Getting Schooled

by Parker, Ali

  “Yes?”

  “And I forgive you.”

  She blinked rapidly. Then she shook her head. “Wait. Just like that?”

  “It’s not just like that. It took me time to get here. But I—”

  “I lied to you,” she said. “I lied about your son. And then I came back into your life and paraded him around like a show pony without telling you who he was to you. And like you said, I stole that time from you. Time that you can’t get back. That doesn’t deserve forgiving.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “Maybe not. But it doesn’t change the fact that I forgive you.”

  Her eyes flooded with tears. “You should hate me for what I’ve done.”

  I smiled. It was the first genuine smile I’d had all week. Then I moved closer to her across the sofa, took her hands in mine, and squeezed. “Emelia, I’ve learned a lot in my time with you. And I know what it’s like to fall for the wrong person. I also know what it’s like to meet the right person and let her fall through the cracks.”

  “What are you saying?” Her eyes danced back and forth between mine.

  “I’m saying I love you. And I want to do this thing. You, me, the boys. I want that. I want us to be a family.”

  The tears spilled down her cheeks. “I love you too.”

  A weight lifted on my shoulders. I felt lighter than I had in years. “Can I kiss you?”

  She nodded vigorously.

  I moved in, cupped her cheek in one hand, and kissed her deeply. She let out a soft moan and curled herself up against me, hooking one arm around my neck to draw herself closer. When we parted, her cheeks were bright pink.

  “I’m still sorry,” she whispered.

  I put two fingers under her chin and forced her to look up at me. “I meant what I said, Em. I forgive you. Which means no more saying sorry. Okay? Let’s move on.”

  “You can do that?”

  I nodded. “I can. Can you?”

  She searched my eyes. I didn’t know what she was looking for. Maybe she thought this was too good to be true. Truth be told, so did I, but I was done letting foolish thoughts like that spoil things for me and Paxton. This girl had rocked my world both times she came into it.

  I wasn’t going to lose her. Not a fucking chance.

  “Can you?” I asked again when she didn’t answer.

  Finally, she nodded. Her fingers tightened in the fabric of my shirt, and she let out a joyful little sob. “Yes, I can.”

  “Good.” I barely managed to get the word out before our lips were crushed together and we were both hellbent on making up for lost time.

  It felt so good to have her lips on mine again.

  She pulled away briefly. “Is now a good time to tell you about the other kid we have together back in Atlanta?”

  “Ha ha,” I said.

  She giggled. “Too soon?”

  I pushed her down on the sofa and pinned her beneath me. “No. You can be a smartass all you want. Just don’t expect me to take it easy on you.”

  She smiled boldly back up at me. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Chapter 38

  Emelia

  First block on Wednesday morning went by as if in slow motion.

  I made it through my lesson but barely, and when the bell rang, I was relieved to have a free block. Jace did not have a free block unfortunately, so I was left to my own devices. I considered marking some papers, but the thought made my eyes ache, so I decided to go for a walk and pick up coffees for Jace and me to enjoy when lunch started.

  We could both do with the late morning pick me up. We’d stayed up talking until well after two in the morning last night. We needed the time to reconnect and get our bearings, and once we were both feeling secure in our relationship, I asked him about Gwen, and he unloaded all his anger and frustration with her.

  I realized in that moment how badly he’d needed someone to talk to about his situation with his ex-wife.

  Jace was a strong man. He was steady and reliable and honest, and he’d been carrying the weight of his broken marriage and the effects it had on his son alone for far too long. Listening to him talk last night was like listening to someone come apart at the seams. It was all I could do not to curl up in his lap and hold him and tell him to cry it out, just like I’d told Paxton to do.

  But Jace wasn’t that kind of a guy. He kept his emotions under lock and key.

  By the end of the conversation, he was in a better place. He was still furious with Gwen, but he’d come to terms with the fact that she was going to continually disappoint him and Paxton, and at some point or another (sooner rather than later, I’d suggested), he was going to have to have this conversation with Paxton.

  It wasn’t fair to let the little boy continue to expect that things would work out and he would have a relationship with his mother. Especially since she had clearly checked out of the relationship and would rather be traveling the world with her new boy toy.

  The air was cool, but the sun was clear when I left the school to get our coffees. I struck off down the sidewalk, putting my back to the sun, and walked with purpose, enjoying the brisk air and the pumping of my legs as I went.

  When I arrived at the little café, there was a line almost all the way out the door. I had time to spare, so I didn’t mind. I inched forward in the line, following the woman ahead of me. She was a beautiful blonde with sharp features and perfectly applied makeup. Her lips were bright red, and she wore a lot of jewelry. It all looked expensive.

  So did her shoes. Pointed-toe red pumps. She’d paired them with flowy white pants and a blouse with red and yellow flowers in it. The outfit was beautiful. I considered telling her so, but she gave off an unapproachable vibe, like she was the sort of woman who’d push her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, peer at you over the top of them like you were vermin encroaching on her very precious time, and tell you to get lost.

  I kept the compliment to myself.

