15. Lana
15
LANA
“ M a, have you seen my sneakers?”
Don’t yell. Don’t yell. Don’t yell.
“They’re by the front door,” I say, keeping my tone even and forcing a smile because they’re not hidden.
They’re by the front door…where he took them off.
They’re exactly where he kicked them off Saturday night before storming into the kitchen and finding Mason’s forgotten hat on the counter. He’d been upset, spouting off something about how they’d interrupted my date and that meant he had two parents that didn’t want them.
He’d said the words out of anger, frustration, and hurt. I’d given him a while to cool off before knocking on his bedroom door and having an honest conversation with the kid who wasn’t quite a boy but certainly not a man.
Holland had been upset too, her emotions more directed at her father than at me, and after some convincing, I settled us all in my bed—after changing the bedding at warp speed—with snacks and a movie.
We’d all fallen asleep, Beck kissing my forehead sometime in the middle of the night to tell me he was going back to his own room.
It was nice and we’d needed it, along with the lazy day we’d spent together on Sunday, but it left me unsettled knowing things would only get worse the more Jacob failed to show up for them.
“Oh, nice. Thanks, Ma.” Beck grins and I laugh because he’s my Beck this morning and I’m so damn grateful for that.
Even if he loses his shoes in the exact same place every day.
“Are you staying after school again to work out?”
He nods. “Yeah, it’s leg day.”
“Naturally. Hey, look at this.” Pulling up the recipe on my phone, I slide it to him and wait while he looks it over. “It’s a one-pot dinner, but it should be perfect when you get home.”
He narrows his eyes at the screen. “No mushrooms though, right?”
“No,” I reply, and he snorts as he pushes my phone back toward me, “not after last time when you whined for a week straight because you had to pick out like three little pieces.”
“They’re gross.” He scrunches up his nose and it’s adorable. “They squeak when you’re chewing them, and I don’t care how much seasoning you put on them; they still taste like dirt.”
“Are you talkin’ about the mushrooms again?” Holland says as she drops down on one of the stools at the counter.
Beck sticks his tongue out at her and she giggles. “I still have nightmares.”
“We know,” Holland says sweetly. “You were such a baby.”
“Be nice, y’all.” I chuckle, earning a smug look from Holland and a scowl from Beck.
Despite the chaos, nothing makes me happier than having my kids home. It hurt my heart knowing that they were still struggling to connect with their father, but Jacob wasn’t making it easy.
Or enjoyable.
Even though my alone time with Mason had been cut short, I couldn’t discount the relief that coursed through my veins when Jacob had shown up late Saturday night because something came up.
The kids weren’t surprised, and neither was I.
I don’t wish ill on my ex-husband, mostly because he’s not worth the felony charges, but I do hope he realizes one day that he lost the privilege of being a father to the two most amazing kids.
Because the more he pushes them aside, the more disinterested they become.
And the fact that he donated his genetics is barely a blip on their radar.
“Y’all need to get moving or you’ll miss the bus,” I say, glancing at the clock and helping them both get all their things before sending them on their way with a kiss and promises of brownies after dinner. Beck had whooped and Holland had done a little dance, the two of them so young at heart before the chaos of the day settles in.
Watching from the window, I wait until the bus disappears down the road before doing a couple of last-minute things before I need to head to work. I like the quiet but it’s ruined when my phone rings, Jacob’s name appearing on the screen.
I answer, not bothering to say hello as he barks into the phone.
“What the hell is this about some guy’s clothes being left out for the kids to see? Seriously, Lana, if you’re going to slut yourself around, don’t do it in front of the kids.”
“Fuck off, Jacob.”
The response is automatic even though my stomach drops to the floor at his words. Beck must have texted him before I’d gone to talk to him. I know Beck didn’t mean anything by it. He’d done it because he was hurting, but now I wish I’d chased him right up the stairs because having Jacob involved in my personal life is a nightmare I can’t handle.
“What did you just say to me?” he barks, and I have to pull the phone away from my ear.
“Your dick might not work like it used to, but you’re not hard of hearing.”
“You little?—”
He’s furious and I would laugh at my brashness, but I’m afraid I’ll lose my nerve if I stop to think about it longer than a second.
