Must Love Logs (Must Love Series Book 4)

by Xavier Neal

  For the record, I totally understand where Reese Witherspoon’s character was coming from.

  “Why would you take a job that requires you to travel?” My mother nags from the other end of the phone. “Why would you want to spend so much time away from your precious angels?”

  Precious angels?

  Really?

  Kyle gave a little girl bangs in the middle of Art class last week while their teacher was grabbing more supplies for the table.

  Eddie had to sit that round in the Assistant Dean’s office alone. He was more pissed about that than the incident itself. It’s not like I could just drop everything to join him. I was covered in sprinkles and neck deep in marshmallow fondant. I barely made it home in time that night to express my disappointment to Kyle’s face, though hearing me say those words seemed to anger him more than sadden.

  They used to be enough to remind him to act right.

  Now they seem to have the opposite effect.

  Eddie’s words and expressed displeasure carry much more power.

  It’s another way the household has shifted that I’m not crazy about.

  My mother’s criticizing continues, “Why would you want to sleep away from your husband any night?”

  And thank her for that reminder I didn’t need.

  Me and my pussy are well aware we are not falling asleep sated nearly as often as we used to.

  “Mom, did you just call to bitch-”

  “Don’t use that language with me.”

  I press my lips tightly together to prevent additional foul words from springing free.

  “I called to talk to my grandboys-”

  “You’re gonna have to call Eddie’s phone for that.”

  Not that he’s likely to answer her.

  After her little outburst around Christmas about him needing to get off his lazy butt and get a job, so I can stay home like a woman should, she’s not exactly in his good graces.

  “I also called to tell you Summer’s pregnant again!”

  This’ll be kid number five.

  Five!

  At what point does a woman tap out?

  Shit.

  That’s not nice to say considering my best friend has five kids…but they’re not all from the same man.

  Hm.

  Okay.

  Not better.

  “Isn’t that exciting?” My mother gushes.

  “It’s…somethin’,” I mutter under my breath as Yasmine pops out of the bathroom and makes a hand motion at her outfit. “I’ll call her in a couple days to congratulate her.”

  “You better remember to. You’ve been forgetting to call me back every week.”

  Forgetting or choosing not to remember?

  “Can you believe it though?” Her voice squeaks. “Another little bundle of joy to love!”

  Another mouth to feed.

  Another niece or nephew to buy gifts for.

  Another tangent about me getting pregnant I’m going to have to endure in three…two…one…

  “When are you and Eddie going to give me another grandchild?”

  I overdramatically gag at Yasmine’s choice in attire.

  The gigantic black dots on her white dress are giving her a dice vibe that isn’t cute or conducive to picking up men at a bar. Well, unless they’re slightly nerdy and seeing her look like a die reminds them of their favorite tabletop game. However, I know for a fact that’s not the type of man she’s interested in.

  That’s about all I know regarding where not to start the hunt for the man of her dreams.

  My mother happily hums, “How about you try for a girl?”

  Leaning back onto my palms, I readjust the phone pressed to my ear. “We’re happy with the two we’ve got, Mom.”

  And now that I have something other than just being a full-time mom in my life to do, I don’t feel this awkward need to have another child to give me something else to take care of. Eddie and I got into that a couple years ago when I thought that’s what I wanted…when I thought that was what I needed…when I thought my entire purpose in life was just meant to have and raise kids. The fact that these past few months have shown me so much more makes me grateful I stayed on the pill even when I wore Eddie down to being okay with the idea of expanding our household.

  “If that were true, if you were really happy with the two angels you have, you wouldn’t be off halfway across the world, hoping work fills that void that only a child can.”

  She so has that backwards.

  Having a child doesn’t fill the void of feeling like you don’t have another purpose.

  Like you’re nothing but a uterus with legs.

  Working…even the long hours that make my feet howl and Eddie grouchy that I didn’t remember to text him back . . . brings a remarkable joy and sense of self that I don’t get anywhere else.

