Chapter 24
JULES
I’m seated on the floor of Lincoln’s living room with laptop and sketchbook and snacks spread out on the coffee table in front of me, when Cameron bursts through the front door.
“I’m h-o-o-o-me!” the little boy sing-songs loudly as he runs straight to the kitchen to wash his hands.
“Hey, buddy,” I say with a laugh, already setting aside the new T-shirt designs I’m working on and tucking my pencil above my ear. I get up to follow after him.
I instantly stand straighter when I catch sight of the woman who hovers in the doorway, holding a superhero backpack.
Cameron’s mother. Shit.
I knew that Lincoln’s ex-wife was in town to visit. I knew that she picked up Cameron from school and spent the afternoon at the park with him.
But seeing this gorgeous woman in person now? Here in Lincoln’s home? It’s a little unnerving.
I mean—wow—she’s so pretty. And even though the bags under her eyes make her look tired, they don’t diminish her beauty one bit. I’m not a woman who gets intimidated easily—but again—wow.
It certainly doesn’t help that I currently look like a disaster in a slouchy white T-shirt and ratty sweatpants. I self-consciously smooth a hand over my hair.
“Uh. Hi,” I greet her awkwardly, taking a step forward. “I’m Jules. Julissa. Um, Jules.” Shit—I’m flustered.
She takes a step, shortening the distance between us. “Cynthia. Nice to meet you.”
I shake her outstretched hand and then the room falls silent.
I glance around, wishing Lincoln was here in the living room with me. I’m not really sure how to approach this introduction.
Cynthia is the first to speak. “Cameron talked a lot about you today,” she says, scooting around me and setting the red and blue backpack onto the sofa.
I flinch, hoping he didn’t say anything too crazy.
Cameron seemed to like me before I got engaged to Lincoln.
Before I moved into his home and invaded his space.
I’m really hoping to win him over again.
But the past few days that I’ve been living here, the little boy has seemed… apprehensive, if nothing else.
“He’s a great kid.” I smile, and I feel another awkward moment closing in on us. “Uh. Give me a second, and I’ll grab Lincoln for you. I think he’s starting dinner.”
“Wait,” she calls out. “Actually, I was hoping to talk to you.”
“Me?” I squeak like a mouse.
She momentarily purses her lips, like she’s getting her thoughts together. “I know this is weird, but would you be willing to grab dinner with me? I thought it’d be nice if we got to know each other a little.”
I blink. “Oh, I…”
Lincoln strides into the living room at that moment, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel.
He makes eye contact with me from across the room. His dark, lingering stare makes my stomach do flips with the memory of what I did in his shower last night after he got me all keyed up and left me all alone in his room. The memory is still too fresh.
“It’s getting late,” he jumps in, addressing his ex-wife.
Cynthia checks her watch with a hiked eyebrow. “It’s four-thirty.” She tilts her head to the side.
Lincoln huffs, glaring at her with an undeniable degree of familiarity. It tells the story of two people who have had countless arguments over the years, yet somehow still respect each other. “I think that might be too much for Jules. Plus, she’s trying to get some work done. And—”
“It’s not too much,” I butt in then, smiling at them both.
“Jules...” Lincoln grinds out, like he thinks he’s protecting me or something.
I don’t need his protection.
I protect myself. That’s how it’s always been.
I shake my head. “If I’m going to be Cameron’s stepmother, it would be in everyone’s interest for us women to get along, don’t you think?”
While Lincoln seems uncomfortable with the idea of the two of us spending time together, he can’t seem to find a good argument to keep us apart.
I turn to Cynthia, forcing my grin even wider. “I’m gonna take you up on your offer,” I tell her. “I’d love to have dinner together.”
I run upstairs, change into a knee-length blue dress with black nylons, and then the two of us climb into her rented car and head into town.
When I suggest breakfast for dinner, Cynthia is fully on-board. That’s how we end up at Eggs N Oats instead of The Whiskey Barrel or one of the local restaurants that tend to be busy around dinner time.
Clearly, Cynthia wants to talk, and yelling in the ear of my fake fiancé’s ex-wife all evening isn’t an appealing option. So, pancakes and scrambled eggs, it is.
“Lincoln’s a great cook, but I have to admit that this sounds way tastier than the broccoli casserole he’s preparing at home,” Cynthia says with a laugh as we walk through the front door.
“Everything on the menu here is great,” I tell her. “I think you’re going to love it.”