“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence,” I say, the spark that had almost been extinguished growing brighter with each passing second. “You couldn’t give a good god damn about your children’s feelings, but you want to bitch at me over a hat on the counter. Besides, you’re hardly in a position to ask, let alone judge anyone I am or am not dating.”
“You better watch your fucking tone; you’re still my wife,” he seethes, and I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me. I wish he could; he’d be livid.
“Ex-wife. And , in case you forgot, you married the latest mistress. You cheated on me, Jacob. Not the other way around. And with multiple women, I might add.”
“Two is not multiple,” he snaps as I lean a hip against the counter. I’d confronted him about the affairs, but not like this. The wounds had been so fresh back then it was impossible to think past the hurt—of how much of my life I’d given to a man who didn’t love or respect me.
“Two that I know of, and honestly it could be a hundred and it doesn’t matter because we’re divorced and you married one of those women. How is Sheila, by the way?”
The line goes dead, and I snort as I drop my phone on the granite surface. His indignation is completely out of line but so very him.
I don’t regret the conversation or the way I stood up for myself, but I’d poked at him too and that’s not like me. It was weird but also fun. Still, a little reassurance wouldn’t hurt.
LANA: Jacob called to bitch about a hat left on my counter
AMARA: Because he’s threatened by the fact that you have a hot, younger boyfriend giving you LOTS of orgasms
LANA: He doesn’t even know who he is—just that a hat that didn’t belong to anyone the kids know was left on the counter
LANA: Also, Mason is not my boyfriend. We’re just having fun, figuring things out.
AMARA: Whatever you need to tell yourself
LANA: Seriously
AMARA: You’re not a casual hookup girl
LANA: I could be
AMARA: No you couldn’t
AMARA: And that’s okay, it’s incredible even, don’t make it be a negative
LANA: But he’s so young
AMARA: How many years again?
LANA: ELEVEN!
AMARA: There are only positives, his stamina being #1
LANA: But I’m scared
AMARA: You’re allowed to be that too
AMARA: But don’t let Jacob or anyone else have any say in what you do
LANA: The divorce still feels so fresh
AMARA: But is it? Really?
LANA: No
AMARA: (gif of woman shrugging)
AMARA: I think you need to let yourself be happy and DATE him—actually date him.
LANA: And what if it doesn’t work out?
AMARA: You survived an asshole ex-husband and all the baggage he tried to put on you. He’s pissed you didn’t crumble without him and that’s on HIM not YOU
LANA: Besides my kids, you’re the best thing to come out of my marriage
AMARA: I will take that as the compliment you’re trying to make it
LANA: I’m serious
AMARA: Me too
LANA: (gif of woman rolling her eyes)
AMARA: Love you
LANA: xoxo
Part of me wonders if Jacob and I will ever be able to coexist in the same space or if every interaction from now till the end of time is going to suck the happiness from my soul. I don’t want to dwell on it, but it’s hard when I have no less than a decade before I can block him from my phone and all other aspects of my life.
Unease floats through my mind as I start coming down from the high of finally telling him off. I really hadn’t expected him to have any kind of reaction. Hell, he’d married his mistress and he’d never really been the jealous kind.
Up until now, at least.
But maybe that was because I’d been the doting wife, at home and in the public eye. I thought we’d made a good team, but he was playing the field while I was on the sidelines.
Jacob’s patience with me had run out in the bedroom, but I’d just been unable to get there. It felt like I was failing him and our marriage, and I don’t know if I could handle that kind of rejection again.
I misspoke when I told Amara the divorce was still fresh. It wasn’t the divorce—it was all the damage he’d caused my psyche and the sleepless nights spent wondering if anyone would ever want to put in the work for me.
Am I worth the trouble?
Glancing at the clock, I curse as I gather up everything I need for work and hustle out the door.
I am worth it, dammit.
But I’m halfway to work before I cave and send up a silent prayer that I won’t let Jacob get into my head anymore, that I won’t let the bastard sabotage things with Mason, because boyfriend or not, I don’t want to let him go.
JACOB: Seriously—don’t bring some fuck boy around my kids
So much for that silent prayer.