Not Until Her (When We Shouldn’t #2)

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I t’s the best day of my life.

I might have said that before a few times, and might have thought I meant it.

This time is the real deal.

I have been living in the same apartment since my divorce was finalized almost five years ago. My six year old daughter has lived half of her life in this apartment with me, and the other half at her dad’s house. Both places have their flaws, his being that he is there.

The problem with my apartment started about two years ago, when a couple of freshly eighteen year old boys moved in next door.

Sleeping through the night has not been something I’m very familiar with since that first day.

Neither has Dahlia, my poor, sweet child. At least not in her own bedroom, which shares a wall with the neighbors. So it’s been the two of us in my bed. She sleeps better than I do, living in blissful ignorance of the problem. It’s like the muffled sounds would reach my ears because I knew they were there.

They’re gamers. Gamers shout a lot.

And always at two in the morning.

Today, a couple of moving trucks were parked on the curb. One of them was actually blocking my car in, preventing me from heading to work on time. It felt like a sign that I was meant to stay put, so that’s exactly what I did.

I think the last time I pretended to be sick was at least a year ago, so it’s not like I’m abusing the option.

I spend my day going back and forth between watching true crime documentaries, and watching from my front window as the two of them and their families head up and down the stairs with their arms full.

I watch them hug goodbye and go their separate ways.

They grow up so fast.

Thankfully.

I am so glad they’re gone. I am so ready to sprawl out on my bed without worrying that I’ll accidentally punch my daughter in the face while I sleep. I’m ready for her to get used to her own bed again. We had been doing so good before they happened, she almost always made it through the night.

I’m not foolish enough to think this will be the easiest adjustment, but it’s still exciting to start. I sincerely hope whoever moves in next has some empathy for a single mother, and doesn’t play video games with loud gun sound effects.

We can’t move. We get such a deal on our rent.

Sweet Ted, the landlord. He’s the type that seems grumpy and closed off, but he’s got a great heart once you get to know him. He’s quick to take care of any problems, and knows a guy for everything. We’ve never had a problem lasting more than a couple of days because if he can’t get someone to come down in a timely manner, he does it himself. I’m guessing he was a plumber in his youth, but I have no confirmation on that.

Also… he doesn’t let me pay rent in the month of December. It’s the most generous anyone’s ever been to us, we literally can’t ever move . We’re too spoiled.

There’s a knock on the door that interrupts my thoughts. I know without checking that it’s drop-off time. Caleb has been surprisingly on time for the last few weeks, which I will not be questioning. It’s been nice to have Dahlia here before the sun goes down.

“There’s my princess!” I greet her cheerfully as I open the door.

I really do miss her when she’s gone. Our apartment is too quiet. I get bored. The three days go by so slowly.

“Mommy! We got you flowers!” She holds out some pink roses excitedly, waving them in front of me.

Of course he would let her go picking flowers from some stranger’s yard, and he wouldn’t think about thorns poking her fingers.

“Careful honey, those stems can hurt.” I give him a pointed look, the first one he’s received since I opened the door.

He has a few more in his own hands. I ignore them.

I go back to my daughter and accept the rose, careful not to let it slide in her grip. The last thing I want is to make her cry the second she gets home. I still have to feed her dinner, and start the long process of getting her to sleep in her own bed. It’s going to be a long night.

I hold up the flower to examine it, and… it looks like the thorns were scraped off.

“I clipped them from the bushes, and I cut off the thorns before she touched them. No need to worry,” he tells me.

I guess I can throw a couple of dad points his way for that. I don’t give them out often.

“Thanks,” I say tightly. “How was your weekend?”

She had Monday off of school for a holiday, so it really was a weekend for them. A rare occasion with our custody arrangement that usually only allows both of us a single day without getting her ready for school in the morning.

“It was great. Took her down to Grandma and Grampa’s house, and we got to spend some time with aunt Catherine. You swam the weekend away in the pool, didn’t you?” He looks down at her with the last sentence and she nods vigorously.

I miss that house. That indoor pool. His parents. His sister. I miss everything about my old life except for him. I’m glad Dahlia gets to enjoy it, and still sees all of her family often. His sister is incredible and Dahlia adores her. She’s kind, attentive, and fun without being reckless. Catherine is the best aunt to her that I could possibly ask for.

The same goes for his parents. I don’t know how he came out of that family.