  We moved steadily ahead in the line, and she put in her order while I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Jace, telling him not to make himself any coffee and that I’d be coming back to the school with a special order. I also asked if he wanted something to eat.

  Speak now or forever hold your peace, I texted as the woman ahead of me paid for her order. He responded back as I stepped up to the register that he was good with just coffee.

  The cashier was a young man with a buzzed head. He had giant black earrings in that stretched his earlobes and colorful tattoos on either side of his neck. Koi Fish, I realized.

  He greeted me with a friendly smile. “Hi there. What can I get for you?”

  I scanned the menu above his head, even though I knew what I wanted. “Hi. I’ll take one medium Americano with no room and a medium Caramel Macchiato please. Better put an extra shot in the Macchiato.”

  “You got it,” the kid said. He punched the order into his screen, told me the total, and asked me if I wanted my receipt when the payment was done.

  “No, thank you. Have a good day.”

  I moved forward to the hand off bar.

  The cafe was a trendy little place with an exposed ceiling showing all the plumbing and HVAC systems. Lights hung in various and uneven patterns along the bar, spreading halos of light on the counter. There was jazz music playing, and the female barista foaming milks and pulling espresso shots behind the bar was humming along.

  I found myself standing next to the woman in the pristine white outfit again as I waited for my coffees. I grabbed two lids and two little plastic plugs to put in the lids to stop the coffee from splashing out the mouth hole when I walked.

  Then I waited and people watched.

  After three or four minutes, the barista placed a large coffee on the handoff bar and called, “Large half sweet, nonfat, no foam, extra hot vanilla latte for Gwen.”

  That was an order and a half.

  It was such a long order, in fact, that I almost missed the barista calling the name Gwen.

 
I watched, amazed by how fate had apparently intervened again, as the woman in white with the killer red shoes picked up the coffee from the bar.

  She did not say thank you.

  Instead, she turned to the coffee station, where she stirred her latte and put a lid on.

  Unable to stop myself, I stepped up to her. “Excuse me?”

  The woman named Gwen looked up at me over her sunglasses. “Yes?”

  “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear that your name is Gwen.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You wouldn’t, by chance, happen to be Paxton Reynolds’s mother, would you?”

  Her crystal blue eyes narrowed. “Yes, I am. Why?”

  I almost laughed.

  Crazy things happened all the time. But this was out of this world crazy. This was “hold my purse, I have to give this woman a serious talking to” kind of crazy.

  What were the chances that Gwen ended up right here, right now, at the exact time I was here, after everything that went down last night?

  Gwen pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head and put a hand on her hip. “Can I help you with something? Who are you?”

  “Oh, sorry,” I said before holding out my hand. “My name is Emelia. I’m a teacher at Annapolis Secondary.”

  “Oh,” Gwen said, her red lips curling upward in a knowing smirk. “You know Jace.”

  “I do.”

  Gwen rolled her eyes. “Look. I don’t know what your relationship is with him. And I don’t care. Whatever you wanted to ask, I don’t have time for it, okay? Jace is a good guy. If you like him, go for it. I’m sure things will—”

  “This isn’t about me and Jace.”

  Gwen frowned. “Then what on earth are you wasting my time for?”

  I considered tucking my tail between my legs and leaving the coffee shop before I said something I regretted. Then I realized I was in a position to have a conversation that wasn’t based on emotion. I could handle this.

  “I was at Jace’s house when you called and told him you weren’t coming to pick Paxton up last night.”

  Gwen’s expression remained unfazed. She took a sip of her coffee and arched a perfectly plucked blonde eyebrow at me. “And?”

  “And,” I said, forcing myself to keep my tone even, “I saw firsthand how devastated he was when Jace told him his mother couldn’t come see him. Again.” I stressed the last word.

  Gwen blinked at me. For the first time, it looked like I’d rattled her cage a little bit. Or at least bumped it. Then she shook her head, flicking her hair over one shoulder. “Listen. I don’t know you. I get what you’re trying to do, but Jace and I can sort our own shit out, okay? Good day.”

  She walked to the coffee shop front door.

  I followed. “This has nothing to do with Jace. Or me. Please, I just want to talk to you. About you and your son.”

  She didn’t hold the door open for me when she blew through it. I hurried out onto the sidewalk and shielded my eyes from the sun as she turned to face me. “Really?” she asked wickedly.

  “Yes. You broke his heart last night. He was packed and ready to go, and then you called, and you rained on his parade. He asked me why you don’t love him, Gwen. Do you know how hurt a little boy has to be to ask someone else why his own mother doesn’t love him? Good God. Don’t you care at all about what you’re doing to him? He’s only four!”

  Gwen held up a hand. “Slow down.”

  I blew out an exasperated breath.

  She looked at my empty hands. “Didn’t you order coffee?”

  “I—erm—yes. It doesn’t matter.”

  Gwen looked at the flashy watch on her wrist. “Go inside. Get your coffees. I’ll meet you here at this table.” She nodded at a table on the patio in front of one of the windows. “Let’s talk, sister.”

  For starters, I didn’t like that she’d called me “sister”. But that was the lesser of all evils, so I held my chin up high, marched back inside, picked up my coffees, and came back out to join her on the patio.

