grunts, shrugs, rolled eyes, stares. And I know this is something I need to bring Ryan in the loop about.
* * *
I’m not sure how it happened, but our girls night out turned into the guys hanging out at my house. Gage came over, and Dash is supposedly watching my kids. They are both good guys. They know you don’t get in the middle of women and their girlfriends. We get crazy about that shit. It’s sacred time. Before we head out, Layla’s on my bed nursing Greer for the last time while Poppy’s helping me pick out something to wear that’s not “mom attire.”
“Every moment is an opportunity to scratch something off your list!” Poppy says, rummaging through my closet, tossing things around like we’re in a tsunami, before finally throwing a few items into my arms.
“What’s this?”
“Go change.”
I peek through, seeing some black high-waist shorts I last wore before Ava was born and a black lacy bra. “Jesus, is there a matching strap-on, too?”
“Relax, I’m not asking you to go pegging some dude.”
Layla starts laughing. “I’m glad we’re all together. I feel so much better already.”
“I’m sure that’s why Gage suggested this little night out. He’s hoping to get laid when you get home,” Poppy says.
“Stop it!” I cry. “That’s my brother. Layla, please come up with some code word when talking about sex with my brother. You’ll need it now anyway.”
“Code word?” Poppy asks.
“All parents have them,” I say. “You use it when the kids are around to indicate you want a quickie or sex later. Hey, honey, can you help me with that paperwork for a second? Or, kids, we’re going to go take a little nap. A code word.”
“You know I don’t want kids, but if I ever have them, I’m going to be honest and just say, ‘Mommy needs Daddy to fuck her hard right now so she doesn’t wring your little necks’.”
I must get drunk on the laughter, because when I check myself out in the mirror, the outfit is not looking so bad on me. Poppy tosses me a see-through black blouse before taking off her thigh-high black boots and passing them to me. Good thing my foot is all better, and we’re a similar size. “This completes the look,” she says.
Poppy’s very creative and has great fashion sense, but I’m not sure a forty-something should be wearing this outfit. Granted, nothing is skin tight except the boots, and I’m not showing much skin, just a couple inches of my thighs, so everything is mostly covered. But you can see through my shirt to my bra. “I think maybe I’m too old to wear this.”
“You look hot as fuck,” Poppy says.
“She’s right,” Layla says.
I think my kids are going to freak when they see their mom going out like this. Poppy tosses me a pair of panties. “For the sex bucket list challenge. Give your panties to a stranger.”
“You need to do that tonight,” Layla says and unlatches the baby from her breast. “Okay, let’s go.”
We head downstairs together, and I yell a “goodbye” to my kids, and they do the same back to me. While Layla creates a diversion handing off the baby to Gage, and Poppy gives Dash some final instructions for the night, I manage to sneak out the front door before anyone glimpses my outfit.
Poppy and Layla quickly follow me out, and I lock the door behind us. Then I hear Poppy say in a singsong voice, “Hi, Mateo.” My head whips around, finding him still in his suit from the baptism, minus the coat, his sleeves rolled up, showing off his tan skin.
“Ladies,” he says, but his eyes stay on me, meandering down my body.
Poppy bumps me with her hip. “We’ll go wait in the car,” she says and walks down the front path with Layla. They glance back at us, flashing me a look that says they both expect details.
“I thought you were flying back,” I say.
“Not until later. I hope you don’t mind. Gage and Dash told me to come by and hang out until my flight.”
I’m not sure if it’s wishful thinking, but he sounds disappointed I’m heading out. Was he hoping I’d be home? Was it me he wanted to see? “I don’t mind. My kids and Greer are inside, too.”
“Looks like you’ll be having more fun,” he says.
“That’s the plan,” I flirt.
For a half second, I consider handing him my panties, but think it best to stick to the list, which requires giving them to a stranger. Besides, if Mateo ever gets my panties, I want it to be because I got in his. Not his panties, of course, cause that would be just weird. I silently wonder if he’s a boxer or boxer briefs kind of guy. Flashing him my best smile, I strut past him, walking away, feeling his eyes on me, knowing he’s watching, hoping he’s liking and wanting what he sees.