  Instead of trying to explain that to her for the umpteenth time, I simply argue, “I’m not halfway across the world, Mom. I’m in Vegas.”

  “That dirty, rotten city of sin?! Nothing good ever happens there!”

  Pretty sure a shit ton of people would disagree.

  “And I’m only here for two days. It’s not the end of the world.”

  Eddie didn’t seem to think it was. When I told him Yasmine wanted us to attend this baking workshop, he didn’t even attempt to talk me out of going. The excitement over just the idea of attending was enough to convince him it’d be a great idea. Traveling was always a portion of his job he hated, yet seeing me so thrilled to rush away to sharpen my techniques had him instantly reassuring me they would be fine for a couple nights. While we haven’t exactly gotten an abundance of time alone or as a family, we have managed to squeeze in a little more lately. It was my compromise. I told Yasmine I needed to be home earlier at least two days during both weeks if we were going to be staying somewhere overnight for the cooking adventure, and she completely understood. Our hectic hours still haven’t dwindled much, but she arranged it so that I could be home in time to eat dinner and help with baths. Unfortunately, by the time all that’s finished, and my body hits the bed, I’m immediately drifting off.

  I gotta make time for a little one-on-one with Eddie when I get back.

  Fuck, I gotta figure out a day to make up for our missed double date we normally would’ve been on tonight…The double dates we’ve missed two months in a row now.

  Double fuck, I gotta text Dawn back. I promised to tell her how amazing classes were today.

  My mother scoffs at the statement yet makes no verbal rebuttal.

  Her silence seems like the appropriate segue to end the conversation. “Mom, I actually need to go. We’re about to head out to a meeting.”

  “So late?”

  “Not that late here.”

  She sighs her disapproval. “Well, if you must.”

  “Absolutely must.”

  “Call me when you get home so I can talk to the boys and see how they’re loving their Christmas presents.”

  The urge to tell her how much they hate them dances across my tongue.

  They got kites and bubble wands.

  Not guns.

  Wands.

  Because even having a bubble blow gun sends a strong message of violence at an early age…

  Or so she says every time she steps onto her soapbox.

  “Have a goodnight, Mom.”

  “You too, Sienna.”

  The minute I end the call, I let out a frustrated screech that causes Yasmine to pop her head around the hotel bathroom door frame.

  “What are you, a tea kettle now?”

  My head tilts in increased annoyance.

  “Should we be preparing to serve you to The Queen or one of her hot grandsons?”

  I let the corner of my mouth kick upward.

  Once she sees the rage dissipating, she asks, “Wanna talk about it?”

  “You mean my overbearing, guilt-driving mother who sees women as nothing more than baby producing factories for the men in the worl
d who are supposed to spend their lives breaking their backs day in and day out so their families can eat and their wives can wear the prettiest of pearls?” My head shake is casual. “Naw, I’m good.”

  “That sounds…very 1950’s.”

  “Says the woman who I’ve seen model three different polka dotted dresses. Do you…own other clothing?”

  “I like polka dots.”

  “Caught that,” I tease at the same time my phone starts ringing. “Can we try something…I don’t know…striped?”

  “I don’t have anything striped. It’s not exactly the most flattering pattern for my body shape.”

  “Plaid?”

  Her glower is immediate.

  “Floral?” The device reaches my grasp. “Fuck, anything that doesn’t make me wanna take a pen and play Connect the Dots?”

  Yasmine fights the urge to chuckle and retreats into the bathroom.

  My attention lowers to see a video chat request coming in from Eddie. Eagerly, I hit the answer key and am greeted by our sons scrambling around to both fit in the frame.

  “Move,” whines Kyle loudly, pushing his brother.

  “You move,” Kenny argues, shoving him harder.

  “Quit it!” Eddie’s voice booms.

  The wrestling ceases, and I playfully say, “Superman has spoken.”

  His eyes flood with mirth as they land on mine. “Damn right I have.”

  “Swear jar?” Kyle whispers his question to his brother.

  “I don’t think so…” Kenny pauses in thought. “Pretty sure, Mom took that one away.”