  Her eyes went right to the label on the coffees. She smiled. “He’s still drinking his black Americanos, I see.”

  I didn’t say anything. What was there to say to that?

  Gwen wrapped both hands around her coffee cup. I noticed her nails were as red as her lips. Then she looked up at me. “How is he doing?”

  “Jace?”

  She shook her head. “Paxton.”

  “Oh. He’s all right.” I didn’t want to overstep and say something that wasn’t my place to say. Then again, I might have crossed that line already. “But he was heartbroken last night. You can’t do that to him, Gwen. You just can’t.”

  The woman in front of me nodded slowly. “I know.”

  “Then why do you keep doing it?”

  “He has Jace.”

  “It’s not the same. It’s not even close to being the same. Just because he has Jace doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss or need you. You’re his mother.”

  Gwen fidgeted with the lid of her coffee cup. “I don’t know how to do this.”

  “Do what?”

  She leaned back in her seat. “This whole motherhood thing. I wasn’t cut out for it. I should have known sooner. Jace was such a good dad, and I just felt like I was taking up space and making things worse. I hated it. Does that make me a bad person? I love my son… but I hated being a mother.”

  “I don’t know what that makes you.”

  She nodded. “I like you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re honest. And real. And brave enough to call me on my shit. Jace needs someone like that in his corner. You’re watching out for him?”

  “Do you care? Or are you just asking because it’s a formality?”

  She laughed. “I care. Jace was good to me.”

  You didn’t deserve it.

  I didn’t acknowledge her comments about Jace. Instead, I went in with what I really wanted to say. “If you don’t want to be part of Paxton’s life, then don’t dangle your time and your love in front of him, only to pull it away at the last second.” I swallowed. Gwen was looking at me like I was the meanest person on the planet. But this had to be said. And she had to hear it. “It’s not fair. Either show up or draw a line in the sand. You can’t have both. He loves you, Gwen. You’re his mother. He’ll always love you. But you must do better. Because it’s damaging him.”

  Gwen’s eyes glistened, and she averted her gaze. “I don’t know how to show up for him. I don’t know how to talk to him.”

  I reached across the table and took Paxton’s mother’s hand. She was trembling. I squeezed firmly. “Gwen.” She looked up at me. Her brow creased. A tear flowed freely down her cheeks. I had a brief second where I thought she might be screwing with me but decided that didn’t matter. If this was real, I was going to do what I could to help. “I can help you. And all you have to do is be his friend. That’s all. He’s a great kid. The more you get to know him, the easier it will be. I promise.”

  Gwen nodded. I released her hands. When she leaned back in her chair, she dabbed at the corner of her eyes. She was even beautiful when she cried.

  Chapter 39

  Jace

  My house smelled like basil, marinara, and fried onions. Emelia was in the kitchen cooking up a storm. She had music playing, and every now and then, I could hear her humming along from where I was working away in the dining room, getting the table set.

  Paxton and Linden were helping out and putting the cutlery on the napkins at all the place settings.

  I sneakily went around straightening out their sloppy work.

  “Are you two getting hungry?” I asked.

  Linden nodded. “Yep. Mom makes the best spaghetti.”

  “I love spaghetti,” Paxton said.

  I frowned. “You never eat spaghetti.”

  Paxton shrugged. “You never make it.”

  I laughed. Little wise ass. “Well maybe we should make this a weekly thing. What do you guys thin
k? Spaghetti night and a movie?”

  Both Linden and Paxton agreed eagerly.

  When the three of us were satisfied with the table, we all went into the kitchen. Emelia was giving the pasta sauce a final stir, and she was wearing a black apron with white polka dots on it. She looked cute as hell, and had there not been children present, I would have told her so.

  That and other things.

  Having her dressed in skin-tight black leggings was nothing short of torture. Her ass was out of this world. So were her legs. And her ankles. And her tits. And her—

  “Jace?” Emelia’s voice cut through my I-haven’t-had-sex-in-a-week haze.

  “Yes?”

  She arched an eyebrow at me. “Can you pass me the strainer?”

  I fetched her the strainer and poured us each a glass of wine while she strained the noodles and turned off the elements on the stove. I asked the boys what they wanted to drink, and no surprise, Linden wanted chocolate milk, and Paxton, who would have asked for orange juice just a month ago, asked for the same thing as the older boy.

  I poured them their drinks and set them down on the table.

  “All right, butts in your chairs,” I said. “Dinner is almost ready.”

  Emelia started spooning noodles into bowls and topping them with marinara sauce. “Cheese, anyone?”

  “Yes please!” both Linden and Paxton cried.

  Emelia smiled as she topped off their pasta with a dash of parmesan. Then she cut it up with a knife and fork and set a bowl down in front of each of them. “Wait for us to join you,” she said.

  The boys hovered over their bowls, breathing in the steam, mouths watering, as Emelia and I filled our own dishes. We took our seats, and everyone dug in.

  Paxton had red pasta sauce all over his lips and the area around his mouth in seconds.

  Emelia giggled and wiped his face clean with his napkin. “Try getting some in your mouth, huh, Pax?”