Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
POLLY
Touch my wife again, and I’ll break every bone in your goddamn body.
Mariana Zapata , The Wall of Winnipeg and Me
“M ommy? Can Jace read me a bedtime story?”
Ryla was all tucked into bed, two bedtime stories already in, lights almost out. I’d come home this afternoon to find Jace, Ryla, and Max giggling in a cushion fort in the basement. Really, I couldn’t have been more surprised with how well this week had been going, with Jace and the kids at least. I’d come home to happy, smiling kids two days in a row.
If only this afternoon hadn’t been followed by another awkward night with Jace. When Jace came back from Young Wills practice, he’d given me a cautious wave, then walked to his room, no doubt feeling banished by the controlling momzilla.
“You know that’s not his job, sweetie.”
“Giselle read to me at night.”
“Only on the nights I wasn’t home.”
“Nu-uh, sometimes she read to me when you were here.”
Stopping this merry-go-round, I said, “If I get called into the hospital this week, I’m sure Jace will read to you.”
“When is that?”
I tickled her. “So anxious to be rid of me?”
She giggled and snuggled in next to me, charming her way into one more story. After another five minutes of reading, she was out. I went to Max’s room next. We took turns reading to each other at night (tonight it was Max’s turn). After working through his relaxation exercises, he was also asleep.
I noticed a light turn on downstairs when I was making my way across the hallway to my room. Instantly dropping to the floor, I held my breath and listened. Based on where the light was coming from, I realized Jace must be in the kitchen. So, I did the next most rational thing: I crawled on all fours to spy on him from the top of the stairs.
After a few minutes, I saw Jace walk from the kitchen to his room. He had a glass of milk in one hand and a sandwich in the other. Because of course, he was eating. He had to eat sometime.
What did you expect, Polly? You banished him to his room last night, then you nailed him in the balls with your purse like he was an intruder.
I was really winning at life, making it so my nanny of two days felt like he couldn’t even leave his room for meals. And after he did everything so perfectly.
Perfectly.
A ghost of a memory skirted the edges of my mind. About perfection and mistakes. Once I heard Jace’s bedroom door shut, I crawled to the edge of the stairs and sat on the top step, deep in thought. Wasn’t the point of the schedule to make sure I did everything perfectly? Regardless of how much I’d scheduled, regardless of how much I’d tried to control everything, my house of cards came tumbling down anyway. I was divorced, anyway. My father thought I was a failure despite bending to his demands, anyway. My kids were miserable, anyway.
Perfection wasn’t doing anyone any good.
I shot up, starting down the stairs. After all, change starts with a single step—or wait, was it a journey that starts with . . . something? I couldn’t remember the exact quote, or who said it for that matter—it could have been Jesus, Shakespeare, or some ancient Chinese philosopher for all I knew. I studied science, not literature. Regardless, the point was the same: If I didn’t begin, I’d never get there.
Fortified by that thought, I strode into the kitchen and fired up Barry. For a moment I considered pitching him in the garbage, but I settled for deleting most of the mundane scheduled things except for basic appointments and chores. Then I sat there for a solid minute, watching the blinking cursor.
“What would you do, Mom?” I whispered aloud. I was thinking about my childhood, something I hadn’t done often before moving back here. A wisp of laughter floated in the air, and I looked through the windows, seeing the glow of lights illuminating the patio and pool area beyond. I held my breath, not wanting to stir the air. But all that greeted me was the quiet hum of silence.
Looking at the cursor again, I wrote down two words. I smiled at the new checklist, thinking of the kids’ reaction when they saw it tomorrow.
HAVE FUN
Turning off Barry, I walked back to the stairs. But before I put my foot on that first step, I turned, facing the east wing.
A journey of a thousand miles didn’t have to begin with a single step.
Maybe, it could start with two.
* * *
I knocked on Jace’s door before I lost my nerve. Opening it swiftly, Jace looked surprised, then nervous as he put a shirt on over his head. He must have just gotten out of the shower. His hair was wet, turning the color a rich mahogany, his trademark curls straightening so they almost hit his chin. My brain stuttered as he pulled his shirt to his waist, covering his very toned chest and abdomen inch by glorious inch.
Nooooooooooooooooooo! my body cried out as he pulled his shirt to his waist.
