Chapter 5
Chapter Five
CHRISTINE
Casey and I stay in the hotel even once I get the keys to the new house. I don’t want to show it to him, not yet. Not until it’s full of furniture and all of his things. Not until I can make it look like a fun, cozy new adventure instead of a bare, pathetic downgrade.
Thankfully, Julian agreed to transfer most of the furniture from Casey’s old bedroom since he’ll be with me most of the time. The rest of the house though…it didn’t really dawn on me how little I have until I was standing in the empty foyer.
I barely had anything to my name when I met Julian. The moment he asked me to move in with him, it was clear none of my belongings were up to par, so I let them go, thinking the time for cheap furniture was in my past.
It would be all too easy to blow through my money filling this place with nice things.
But one of the first things I did after we came to an agreement was sit down with a calculator and crunch the numbers every which way. I don’t plan to sit around and do nothing for the rest of my life, but ideally, I’d like to find work that I enjoy, and the money coming in can be a bonus, not something I’m relying on.
The child support for Casey will be incredibly helpful with his school, clothes, food, childcare, a college fund, and the rest in a savings account for him for later. I want to make sure every penny goes toward making sure he never finds himself in the position I was in.
So the rest of it…I could coast along on about a hundred grand a year for the next fifty years. And that’s without investing any of it.
I have no idea if that’ll be enough—what habits I’ve grown so used to that will need to be scaled back. I’m afraid in the last seven years with Julian, I’ve forgotten how to budget. I’ve never felt less like an adult in my life.
But I’m guessing that means the five-thousand-dollar couch I was eye-fucking is out of the question.
“Mommy, are we homeless?”
My head whips to the side where Casey is sitting on the fluffy white hotel bed. He’s staring hard into his room service ice cream sundae, ignoring the animated movie playing on the television across the room.
“Where would you get an idea like that?”
“That’s what Nolan said,” he mumbles and shoves his spoon in his mouth, smearing chocolate sauce on his lips.
I roll my eyes up to the ceiling. Nolan Bartlett. I know I shouldn’t blame a child—I really shouldn’t—but there is no way that kid isn’t going to turn out exactly like his insufferable mother.
“He said no one lives in hotels,” Casey continues.
“Well, that means it’s pretty special, right? And we’ve had fun here, haven’t we?”
He nods, still not looking at me.
“I told you, we’re just here for a little vacation. It’s not forever.”
“Does…does Daddy not want us in the house anymore?”
Now I’m glad he isn’t looking at me because I feel the color drain from my face. I swallow hard, and it takes me a few attempts before I manage to speak. “Of course that’s not true. Dad always wants you there. But you know how busy he gets. It’s just a very busy time right now.”
Casey narrows his eyes and licks his lips. “You said he wants me there.”
“Right! He does!”
“Not us.”
I freeze, wide-eyed as my seven-year-old turns to me with one eyebrow raised like a fucking lawyer trapped in his tiny body.
“Well…it’s complicated. It’s not that he doesn’t want us there, we’re just not going to…live there…anymore. But this isn’t your dad’s fault, Casey. This is something he and I both agreed on.”
Casey scrunches his face together as he thinks, and I jump up from the bed before he can continue his interrogation, pillow in hand.
“I think you owe me a rematch, remember?”
Reluctantly, a slow smile spreads on his chubby cheeks, and he discards the sundae on the nightstand in favor of the biggest pillow he can get his hands on.
“I’m gonna dominate !”
I stop by the new house the next day when Casey’s at camp, trying to picture it once everything comes together. The movers already brought Casey’s bedroom things upstairs, and the guy from the security system company keeps rattling the front door handle as he installs it.
The idea of furnishing this place all at once makes me feel like I need a nap, so I make a mental list as I pace through the rooms of the most important things to start with. A kitchen table, a bed and dresser for my room, a couch?—
There’s a knock on the front door. I stop pacing and roll my eyes. Locking himself out really isn’t instilling a lot of confidence?—
The door swings open before I can answer it.
