Chapter 18
HARLOW
Jameson dropped me off a little over an hour ago and I’ve used my time before Roe’s arrival to clean the apartment. It’s not the deep clean it needs, but it is enough to make me feel better.
When Spencer sends me a text that they’re on the way up, I unlock the door and run to pee. Once Roe’s here I know it’ll be a while before I can go to the bathroom. That kid is always up in my business.
Washing my hands, I hear voices and a moment later the door to the apartment bangs open and Monroe enters with a cry of, “Mom?”
Opening the door, I can’t help but smile when I see her. The cast on her arm quickly has my lips falling into a frown. It’s not that I forgot about it, but seeing it all over again is a kick to the gut. My baby got hurt and I wasn’t there.
She runs to me with open arms and crashes into my legs. “I missed you.”
“You saw me earlier,” I remind her, bending to kiss the top of her head.
“I know,” she sighs, and swings her hand around with a paper clasped in it. “But I still missed you.”
“What’s that you have?” I point to the paper.
“Oh.” She looks down at it, seeming to forget it was clutched in her fist. “I made a drawing for you. I was going to put it on the fridge.”
“You did? What is it?”
She all but thrusts it at me and I have to scramble to get my hands on it before it falls to the floor. It’s then that I realize Spencer is standing awkwardly in the doorway looking around.
“Oh, sorry, you can come in if you want.” I gesture him inside. That’s what a friend would do, right? Invite him in?
He steps over the threshold and closes the door behind him. “Is Jameson here?” He looks around like he expects my boyfriend to pop out from behind me.
“No?” The word comes out as a question. “Why?”
He shrugs, the soft fabric of his t-shirt stretching against his muscles. He’s seriously bulking up lately.
“No reason.”
I don’t dwell on his strange behavior, because frankly, I don’t have the energy.
“Mom!” Roe yells at full volume to get my attention. “You haven’t looked at the picture I drew yet.”
“Oh, right.” I pull the paper away from my chest and look down at her drawing.
“It’s me, you, and Daddy,” she says excitedly, jumping up and down in front of me. With her energy levels you’d have no idea she broke a bone this morning.
“And what’s that?” I point to the dog shaped thing in my arms. I swear, if she’s still on this pet thing I might bang my head into the wall.
“That’s my baby sister,” she announces promptly, and I nearly choke on my own saliva.
“What?” I blurt, not sure I heard her right.
“Well, I know I don’t have one yet.” She does a twirl. “But I’m asking Santa for one for Christmas so it should be soon.”
Apparently, our birds and the bees talk didn’t make sense to her,
Spencer reaches out and ruffles her hair. “I told her Santa doesn’t deliver babies, but she wouldn’t have it. She’s named her baby sister and everything.”
“Oh.” My throat feels dry. “And what did you name this imaginary baby sister?”
She stomps her way to the refrigerator and pulls out a Capri-Sun. She waits until she’s stabbed the straw into the pouch and taken a long, dramatic sip before she answers. “Ruby.”
“Ruby, huh? Where’d you get that name idea.”
She huffs out a breath that stirs her blond bangs. “From my brain, duh.” She rolls her eyes for good measure, so I know how done she is with my questioning.
Teenage Monroe is going to exhaust me; I just know it.
She takes another long sip of her Capri-Sun and burps. “Can Daddy stay and watch a movie?”
“I…”
“We always watch a movie on Sunday nights,” she reminds me, like I’ve somehow forgotten our usual plans.
“It’s okay,” Spencer says, and I can tell from his fidgeting he knows I’m uncomfortable and doesn’t want to impose.
My shoulders droop, and I keep the sigh I desperately want to let out held tight in my lungs. Friends—I remind myself—we’re trying to be friends again.
“Sure. Stay and hangout.”
He arches a brow. “Are you sure?”
“Yep.” I set Roe’s drawing down on the kitchen counter. “I’ll pop the popcorn and fix the ice cream sundaes. Roe?” I have to call for her since she’s sprinted down the hall to her room. When she pokes her head out, I say, “Why don’t you get your dad’s help picking out a movie?”
“Yay!” She squeezes her Capri-Sun a little too tight in her excitement and it shoots straight up to the ceiling.
I squish my eyes closed and count from backwards from ten.
“Oops,” she giggles.
“I’ll clean it up.” My eyes shoot back open at the proximity of Spencer’s voice. He’s right in front of me, reaching around me to grab the dishtowel draped over the faucet.
“T-Thanks,” I stutter.
“No problem.” He heads down the hall and reaches up easily to wipe the ceiling.
His shirt rides up, revealing his taut, tanned stomach.
I’m staring. Downright mesmerized. I can’t seem to rip my gaze away.
When he goes to lower his arm, I somehow manage to turn myself around and dig in the pantry for the microwavable popcorn before he can catch me staring.
Sometimes it’s easy to forget that he’s changed. That we’ve both changed. Sure, we’re still young, but our minds and bodies have changed since we were teens learning how to navigate parent and adulthood simultaneously.
I startle when Spencer comes up beside me and tosses the cloth in the sink.