Fantastic. The teenager living inside me had aged. She was now eighteen and on the cusp of a sexual awakening.
Simmer down, sister.
Almost losing my courage, I focused back on Jace’s face and took a deep breath in. “Look?—”
Jace immediately laughed, ducking his head. Remembering our conversation about how nothing that proceeds “look” is good, I huffed out a small laugh as well.
“This isn’t anything bad. I mean, I’m not offering you half a billion dollars or anything, but I swear, this isn’t bad.”
I took another quick breath in and out. “Look,” I started by rote, then immediately covered my mouth, eyes going wide as Jace barked out another laugh.
“I don’t know why I said that again,” I mumbled from behind my hand as Jace’s shoulders shook.
I put my hand down, pressing my lips together, trying not to laugh because I wanted— needed— to get this out. “I wanted to come and apologize. I don’t know how to do this.” I pointed between him and me. Then thinking I’d given the wrong impression, I quickly amended, “I mean, me and the kids and you in the house. I’m sorry about yesterday when I essentially exiled you here. I didn’t want you to feel like because you live here, you have to help us 24/7.
Jace opened his mouth, but I held up a hand to signal I had more to say.
“Please, I need to get this out. I don’t mean to be so strict about the schedule. We’ve had so many changes this past year, and it’s only me. I’ve used the schedule as a way to keep track of things. But over time, it got out of hand.”
Jace held up his hands, signaling his turn to speak. “First, make a thousand schedules. You have the right to parent the way you want. What I think doesn’t matter. Second, I get it. Once you’re home, I’m off the clock. But know that if I want to talk to you or play with the kids, that’s my choice. I don’t feel forced. I’ll be honest with you. You’ll never make me do something I don’t want to do.”
The tension in my shoulders had started to ease at his words, and I could feel my cheeks upturning in a smile.
“The same goes for you,” he continued. “Be honest with me. If you want time alone with your kids, or I say something you don’t agree with, you have every right to tell me to fuck off.” Jace winced, then added, “Sorry.”
“Did you just apologize for swearing?”
“I guess I did, yeah.”
I stood up straighter and smirked. “Well, fuck that.”
Jace and I were both laughing as I half turned, making a motion to leave, but finding that I didn’t want to. “There’s some leftover lasagna in the fridge if you’d like it. I don’t want you to think you have to eat a PB my lower belly flipping when he said the word pleasure .
“I need to know! Does Rosie at least make it to the final?”
Jace watched me intently, responding in that low, languid tone of his, the one that made me feel all melty on the inside. “You’ll just have to keep watchin’ it with me to find out.”
I forced a rough swallow. I was reading into everything way too much tonight.
“Do you watch any other shows?” I asked.
“Not unless you count a Braves game every once in a while. Though I mostly watch those with my pop.”
“That’s baseball, right? Do the Braves play in Tennessee?”
Jace shook his head. “They’re out of Atlanta. My pop grew up there. He loves to tell the story about how he and his friends won tickets to the first Braves home game in 1966. The ticket stub is still framed and hanging on my parents’ wall.”
I did the mental math twice, surprised at the number I came up with. “How old is your dad?”
“He turned seventy-five last week,” Jace answered easily.
I stilled. That was older than my own father.
“How old is your mom?”
“Same age, she turns seventy-five later this year.”
My mouth fell open. She had to have been at least fifty years old when she had him. Was he adopted? My eyes bounced between Jace and the ceiling, staying quiet, not wanting to ask him a rude question.
“Go ahead and ask, you won’t offend me.”
I turned in my lounger to face him, mirroring his pose. “Are you adopted? Or was your mom really fifty years old when she had you?”
He smiled lazily, not looking offended by the question in the least.
“She was actually fifty-one.”
I shook my head slowly in amazement. “I don’t know your mom, but I think she just became my own personal hero. Did she and your dad get married late? Or did she have a hard time getting pregnant?”
Jace shifted his position, folding one leg under his body. “I don’t think so. I have an older brother and sister.”
“How much older?”
“My brother was fourteen when I was born, and my sister was ten.”
Smirking, I waggled my eyebrows. “Oh ho ho, you were an oops baby.”
