Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ashley
By the time Paige gets home from work, my brain has been stuck with a swirling ‘loading’ icon for most of the day. Throughout playgroup, lunch, and even during naptime, I couldn’t focus on anything concrete. The day-to-day motions were there, but I’m numb to everything.
Even though I dread saying the words out loud, I know what I’ve got to do.
The situation I’m in isn’t going to magically fix itself.
Imogen is Chloe’s mum, and that ties me to Imogen forever.
That notion was a comfort when she first told me she was pregnant.
No matter what, we’d always be connected.
Now, I don’t know how I feel, and avoiding her isn’t going to change a thing.
After dinner, I do the dishes while Paige watches the kids.
After the kids are in bed, Paige and I watch a bloody awful documentary about how livestock is raised and grinded into the burgers I eat.
If she’s trying to turn me into one of those people who don’t eat meat, she’ll have to work a touch harder.
Though I won’t be saying yes to another documentary like this—not taking any chances she’ll succeed.
I can only stomach so many mournful brown cow eyes as they’re being led to slaughter.
But it’s at least been a distraction from the turmoil in my head.
“How was your day?” Paige asks, and I recognize we’ve barely spoken since she got home. I’ve been so caught up in my own thoughts and managing the kids that we haven’t nattered on about our days like we normally would.
“Strange,” I admit. “Been a bit in my head about Imogen turning up.”
Paige fiddles with the remote before turning off the telly.
“I reckon I should meet with her,” I say, diving into the deep end. “We’ve got to sort out custody, hopefully without hiring solicitors.”
“You can’t really stop her from seeing Chloe forever.”
“Would you—would you keep Chloe? I’d rather she wasn’t there when we meet in case we don’t get on.”
Paige rotates on the settee so she’s facing me, and I notice how pale she’s gotten. “Ash, what if she wants you back? Wants to try again?”
“I can’t see that happening. Given what’s gone on, I don’t see her wanting that.” The thought hasn’t crossed my mind. I’ve been too focused on determining how I feel to worry about whatever she might or might not want with Chloe.
Paige swallows and worries her lips.
“Nothing’s changed between you and me.” But her expression isn’t comforting. For a moment, my heart seizes. “Unless…” I search her face. “Unless you want it to.”
“I don’t want…” She takes a shaky breath. “To stand in the way of whatever you need or want.”
“You’re not.” I frown.
“If you change your mind—”
“I won’t.”
“She’s only just come back, and I know how hard it was for you when she left.”
“That’s got nothing to do with us.” Even as the last word leaves my lips, I realize I’m not being completely honest. Having Imogen return is confusing on several levels, but I’ve been so happy the last few months with Paige.
I’m not trading any of the time I’ve got left.
“Did something happen at work today? Jack being a wanker again? You don’t seem like yourself. ”
“I had a meeting with Penelope today,” Paige says. “They’ve finally got a new code of conduct for our office. All employees have to sign. No signature. No job.”
“Blimey. That’s a good result for you. Might be able to get the project back on track. How far behind are you again? You must be chuffed.”
“About six weeks.”
“Did they say anything about keeping you on?”
“Maybe for those weeks, yeah. It was mentioned today.”
“But nothing else?”
She hesitates and then shakes her head. A confused rush of sadness and regret streaks through me. I don’t know what I expected, what I was hoping for. My thoughts are so mixed-up since Imogen came back.
“At least you might be able to run the job how you want for the time left,” I say.
“Definitely a step in the right direction. We could get the timeline down to four weeks from six. I am a little worried about the fallout with Jack. He’s swayed a few people on the team to his way of thinking.”
It’s never fun to have someone sway others to their side.
Just like when Imogen left me and Chloe.
Her friends and family mostly abandoned us.
Even thinking about what she did makes my blood start to boil.
A few of them came back around for my birthday after Paige reached out to them, but I was left twisting in the wind by too many.
And even when I felt like maybe people like her parents were back on my side, they ended up betraying me.
“Come on, enough stewing. Let’s go to bed. This documentary might be the most depressing show I’ve ever watched.”