“Are you tired, bug?” She nods some more, and I know it’s true. She’d be talking my ear off if she had any energy to spare. “We better get to relaxing then. Have a good night, Caleb.”

“Actually, do you have a minute? To talk?”

Not for you .

But I always make it a point to be nice to him in front of Dahlia.

“Can you set your bag in your room, and I’ll be right there?” I give her a kiss on her forehead as she goes, agreeing without words. She should sleep very well tonight, from the looks of it.

“These are for you, by the way.”

He hands me the rest of the flowers.

“You can’t just go clipping flowers off of people's rose bushes.”

“I didn’t. They’re my rose bushes.”

He looks so smug. I don’t show him the reaction he wants, which is for me to be shocked. Maybe he’s even hoping I’m impressed.

I am both shocked and impressed.

Where the hell did he find the time to plant rose bushes?

Actually, scratch that. I’m sure he didn’t have to do it himself.

“Why are you giving me flowers?”

“I thought it would be a nice thing to do, Reya. I don’t even get a thank you?” he asks.

“You never do nice things for me. There’s an ulterior motive here.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” he says.

“Good,” I say.

He sighs, then pauses.

“I just have to tell you something.”

I groan.

“Oh no, what did you do?”

“Whatever terrible thing you’re assuming, can you stop?”

I offend him so easily that I can already see his ears turning red.

“Just tell me! If it’s not a terrible thing, then I’ll be able to stop assuming.”

He moves to sit on one of the chairs I have by the front door. We don’t have a back patio, so I take advantage of the space up here. It doesn’t bother me that it isn’t private, the most I do out here is sit on my phone, or pretend I know how to crochet.

I don’t. But trying makes me feel like I have my shit together.

And it’s very therapeutic, even if the only result is a bunch of tangled yarn thrown in the back of my closet. Vic has been waiting for the day I successfully finish the headband I promised her for years. I don’t think that day will ever come.

Caleb motions for me to sit down, looking impatient. Not a new trait when it comes to me.

I sit, hoping it will make this go faster. I need to feed my daughter before she passes out.

“She already ate, by the way. One of those toasted subs from the shop down the road.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes. That might be convenient, but it’s not part of our agreement. On his drop off days, I always do dinner. When I drop her off, he does dinner. It’s how this has always worked.

“What if I had already started cooking? You could have let me know beforehand.”

It’s a seriously rude oversight.

He nods.

“You’re right, I should have. I just thought I was doing you a favor.”

“I don’t need favors from you,” I tell him.

“I know you don’t.”

We sit there in silence while I fume, and he pretends he’s calm. I know it’s pretending because of all the years he’s been in my life. He’s not capable of fooling me.

“Well, spit it out. What do you want to tell me?”

He clasps his hands together, looking way too serious for my liking.

Shit , this better not be about custody. I can not afford to change my life around again for his convenience.

“You know that I’ve been seeing Raquel for a few months.”

I nod. Sure, he mentioned he was dating a girl he’d met at work. He also told me I didn’t have to worry about him introducing her to Dahlia, because it was too soon.

Is it not too soon anymore? I guess that was a couple months ago.

“It’s going well,” he tells me with a smile. Barf. “Really well, actually. I wanted to invite her this weekend, but I hadn’t had a chance to talk to you.”

“Thanks for waiting to talk to me.”

“Of course,” he says. As if he’s always been so reasonable .

Spoiler alert: he has not.

“Anyway, I think the best way to move forward would be for you to meet her.”

I pause. I think about this.

I know it’s probably true. I should meet her, I just don’t really want to meet her. Nothing against her, but how awkward would that be?

Great to meet you, I gave birth to your boyfriend’s kid.

I shudder.

“You want me to meet her?” I repeat.

“It was her idea, actually. It’s important to her that you know she’s around for the right reasons.”

I’ll give her points for that.

“And you have no arguments? You’re not worried about me threatening your new girlfriend?” I ask.

“No arguments,” he replies. “She comes in peace.”

“How will this work? I’m stuck third wheeling?”

“You don’t have to be. It could just be the two of you.”

“Yes,” I answer quickly. The less time around him, the better.

We discuss a date, a night next week when he’ll have Dahlia. It’s probably going to be the most awkward dinner of both of our lives, but I’m not really nervous.

Having terrible taste in boyfriends doesn’t make or break a person. I married Caleb, and I’m the coolest person I know. Hopefully there’s a pattern there.