“I was an oops baby,” Jace nodded. “Though my parents have never admitted that. I’ve never asked, either. Honestly, I try not to think about it.” He shuddered.
“I always wanted siblings. I pushed for two kids with my ex-husband so they could have one another. He finally agreed, which led to the indomitable Ryla’s existence here on earth. Looking back, having to convince my husband to have another child was a major red flag. You shouldn’t have to push your spouse into wanting kids with you.”
“May I ask what happened between . . . .”
“Me and their dad?” I asked softly. Besides Leah, I don’t think I’d told anyone else the story, preferring to keep things to myself. To my surprise, it continued to feel like a relief to share things about myself with Jace, rather than hold everything in, keeping all my secrets pent up inside myself.
“We were married for twelve years. I met him during medical school. He was a few years older than me and worked from home in IT. Looking back at that time in my life, meeting David, well, when you spend the formative years of your life living under judgment and expectation, anything by comparison feels like freedom. I hadn’t realized I’d moved from this cage,” I gestured to the house, “to a bigger one. I didn’t realize until after Ryla was born and he was gone most of the time running his yachting company that he’d been silently controlling me in the same way my father would. Not to the judge’s scale, but still. It was there.”
Jace’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Little things. Furrows of his brow or the silent treatment if I didn’t do things his way. If I’d say I was thinking of cutting my hair, he’d make a face. And I wanted to please him. He was the same with the kids. He had no idea how to handle Max’s anxiety, which started as separation anxiety in preschool. When I dropped him off for school, I’d have to pry his little fingers from my coat.” I paused, blinking against the moisture gathering in my eyes at the memory.
Gathering my composure, I shook my head and continued. “David was convinced it was a phase, arguing against evaluation as he felt it would label Max unfairly. When Max’s anxiety improved in the first grade, I thought David might be right. Over time, other anxious traits emerged that I ignored, never wanting to rock the boat with David. Max’s teachers never said anything about it because Max was smart and it didn’t affect his grades. It’s one of my biggest regrets to this day, not standing up for Max by pushing against David for an earlier evaluation. I mean, I know better! I’m a pediatrician, for Christ’s sake. I should have stood up for Max when he couldn’t stand up for himself. Maybe if I had, Max would have had the support in place that he needed during all the changes this past year.”
“How did your ex get a ong with Ryla?”
I snapped my head to Jace at his question. I’d been lost in thought as I spoke, almost feeling like I’d been talking out loud to myself.
Blinking, I replayed Jace’s question in my head and smirked. “Poorly. Ryla had a temper from birth and David had no idea how to handle her outbursts. He started the yachting company before she was two, in part, I think, because he wanted to get out of the house. In hindsight, it’s not surprising that he didn’t want to be a father anymore. I don’t know if he ever wanted to be one. But I was still floored when I read the line item in the divorce agreement where he requested relinquishment of all custody of the kids.”
Anger and bitterness bubbled up in me as the memory replayed in my head.
“I could never regret having Max and Ryla, but I’m angry with myself for choosing such a horrible father for them. And I’m angry at myself for being so deferent.”
“I can’t imagine you being deferent to anyone,” Jace mused.
I laughed humorously. “I was a different person then.”
“How does somebody give up custody of their kids? Is that even legal?” Jace asked.
“Yep. When we settled our custody agreement, David was out of the country and planned to remain so for the next year. So, the judge agreed with both my and David’s attorney to award me with both legal and physical custody of the kids. David still has to pay child support and technically has some visitation rights, but it’s a whopping two weeks out of every year. He’s legally required to give me and my attorney two weeks’ notice and has yet to get in contact to set up a visit with the kids. I doubt he ever will.”
“May I ask another question?”
I gave a small nod. Jace was adorable when he asked permission like that. I don’t know what that said about me, but it possibly explained why I liked books with a dominatrix tendency.
“Why aren’t you sitting on a yacht sized pile of money? You both worked full-time, you have full custody—and you mentioned he still has to pay for child support. Why are you living here, in your father’s house, instead of your own private island?”
I sighed, turning in the lounger, laying my head against the backrest. It was the million-dollar question. Literally.
“He used custody as a bargaining chip to get two-thirds of the proceeds from the sale of our house. Which was really the only asset we shared. Otherwise, I would’ve had to co-parent with his mother when David was on his yachting trips, which was all the time. David was smart enough to know I’d rather die than have my kids be around her in any capacity. She was a critical parent, just like my father.”