CHAPTER TWELVE
PORN AND BEER
I’m trying to respect Ryan’s need for distance, but I need to talk to him about kid stuff. So like a complete chicken, I decide just to text him, not call. He calls me back within a few minutes, and I suggest dropping the kids off at his place instead of him picking them up from mine.
I find myself nervous driving to his house. I know where he lives—I’ve seen it from the outside—but I’ve never stepped foot inside. I’ve never had the kids spy on Ryan, never pumped them for information. I’m more than a little curious what it’s like in his house, but I don’t plan to go inside this time, either.
We stop in front of the single story brick ranch house. Ryan is a professor at SCAD, Savannah College of Art and Design, and teaches urban design and dabbles in historical preservation, so I know he must hate living in a place with so little character.
When we divorced, he insisted I keep our house. It was the only home our kids had ever known, but I think the real reason was that he couldn’t afford it on his own.
Getting out of the car, the kids and I head up the driveway, ring the doorbell, and wait on the front porch for their father. He greets them all with hugs and smiles and holds the door wide open. Jacob and Ava head inside.
“Come see my room,” Connor tells me and tugs at my hand. My feet frozen on the porch, I hesitate. I didn’t plan to go inside, and Ryan hasn’t invited me in. Then Connor yanks my hand a bit more. “Come on, Mom.” He clearly loves his dad’s house. That’s the way it should be.
I awkwardly look up at Ryan, and he nods for me to come in. I carefully step inside, unsure what awaits me in this unknown other world in which my kids live half their lives. It’s kind of sad, but true. The house is small but updated, and I don’t see a trace of another woman anywhere.
The kids’ rooms are like something out of a magazine. Connor and Jacob share a room with a flat screen television, and every plush pillow and throw blanket imaginable are in Ava’s pretty room. The rest of the house is nice, but I can tell that Ryan’s spent most of his time and money on the kids’ rooms.
After the kids settle in their rooms, Ryan says, “I was glad you reached out. What did you want to talk about?”
“Is there someplace private?” I ask.
He motions towards the French doors that lead to the small backyard, a bistro table and chairs on the patio. “I wanted to talk to you about Ava,” he says.
“I wanted to talk to you about her, too. About what happened with Justin?” I ask.
His eyes widen, and he shakes his head. So I fill him in on what a douchebag Justin is, how he hurt our daughter, how he cheated with some random—which I’m sure strikes
a particular nerve with Ryan. I go on to say that she’ll be okay, that she’s been talking to me, that she’ll get through it even though there’s some shitty gossip.
“I want to kill him,” he says. “And I want to take my time doing it.”
“I know,” I say. “So what’s your news about Ava?”
“I want to buy her a car.” He must see my reaction because he immediately goes into argument mode. “I know we said not until she’s seventeen, but I really want to do this for her. She’s obviously been going through a lot lately. And I want it to be from me.” He reaches out, but doesn’t take my hand. “I know it’s huge. But I worry about her and the boys being without a car when you’re in Atlanta.”
“My mom is five minutes away. And Gage and Layla are usually in town now, too.”
“Relax,” he says. “I’m not insinuating you’re doing anything wrong.”
“It felt like you were.”
“Emerson, I think you’re a great mom. The best. If you ever think I’m saying otherwise, that’s coming from inside you, not me.”
Even though we’re divorced, that still means a lot to me. “You know I think you’re a good dad, too.”
He flashes me a smile, his dimple popping out. “So we agree we’re awesome. How about the car?”
“I don’t know.” I always tell the kids a car’s a weapon. When you hand them the keys, you are handing them the ability to kill themselves or someone else with a two thousand pound missile. Maybe Ryan’s right, I am dramatic.
He pulls out his phone. “Look, I’ve got a picture.”
“Wait, you have it picked out?” I ask.
He shows me a blue Fiat. It’s completely adorable, and Ava would look adorable in it. “It’s got good ratings for safety and gets good gas mileage.”
“How long have you been thinking about this?”
“Not long. It belonged to the daughter of one of the professors at school, and she’s going to NYU for college and can’t take it. It’s a good deal.”
“You know if you do this, the boys will expect you to buy them cars at sixteen, too?”
The Sex Bucket List Page 9