The preteen in her was coming out. She wasn’t wrong, but damn, did she have to say it like that? “It will probably be fine, but you could ask instead of demanding.”
“Sorry,” she murmured.
I counted to ten, knowing I wouldn’t get the request. “Are you going to ask?”
She sighed like I was the most ridiculous person ever. “Can you pick me up after auditions on Thursday? Please?”
“Yes.”
She grinned before I opened my mouth to continue, then scowled.
“I need a schedule for rehearsals and all the things that you’re going to need to be there for. And you need to make sure you’re still getting your schoolwork done. Finish homework, stay on top of anything you miss, and don’t fall behind.”
“I won’t. I promise.” The excitement was there, waiting for me to officially agree.
“Okay. We will figure it out.”
“Yay! Thank you, Mom!” She threw herself at me, hugging me tight around my middle.
I hugged her back and kissed her head. She wiggled immediately, pulling back.
I let her go, missing the little kid years.
Before I’d gotten pregnant with her, I’d hoped to have a big family. Three or more kids, preferably more. But things didn’t go as planned. Kyle and I talked about more kids, but it never felt right. After a decade of marriage and a few short months for the divorce, I was left half relieved we didn’t have more and half disappointed I was almost out of time.
Thirty-eight hit me hard a few weeks ago. The likelihood that I’d have another kid was pretty close to zero. Even lower when I had no interest in a new relationship. But I knew that was the right choice for me. I couldn’t handle the ups and downs of another person’s emotions anymore. Not when I was going to be dealing with a teenager’s emotions soon enough and had my own to handle.
Mikayla got a snack, then settled on the couch for an hour to watch TV, like she always did when she got home. We argued about her starting homework right away, but she said she wanted time to relax before she did her work. She negotiated for that hour with the promise that she would do things my way if she didn’t get her work done. After almost a month of trying it her way, she proved she would do it, and I backed off.
I took advantage of that hour to write and finish up anything for my upcoming articles, when I had one. Since I was meeting with Natalie and Omar the next day for wedding preparations, I wanted to review the plan for the day.
Shit. They were looking at flowers. At Blossom & Grow. Where I’d embarrassed myself just an hour ago. Of course they were. I couldn’t start when they were tasting cake or making a seating chart or… anything except returning to the place where I made a fool of myself.
I had to get the hell over it. I was a big girl. And I was going to be there for a story. Not for Landon.
My phone vibrated with a message, and I took advantage of the distraction. I smiled when I saw a notification from Book Boyfriends Wanted.
DirtyLife
You never answered my question. What do you need from a relationship to feel appreciated? What are you looking for?
I sighed heavily. How did I admit to him that I didn’t really want a relationship? That I wanted to feel desirable but without the weight of dedication to one person who would inevitably let me down?
TooBusy
I guess I don’t really know. I told you I’m divorced, and my marriage was okay for a while, but mostly it was like we were roommates. I’m not looking for that again.
DirtyLife
So you want passion. You want someone who makes you feel like you are the only thing they think about when you’re not together. Someone who lives and breathes for you.
TooBusy
That’s exhausting. I don’t think I could handle someone who didn’t have their own sense of independence. Someone who didn’t have interests and a life outside of me. I have my kid to think about, and work, and I don’t have time to be everything to someone else.
DirtyLife
It’s funny because I never thought about passion that way. As something that could drain someone. With my ex, when we were together, it was good. Great even. We fit. But there was always a part of me that knew it wasn’t right. Not that I had the guts to say that to her, or anyone else.