A look of surprise and something a little bit darker than anger clouded Jace’s face.
“David also claimed that he supported me financially while I was in medical school and residency. His weasel of a divorce attorney basically made it seem like David’s business was in the red, even though I know they turned a profit. But I couldn’t prove that. So, they cut a deal where I only had to pay five years of spousal support instead of the full twelve, as long as I didn’t go after David’s business.”
“Wait. You mean to tell me you’re paying him spousal support, he got two thirds of the sale from your house, has no physical or legal custody of your kids, and all he has to do is pay you child support?”
I winced. “Yes.”
“How much is the spousal support?”
“About a third of my salary.”
Jace gave a low whistle. “I don’t see how this could happen. Can’t you hire someone to find his money? My sister’s a lawyer, she’d be losing her mind. What lawyer let him get away with that?”
His words were a soothing balm after a year of feeling repeatedly burned. “Honestly, I just wanted it to be done. At this point, I’m happy it’s over. David was never going to be a good father. I want to help my kids move on rather than drag them through a painful legal battle for years.”
Jace continued frowning. “I’m serious, Polly. My sister is in family law and practices in Chicago. All you have to do is ask, and I’ll make the call.”
My heart gave a little thump, or maybe it was my hormones trying to knock my scruples loose. Either way, I ignored them. “No. But thank you, truly.”
Jace sighed and ran a hand from the back of his neck through his hair. “I never thought to ask this, but what’s the kids’ last name?”
I smirked. “They’ve always had my last name. My father strongly encouraged it as a condition of our marriage: that I’d keep my last name and so would our kids. David hated his last name, so he easily agreed.”
Jace raised his eyebrows in silent question.
“His last name is Pensis.”
A ghost of a smile passed over Jace’s features before asking in a strangled voice, “Is that spelled . . .”
“Phonetically? Yes. It honestly looks a lot worse than it sounds.”
Jace’s shoulders shook as I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.
“So, you were almost . . .” Jace’s voice was breaking.
“Don’t say it!” I whispered.
“Dr. Pensis?”
I barked out a laugh as Jace threw his head back, his hair bouncing as his shoulders shook. My eyes watered and my stomach cramped. Our laughter eventually quieted, but then one of us would look at the other and we’d start laughing all over again. After several minutes of this, I eventually closed my eyes, settling back into the lounge chair with a smile on my face, feeling relaxed and happy.
It was peacefully quiet for a minute before I turned to ask Jace a question.
“What about your name? If your parents are boomers, how’d you get the name Jace?”
Jace was also lying back in a reclined position with his legs outstretched and turned his head at my question.
“It’s kind of a funny story, though not as funny as almost being named after a dick.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing again.
“I’m named after my Papa Vargas, my pop’s dad. He and my yaya, that’s my grandma, immigrated from Greece to Atlanta before Pop was born. My mother and Yaya didn’t get along, from what my sister told me. Anyway, when my mother was pregnant with me, Yaya got sick, so they went to see her before she died. Apparently on her deathbed she grabbed Momma’s hand and made her promise that she’d name the baby”—he pointed a finger at himself— “after my Papa Vargas, and then died one minute later. Making it literally, her dying wish.”
I narrowed my eyebrows. “Jace? I don’t see how that’s funny. Like at all.”
“Calm yer britches, I’m a gettin’ to it,” Jace teased, putting on a thick accent. Which, you know, swoon.
“My Papa Vargas’s name was Antonios Jason. Momma shortened Jason to Jace, ignoring the name Antonios altogether as a way of spiting Yaya, but still keeping the peace with the family.”
“Your mom sounds like she has a little temper in her. Does your dad speak any Greek?”
“Only some curse words.”
“What are your siblings’ names?”
“My sister’s name is Sarah and my older brother’s name . . .” Jace squinted one eye closed, “is Kent.”
“Kent! As in the clown?”
Jace chuckled softly. “I know. I have no defense, except that you were standing there, staring at me like I was a pervert and Kent had pissed me off the night before, so his name popped out.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You two don’t have a great relationship I take it?”