While the air around us is stilted and awkward, Cynthia and I are both painfully polite as we find a table and place our order.
“So you grew up here?” she asks as Tammy drops off our fruit smoothies at our table.
“Born and raised.” I take a sip from my straw and shiver at the cold.
“Is Fairy Bush a good place to raise kids?” she asks, a hint of worry in her voice. “Do you have a lot of family support?”
I chuckle. “To be honest, I thought it was incredibly boring here as a kid. But it’s small. Safe. Fun parks. Good teachers. When they’re not keeping you back for detention. And um, family? Yeah. Sort of. My mom’s great, and she already loves Cameron.”
A weight visibly rolls off Cynthia’s shoulders. “That actually makes me really happy to hear,” she says. “My parents aren’t exactly the doting grandparent-y type. I’m glad there will be others in Cameron’s life.”
It’s understandable that Cynthia wants to make sure Cameron is in good hands.
“He deserves so much love,” I say.
Cynthia continues to pepper me with questions about my life and my relationship with Lincoln, but she doesn’t cross any lines. She does it in a way that’s respectful. It helps that I’ve had a bunch of practice answering all these questions from our friends and family recently.
When our bacon and eggs arrive, we talk a lot about Cameron. “His favorite sandwich is almond butter and jelly.” She pauses. “Except you must still call it a PB&J. He won’t have it any other way.”
I laugh. “Noted.”
“And when he can’t sleep at night, you need to turn on his planetarium lamp and lay on the floor next to him and talk to him until he eventually falls asleep under the starry sky.”
I can’t help but smile. “That sounds dreamy.”
I listen intently, making sure Cynthia knows I’m taking mental notes about how to care for her son.
Eventually, she leans back in her seat with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m talking too much. I’m sorry.” She waves her hands in the air. “I just…For some reason, I just really don’t want you to think that I’m a bad mom.”
I blink in surprise. “I don’t think that you’re a bad mom.”
“Well, I mean, from the outside, it sort of looks like I just shipped my son off with his father and moved on with my life. That’s not what this is at all.”
My head wags from left to right. “That’s not what it seems like. You just need a hand. That’s fair. Parenting seems like a ton of work. No one should have to shoulder all that weight by themselves.”
Her heavy sigh makes her shoulders drop.
“It’s just that, sometimes, people don’t seem to understand that mothers are human.
Just like everybody else. We’re expected to do it all.
Be that volunteer super mom. Have a successful career.
But don’t work so hard that you can’t still also be the primary parent.
Oh, and you’d better do it all in heels with a smile on your face. Gotta earn that MILF title, after all.”
I chuckle softly, feeling Cynthia’s pain in a way I didn’t expect. I’m not a mother. Until now, I never even considered becoming one. Yet somehow, I find myself trying to stand in her shoes and make sense of all that she’s going through.
Wearing a bittersweet smile, Cynthia runs her hands through her hair, yanking on the roots. “But right now, despite how much I want to, my body and my mind just won’t let me do it all. And that has no reflection on how much I love my son.”
I reach over and place my hand over hers.
While I may not know first hand the pressures Cynthia is facing right now, I do understand the exhausting expectations society places on women. I can only imagine she feels it tenfold as a mom.
“This all reminds me of my own mother’s situation,” I hear myself confessing. “She was a single mom. No matter how much she had to deal with in those early years, I always knew that she loved me with her whole heart. She was far from perfect, but she still made sure I was taken care of.”
“I want Cameron to understand that. I want him to know that I’m doing my best,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I didn’t give up on him. I’m just…doing my best.”
“He is such an incredible kid,” I tell her again, “and that’s all a testament to you and Lincoln. I’m honored to step in and help where I can, but I want to assure you that I will never try to take your place. Cameron loves you so, so much.”
“Shit—I’m crying,” Cynthia croaks.
I snort, trying to blink away tears of my own. “Lady, we’re both crying.”
“Thank you, Jules.”
Gosh—my upcoming marriage is supposed to be fake. But the lines are getting more and more blurry here. The hearts involved are real.
Cynthia wipes her eyes and leans over the table, and I come in to meet her for a clumsy hug over our empty plates and dirty silverware.
By the time we pull away, our tears have turned into laughter, and it’s clear that we’re making a scene. Tammy’s standing by the cash register, shamelessly looking at us, and I know that the small town gossip will be running wild by tomorrow.
But suddenly, I don’t care.
There’s a little boy who’s depending on me to be a stable adult in his life. And I’d never forgive myself if I let him down.