Chapter 44
Reed
"This volunteering shit is almost over with," I muttered to myself as I walked into the final meeting of our freaking dance committee, head held high.
The event was this weekend, and then I could be done.
I needed a break from Cici. I needed a clean cut.
Well, as clean of a cut as could come from a gutting, soul-crushing, out-of-left-field breakup.
Seeing the back of Cienna this morning zapped every bit of rally I managed.
Putting on a smiley face for a very perceptive five-year-old was hard.
Shoving Abi through the classroom door and running in the other direction was shitty.
But nothing compared to the first boundary set when I picked Abi up and had to coach her into addressing Cienna formally at school.
Which would now be her only time with her.
Abi didn’t realize it, but her “Cici” was gone now.
I realized it enough for both of us, though.
Jill nearly leaped to me when I entered the room, flinging herself against my shoulder, and guided me to a table with a few other parents—moms, to be exact.
“Cici is nowhere to be found, and Elaine needs final approval for these thank-you bouquets for the volunteers. Sit, sit.” She patted at an empty chair.
I joined her, glancing between the ladies around me.
Jill sat right next to me. Practically sharing my chair.
Her perfume was sickeningly sweet and strong, and I nearly gagged when a huge whiff assaulted my face.
A mom—Jasmine, I think—I don’t really remember interacting with much sat on my other side. Her child was a few grades older than Abi. Across from me was Elaine, who I definitely knew. She still suggested a dad auction at every opportunity.
Rather than bring up anything having to do with fucking flowers, which was for sure Cici’s wheelhouse, not mine, Elaine placed her phone down and turned it to face my side of the table. She began scrolling through pictures of her daughter wearing a fluffy, itchy-looking dress.
“Wow, that’s so fluffy.” Jasmine took over the phone swiping, pulling it between us.
“I know, right? Haley is absolutely thrilled.”
Jill slid her phone in front of me. “Look at the dress I picked out for Presley to wear.”
Jesus, ladies. Why do I care?
The others oohed and aahed because that was what you did when the reigning queen of Aisling showed you something. I put on my interested face, the best I could. “That looks nice.” What the hell else was I supposed to say about a girl’s formal dress?
Wait. Abi needs a dress for the dance. Crap. The blood drained from my face, far more panicked than was necessary for formal attire, but I was so out of my realm. Even more than a dress fuckup, this was a painful reminder that I was back on my own with things that, well, I had no idea about.
I kind of recalled Abi talking to Cici about what kind of dress she wanted, but I tuned out when they started using words like ruffles and sparkles.
I had assumed Cici had it covered. I got so used to relying on her in such a short time.
That wasn’t fair to either of them, but shit, did it make me miss her on a whole new level.
Jill tapped my shoulder. “What is Abigail going to wear?”
The universe must have heard my cry for help and gave me a glimpse of Cici entering the room.
She was wearing a sweater I loved. It was the color of Abigail’s hair in the sun, a burnt orange, and it fit her body perfectly.
I nudged Jill, discreetly scooting away to get some distance.
“There’s Cici. She’s your flower expert.
” I moved to stand, but Jill placed a hand over my arm.
She waved Cici over but made no move to switch the conversation to approving flowers for volunteers.
Instead, she moved her phone to the center of the table.
“Hey, Cici, we were just talking about what the girls are going to wear to the dance.” The girls. Lumping us together as if we were a girl-mom posse. I had to forcefully keep my eyes from rolling to the back of my skull.
Cici stood next to Elaine, and I sat up straight, bracing myself to look at her, hear her voice, smell her smell—if that was possible over Jill’s cloud of pukey pastry perfume. Cici’s gaze locked on the place where Jill’s hand was touching my arm.
Her lips pursed and her brows furrowed as her eyes moved to meet mine. They were puffy, and her skin was blotchy with red patches. My beautiful girl looked miserable.
Not your girl, stupid.
Regardless, I wanted to reach for her. I wanted to tuck her head in the crook of my neck and hide her from everything outside of the two of us.
I went to move, ready to excuse myself as discreetly as possible, but Jill’s voice was chipper as ever as she acknowledged Cici. “I was asking Reed about what Abi is wearing. I know it’s all they can talk about in Presley’s class. I bet all your kinders are gibbering away about it.”
Cici’s face was far from neutral. Dark shadows lined her lashes, and I imagined weights hanging from the corners of her beautiful lips. Pulling them down to a frown. One that would take an immense amount of effort for her to pull up to a smile.
Her brows rose as she faced Jill, and she visibly swallowed before, in a flat voice, answering, “Yes, it’s getting harder and harder to keep them on topic.
” Then she turned to me, her voice slightly lifted to her best professional tone.
“Abigail has talked nonstop about a ruffled purple dress. I believe she said she got it at ‘Lovely Ladies.’” Her head tilted slightly as her tired eyes bored into me like she was relaying a message telepathically.
Ruffled purple dress. Lovely Ladies. That ridiculous dress store downtown.
She was saving me, giving me covert information for this fucking dress mission. I wanted to grab her face and kiss her senselessly, but I just returned her gaze for a blink—or two or three.
“Lovely Ladies is just the sweetest store.” Jill kept patting at places on my arm as she leaned closer.
I had to clinch my ass to the seat to stop myself from springing away from her.
“Well, if you need any help with those girly things”—she patted my shoulder, then grabbed my bicep—“you have my number.” For fuck’s sake.
With one more squeeze, she stood. “Time to get this meeting started.” As if she was making a grand exit, the other women followed.
All I could do was turn and shrug at Cici. If I spoke, I’d ask something stupid, like “How are you?” or even worse, invite the question from her.
She gave a weak smile. “Good luck with the dress, Reed.” She paused, her words hesitant as she added, “You can text me if you need help.”
Then she turned and walked to the adjacent tables before I could respond. That was a good thing too, because I’d probably say something pathetic, like “Just come with us. Please, oh, please, god, don’t make me go to a store called Lovely Ladies by myself.”
Thankfully, the check and double-check list that Jill went over made the meeting go quickly with minimal mishaps and zero opportunity for conversation between Cici and me. Our ducks were in a row, all bases covered. We were truly the dream team, in more ways than one.
Also, thankfully, Cici raced out of the meeting before we had to do an awkward standing around, avoiding chitchat that could possibly collide us into interaction. That would hurt too much. Too soon. Too painful.
What else was painful? The thought of this stupid dress store I’d be scouring tomorrow.