I take her hand, and I lead her upstairs. When we get to her room, I slide my hands underneath her shirt, but instead of reciprocating, she draws me into a tight hug.
“Paige?” There’s something behind the hug that I don’t understand.
“I’m kind of tired,” she says, drawing away from me and kissing my cheek.
She moves around the bedroom, and suddenly I’m unsure of what’s happening. Not that she’s never been too tired before. It’s happened once or twice, but this doesn’t feel like those other times. The thing about me and Paige is that I could ask her, and if I prodded at all, she’d tell me.
But I don’t know if I want to push for a reason behind the distance she’s wedging between us when the situation feels volatile.
I don’t want to lose her or this life we’ve made together, and I don’t want to push her in any way that might lead in either of those directions.
As long as this gap doesn’t stay, one night is nothing. Keep my feet steady on the ground.
“Do you want me to go to my own room?” It’s been months since that question has passed my lips, but it’s as close as I can get to asking her what’s going on.
“No.” She gives me a little smile as she draws an oversized shirt over her head. “Not unless you want to.”
She’s not going to make it easy on me tonight, but I’m not going to make it easy on her either. Maybe she wants the space, but if she doesn’t ask, I’m not giving it.
I shed my shirt and my pants, and I climb into the bed behind her. Without asking if it’s okay, I draw her tight against me, and the smell of honey in her hair is a balm for my anxiousness. Maybe she is just tired, and I’m letting my own uncertainties seep into places they don’t belong.
“I’m really proud of you,” I say against her neck. “Seeing things through with HR to take care of Jack.”
She runs her hand along my arm that’s looped around her waist, and she links her fingers with mine. “I’ll watch Chloe so you can talk to Imogen.” Her voice is thick. “I don’t think I answered you earlier.”
“Thank you,” I murmur against her neck, and she squeezes my fingers in response.
We lie together in the dark, neither of us talking and neither of us sleeping, and my stomach clenches with the realization that things might be changing between us in ways that I don’t want.
Imogen picked the pub we’re meeting at, and I almost told her no.
While she could argue that the Red Lion is just like every other small pub in England perched on a corner, this one is close to where her parents used to live.
First place we ever got served in upper school and a key piece of our history together. Lots of memories between these walls.
When I step in the door, barley and the faint stench of sweat mingle in the air. Not generally a smell anyone would want to suck deep into their lungs, but it’s an assault on my senses—takes me right back to another time. One that was ages ago, as though all of it happened to someone else.
She’s already seated in the back corner with two pints.
One is in front of her, and she’s drawing pictures in the condensation, and the other is across from her, waiting.
I grab the back of my neck, and I take a deep breath.
Whatever she’s got to say for herself, I can’t imagine I won’t feel something by the time I leave.
Just wish I had a clue what that something was likely to be.
I’m nervous energy mixed with anger, curiosity, and frustration. Not the best combination for listening.
At the table, I slide into the seat across from her, but I don’t touch the beer.
There’s something about sharing a drink with her, as though we’re mates, that doesn’t sit right with me.
Not sure what we are anymore, but I don’t reckon we’re at the level of chatting over a pint as though she didn’t run out on me and our daughter over a year ago.
“Where’s Chloe?” she asks, and when she glances at me, there are dark spots under her eyes that her concealer doesn’t quite hide.
“Somewhere else.” I sit back in my chair and cross my arms.
“With that woman you’re seeing? The one you’re supposedly nannying for?” She says the word nannying as though it’s a joke.
“I don’t have to answer to you about how I’ve chosen to live my life the last year. You left, and I moved on. Seems pretty simple to me.”
Tears pool in her brown eyes. “I never cheated on you. I let you believe that, but I’d never have done it.”
I lean my elbows on the table, and I run my palms down my face, trying to collect my thoughts.
Across from me, her breath hitches on a sob, and I have to fight my instinct to stand up and tug her out of her chair and into my arms. For ten years, that’s what I’d have done.
I’ve never been able to watch any woman cry without offering some sort of comfort, and a cynical part of me wonders if Immy is counting on that.
Instead of taking the obvious route, my chair scrapes across the wood floor as I leave to get napkins from the bar.