Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Stella is sleeping in her stroller while Sandy and I soak up the April sun on a picnic blanket in my backyard. The spring break ended, and Asher and Olivia started their new school today.
“How were they?” Sandy asks. She’s finally feeling better, and looking more like herself, though the bags under her eyes tell me just how much sleep she’s been getting with a newborn baby.
“Ash was mostly excited; Liv was mostly indifferent.”
“And you?” She looks at me pointedly.
“I’m … at peace. I’m not nervous for them. They’ll find their place, I’m sure. And this past week was great. We’ve enjoyed unpacking and decorating the house. They’re loving it.”
“Of course they do. This is a pretty awesome house.”
I bow my head at her words, but I was super anxious about it.
Though it’s gorgeous, we moved away from the city and the place we lived at.
This is my first time living in a small town and their father is an hour away.
But this is where Sandy lives, and it’s where my heart told me I should be, too.
Finding this house was an extra sign that it was the right thing to do.
“I do have to get started on this deck, ASAP.” There is no deck, and that is quite the problem. I want it to be done before the summer heat arrives and there is no way to keep Asher away from the pool.
“I’ll check with Liam and see if he knows someone.” She nods, determined to help me any way she can.
Stella chooses that moment to wake up and start wailing, making Sandy rush to get to her daughter. She lays her on the blanket between us, lifting a part of her striped, gray shirt before stuffing a nipple into Stella’s mouth.
“Breastfeeding shirts are the best,” Sandy sighs, relaxing back down while Stella sucks vigorously.
“They sure are.” I smile at the two of them.
It seems like a lifetime ago when I was feeding my babies with David right by my side. I felt supported and cared for, like I mattered. Moisture pools in the corners of my eyes before Sandy breaks off my pity party.
“So, what’s next for you?” She stares at her daughter with love in her eyes, not noticing my tears, thankfully.
“Oh, I should get back to writing one of these days. I need to finish the series. Troubled Hearts is back from the proofreader and the advanced reader copies should be distributed in a couple of weeks.” I pull out a couple of blades of grass absentmindedly.
“Abby does her best with handling all of it, but she’s no you.
” Abby is the person I hired to replace Sandy while she’s on maternity leave.
Sandy shoots me a devious smile. “Well, no one’s like me, of course. But I meant what’s next for Sadie, my sister, not Sadie Summers, the author?”
Her question makes me chuckle. “No fucking idea. I was in crisis mode with the divorce and the move, and now that it’s done—I have no fucking idea.”
“Well, what would you like?”
“I would like for Ash and Liv to be happy here. I really don’t want them to suffer because of it.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re a great mom. We know that. But what do you want for yourself? ”
“For myself?” The question stops me in my tracks. “I did the whole thing for myself. My kids were fine. It wasn’t to save them from something. I got a divorce for myself.” The words bubble out before I can stop them.
I know, I know, my children deserve to see me happy. But a part of me feels guilty for breaking up their family because I was lacking romance.
“Stop that crap right now.” Her tone is level, so she doesn’t disturb her baby, but her ashen eyes show me she’s not messing around.
“You deserve to be fucking happy. You deserve to be loved and worshipped, Sadie. Don’t ever feel guilty about that.
” I blink my tears away. “Now, tell me what you want for yourself.”
“I want love, ok? I want love like I write about, even though I’m aware it’s practically impossible.
But I want it all, as cliché as it may be.
” I huff out. “I know I have a ton to be grateful for, my amazing kids, you, the job I absolutely adore, and now this house,” I gesture back to the house, “but I still feel like I’m missing something. ”
“Of course you do. I know you better than anyone. So, now that you’re single and have this outstanding house, how about you get on that?”
“Ugh. How would I even do that? I’m a 36-year-old, recently divorced mom of two. It’s not like I have prospects lining up in my driveway.” She snorts at me using the word prospects. “I also haven’t been to the gym in years and haven’t had sex in almost as long.”
She winces as I list the items on my fingers. “Give yourself some fucking credit, will you? You’re a gorgeous, best-selling author, and a kick-ass mom to your kids. Any man would be lucky to have you.”
“I’m pretty sure that by being my sister, you’re contractually obligated to say that.” I murmur, and her laughter fills my backyard.
“You’re right. But I also mean it with my whole heart.” Stella has finished feeding and Sandy lifts her up to burp her.
“Put that tit away,” I say, rolling my eyes because I don’t fully believe her words. She chuckles in response and I’m back in my thoughts.
What she said may not be fully a lie, but a part of me is deathly afraid. If my husband couldn’t love me, the one who promised to love me forever, the one whose children I’ve brought to the world, what are the chances another guy will?
Sandy would probably smack me over the head if I said that aloud, so I stay quiet. Soon, she and Stella leave, and I try to do some work around the house.
Tomorrow, after I drop off my kids at school, I’ll start writing, I promise myself.