But it isn’t the security guy standing in my new foyer.
It’s my ex-husband.
Julian Brooks walks into the house like he owns it, the same way he walks into any place. He casually slides his hands into the pockets of his trousers as he glances around with the kind of confidence I used to admire.
Now I see it for what it really is: arrogance.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
“This is nice. I like it.” He inspects the fireplace before finally letting his eyes wander to me. “I came to speak with you.”
Always so goddamn formal.
“About?”
He spreads his hands as if the answer is obvious. “We might be divorced, but I’m not a monster, Christine. I care about how you’re doing. I know your life has been much more uprooted than mine from this. Yours and Casey’s. I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help.” He looks around the empty house again. “I know a guy—we could have this place furnished by the end of tomorrow.”
I grind my teeth, loathing myself for considering it, even for a moment. It would make my life so much easier.
But I don’t want to take anything else from him.
As if he can see it in my eyes, he adds, “You picked out a lot of the furniture in our home. At least take a few of the pieces that you like.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I appreciate the offer, but we’re fine.”
I don’t need a reminder of him and our time together every time I walk in here. This is supposed to be a fresh start, a clean slate.
At least, as much of one as I’m going to get in this town.
He sighs like I’m being a difficult child, the way he did a million times over the course of our marriage.
It took me a while to figure out exactly what had been my breaking point, but it was this. These little things, little moments.
Being looked at like a fly, like a nuisance, in your own house, it eats away at you. At first, I thought maybe I wouldn’t mind. You can’t grow up with my mother and not get used to going without attention and affection. But another part of me, some small, young piece still lingering in the back of my mind, thought if I could figure out what he wanted, if I could master whatever role he wanted me to play, then I could earn some respect. Maybe even love.
So I overcompensated. For years. Always happy, always helpful, always supportive.
Until one day I just…couldn’t do it anymore.
When I filed for divorce, he’d acted blindsided, absolutely bewildered.
Because for him, nothing had changed. Our relationship was the way it always had been. The only part of the equation that was different was me, now with a fully developed prefrontal cortex and a desperation for there to be more for my life.
To anyone else, it might look like he’s being nice now. But I’ve had a front-row seat to the way he operates for the past eight years. This is how he handles everything, how he smooths things over. Throw enough money at a problem and you’re excused from any responsibility.
“Well, the offer stands if you ever change your mind. I also wanted to come by and let you know I’ll be heading out of town tomorrow?—”
“That’s your day with Casey.”
“Right. Well.” He puts his hands in his pockets again. “He’s still welcome to come to the house if you need the weekend off. I can keep the nanny around. Tell him we’ll have to plan for next weekend instead.”
“That’s my weekend with him.”
“What difference does it make?” He screws up his face in a way that’s eerily similar to when Casey does it.
“The difference is you didn’t ask me to switch weekends with you. You came over here, burst through my door, and told me that’s what’s happening. Then tried to disguise this visit as you wanting to help.”
“The trip can’t be moved. It’s unavoidable, and I’m meeting with some very important investors. What is your reason you need next weekend instead of this one?”
I clamp my teeth together so hard a flash of pain shoots up my jaw. “None. Because my life isn’t as important as yours. My schedule, my plans, they’ll never measure up to what you deem important. The reason is we made a schedule so Casey knows what to expect. The reason is consistency for him. He’s been looking forward to spending time with you all week.”
He doesn’t even flinch. “As I said, these plans can’t be changed. It’ll have to be next weekend.”
I squeeze my hands into fists at my sides and let out a slow breath through my nose. “You could at least pretend to give a fuck.”
His eye twitches—the only crack in his perfect demeanor. He always hated when I swore, said the vulgarity is unbecoming. Not ladylike. “This conversation is no longer productive.”
“It never is.”
He calmly turns on his heel and exits the house, and for a moment, I wish I had taken some things from his mansion, because at least then I’d have something in here to throw.