He cocks his head to the side, studying me. Those blue eyes seem to see everything—a trait our daughter inherited. “Are you okay?” he asks me. “You seem … jumpy.”
“It’s just been a long day is all,” I reason. “I wasn’t exactly expecting to get a call that Monroe broke her arm and I’ve been out of sorts since.”
It’s a lie, a blatant one, because the only thing that has me out of sorts at the moment is him.
“I’m really sorry,” he says in a low voice, and I step back before his fingers can graze my arm. “I … it happened so fast. She was doing so well, and she wanted me to let go so I did and…” He trails off because we both know what came next.
“Daddy!” Roe interrupts before either of us can say more. “What movie should we watch?”
Spencer sends a sad look my way before joining Roe in front of the TV to look through the DVDs.
I realize then that the popcorn finished a little bit ago and the smell of burnt kernels fills the air. With a silent curse, I yank the bag from the microwave and throw it straight in the garbage. I get another bag of popcorn going and start on the sundaes.
Why am I always out of sorts in Spencer’s presence?
When the popping slows, I pull the popcorn out and dump the contents into the large bowl I reserve for movie nights.
“Spencer?” I ask and he looks up at me from his spot in the floor, going through the assortment of DVDs we have. “Do you want a sundae?”
“Yes. I’ve missed your sundaes.”
Those words feel like a tiny stab to my heart even though I know he doesn’t intend for them to be.
He gets the movie going while I finish up in the kitchen.
“Roe?” I call out. “Can you come grab the popcorn?”
Like a little tornado, she hops off the couch and blond hair streams behind her as she runs over to me and grabs the bowl. I pile the sundaes onto a tray along with drinks and set it on the coffee table.
Spencer grins, reaching for the one he knows is his—vanilla ice cream topped with hot fudge, melty peanut butter, crushed peanuts, and chocolate sprinkles.
“You remembered,” he says softly, almost reverently.
“It hasn’t been that long,” I protest weakly.
But maybe I shouldn’t remember those things about him? I’m not sure. He’s my only ex and he’s never left my life because of Roe. But everything I know about him is practically engrained in my DNA.
He looks at me, a tiny smirk curling his sinful mouth. “Longer than you think. I like that you remembered.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something cutting but I swallow it down.
Friends. We’re trying to be friends.
“I hope it tastes good, then.”
As if it’s a challenge, he holds my eyes as he takes the first bite. A soft sound of pleasure hums in his throat. “Delicious.”
I turn away from him and face the TV. “I’m glad.”
But there’s really no escaping him—not with him beside me, and Roe squished against his other side.
“You want a bite?” he taunts, clearly enjoying my squirming.
“I have my own.” I quickly grab my own bowl and hand him Roe’s—covered in gummy bears—to pass to her.
Just get through this movie, I tell myself. Get through the movie and then he’ll be gone.
“You seem tense,” he says, amusement coiled around the words.
“I’m fine.” I shove a too-big bite of ice cream in my mouth.
He chuckles, perfectly at ease—or at least he seems that way. He could be acting for all I know.
“Shh,” Roe scolds. “I’m trying to watch the movie.”
I’ve never been more grateful for my daughter than in that moment. I settle into the cushions, leaning against the arm of the couch to try to gain some more breathing room. I swear Spencer leans closer, though, but it could be my imagination since my body seems to be unusually attuned to him.
When the movie is over, Monroe is fast asleep, and Spencer carefully stands from the couch with her in his arms. He doesn’t say anything to me as he carries her down the hall to her room.
With him gone, I inhale what feels like my first breath since he first crossed the threshold into my too small apartment. I gather up our dishes and stack them back on the tray to make it easier to get them to the sink.
I scrub at the bowls to get rid of the sticky ice cream residue. I haven’t even finished the first one when Spencer pads softly onto the kitchen tiles.
“Want some help?”
I flick hair out of my eyes. “It’s okay, I’ve got it.”
“You know, you can ask for help from me.” He says it with a smile, but there’s a hint of bitterness to his words, probably because of all the help I’ve turned down from him over the years.
“Fine,” I grouse. “I wash and you dry.”
He seems appeased by that response and grabs a dry rag.
It’s silent between us as we work. He’s drying the last of the dishes when he says, “Thank you for letting me stay. Tonight was…” He takes a deep breath and leans his hip against the counter.
His arms slowly work their way across his chest until they’re crossed.
“It was nice to feel like a family again.”
“Spencer—” I start but he cuts me off with a shake of his head.
“Please, don’t say anything,” he begs. “Don’t try to put a wall up. Just let me enjoy this, okay?”
I wet my lips and give a weak, “Okay.”
“I better head out,” he says, plucking his keys from his pocket.
“Drive safe. Text me when you get home.”
He grins at that. “Worried about my safety?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t get cocky.”
He chuckles and I gasp when he swoops down and presses a kiss to my cheek. Before I can scold him for it, he lets himself out and the door clicks closed behind him.
Bracing my hands on the counter, I shake my head and try to get rid of the feeling of warmth spreading through my body.
Damn him.