Jace sighed, looking up to the ceiling. “We didn’t really grow up together. My parents had high expectations for Sarah and Kent. They were both accountants with steady, stable jobs and wanted that for their kids. Kent is a CPA and does real estate in Florida.”
“Your parents never pressured you into being an accountant?”
“Nah, they pressured me plenty, but by that time, Kent was off in Florida, living his own life. I dropped out after a year of college. I didn’t want to waste money on a degree I wasn’t going to use. I haven’t found a career worth pursuing yet and have no interest sitting behind my desk. I’m happy with the jobs I have; I’ve always liked variety.”
I gagged, bound, and sat on any disappointment I felt when he said he liked variety. “Maybe Kent’s just jealous of you.”
“Well, naturally. He didn’t get the Vargas hair, after all,” Jace joked, running his hand through his curls, making them flop haphazardly around his face.
“Have you always kept your hair long?”
“This is short for me. I cut it not too long ago because it was getting in the way at sparring. It was down to here for most of my life.” Jace made a motion to the middle of his neck. “I liked it, but it didn’t make me too popular in middle school, let me tell you.”
I sucked in a breath, imagining Jace with long curly hair, down past his chin. I wondered if he ever wore it in a man bun. I was always a sucker for a man bun.
I was so lost in thought that I blurted, “How do you get your curls to be so pretty?”
Immediately, Jace closed his eyes and put his hand over his heart, acting like I’d wounded him.
“It’s like middle school all over again,” he groaned dramatically.
“That’s not what I meant! I just meant they’re usually so well defined that I want to know what products you use!” I protested, realizing I was digging my hole deeper, laughing as Jace covered his face with his hands and moaned in mock offense.
After another minute, I was able to get myself under control and let out a long audible exhale, a content feeling radiating through my bones.
“I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it,” I told Jace, who still had his hands over his face. “Your hair was one of the first things I noticed about you. It caught in the wind and looked sort of wild, yet, sort of beautiful at the same time.”
My words came out unintentionally breathless. Jace stilled, then slowly dragged his hands from his face, his eyes instantly ensnaring mine. I tried to think of something else to say, but words left my brain when Jace’s fervent, wanting stare dropped to my mouth. Flutters made their way through my chest as my palms broke out in a cold sweat. His tongue peeked out from between his lips, wetting them, triggering a reflexive pulse in my core. I felt pulled toward him, unable to bear the space between us. Jace swallowed as he inched slowly toward me.
Then, like the involuntary reflex it was, I yawned.
Jace blinked twice and sat back, the spell effectively broken. Picking up his phone, he nodded. “It’s past my bedtime, too.”
His shirt rode up as he got up and stretched, revealing another glimpse of lean, tanned skin. My heartbeat was still pulsing in my ears as I averted my gaze quickly, then hoisted myself up.
“Ready?” Jace asked, smiling like nothing was amiss. I nodded and adjusted my shirt over my black leggings, hoping he didn’t notice the trembling in my hands.
We walked upstairs together, making small talk about Treasure Dogs , until we got to the staircase that led to my and the kid’s bedroom. I turned around after going up one step, finding myself even with his height.
“I guess I’ll see you in the morning!” I said too brightly, trying to cover the rapid thrumming in my chest, still not recovered from whatever had just happened downstairs.
“Sweet dreams, Polly.” Jace’s words were lighthearted, but his eyes were intense and vibrant.
I shivered as goosebumps spread across my skin, jumping up a stair and giving a lame wave. I ran up the rest of the way, forcing myself not to look back.
I shivered as I changed into pajamas. I shivered through brushing my teeth, trying not to picture that sliver of abs or how his head tipped back when he laughed.
I rolled my eyes. I needed to get a grip. If Jace were my younger, female employee and I was his older, male boss, I’d be considered a lecherous old creep.
I froze while putting moisturizer on my face. It was worse than that. I was like Mr. Freaking Rochester from Jane Eyre, leering at my attractive, young employee from the shadows. And instead of a wife locked in the attic, I had a creepy painting of my father, whose eyes followed you wherever you went.
Whatever interest I’d felt, whatever flirting I’d thought was happening, I had to ignore it. I laid awake in bed for a long while, not even opening my e-reader, sexual frustration my companion, until I finally drifted off to sleep.