  I can’t stop myself from smiling wider at their discussion. “Can Mom get a hi?”

  “Hi!!” They chime in unison.

  “Hi!”

  Yasmine’s face peers around the door frame once more. “And now for the guests in the Penthouse who didn’t hear you.”

  I flash her my middle finger.

  She snickers to herself and slips away to finish changing.

  “How’s the trip?” Eddie asks, almost hidden behind the kids’ large heads.

  “Did you eat any cookies?” Kenny immediately ponders.

  “Or cake? Did you eat cake?!” His brother begs for an answer.

  “I ate both.” My bragging is accompanied by a wink.

  Eddie smirks, yet our boys mutter fits of jealousy.

  “We also tasted a lot of savory pies-”

  “Savory?” Kyle interjects, confusion clear on his face.

  “Like salty instead of sweet,” Kenny swiftly defines. “They got meat in ‘em.”

  “Meat pie?!” Kyle gasps at the revelation. “Mom, can you make us meat pie!?”

  “Dad can make a pretty mean Pot Pie.”

  “You can?!” They squeak together.

  Eddie gives them a small nod. “Mimi taught me how to make more than roast beef sandwiches and chili.”

  “Can we put Dad’s chili in a pie?” Kyle rambles his thought loudly. “Can we have chili pie?!”

  “How about we listen to what Cherry Pie was tryin’ to tell us about work? You know, like our favorite Superheroes do?”

  All of a sudden, our boys straighten up and paste their eyes on me.

  “Well, this is new,” I acknowledge between chuckles. “What’s goin’ on here?”

  “Dad says we need to fix our listening ears,” Kyle sweetly states.

  My eyes find Eddie’s.

  “They’ve been havin’ a little trouble with it at school, so we’re doin’ what you do anytime a tool goes dull. We’re sharpenin’ it. Can’t be crime fightin’ heroes if you can’t even hear what the people you wanna save need you to save them from? Ain’t that right boys?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Impressed at not only his ability to relate to them in a way they understand but jump on the behavior problems I wasn’t aware were developing has me in admiration as well as dejection.

  On one hand, I’m so excited he’s embracing this whole parent thing to the fullest.

  On the other hand…I hate being so out of the loop.

  I wonder if he ever felt this way?

  I wonder if he did, why didn’t he say anything.

  “Go on, Cherry Pie,” Eddie encourages. “Finish what you were sayin’.”

  “Oh, just that Yasmine is considering branchin’ out the company that direction near holidays at the end of this year. There are so many different cultures un-catered to back in Highland that filling those niches could be extremely profitable.”

  “I could definitely see that,” my husband agrees.

  “But enough about boring stuff-”

  “Baking is never boring!” Yasmine objects in the distance.

  “How was school?”

  The two trip over themselves and each other trying to get all their words out. I do my best to follow both storylines that are simultaneously being rambled, yet barely manage to make out anything truly coherent.

  Just as they’re finishing up, Yasmine struts out of the bathroom in a navy-blue dress that contains a lacy top. She waves a hand around in question of approval. I nod my genuine endorsement of the outfit.

  Between the flattering fit and self-confident energy she’s exuding, surely, we can get her a one night hookup at the very least.

  Her head motions to our door.

  “Give me a sec,” I mouth.

  “Mom,” Kyle snips, disapprovingly. “You are not using your best listening skills.”

  Eddie poorly hides his snort of laughter.

  “Sorry, small fry. Mom was tellin’ Miss Yasmine she needed another minute to say goodnight to y’all.”

  “Hi, Miss Yasmine!” My sons scream together.

  She shoots me a toothy grin and calls to them, “Hey, boys!”

  Not sure if she wants her own or not.

  Her business-before-everything mentality makes me feel that’s a big fat no, but I could be wrong.

  People change over time.

  Fuck, sometimes people change their minds when they just so happen to meet the person they wanna spend forever with.

  “Wait, you’re sayin’ goodbye so soon?” Eddie unhappily grouses. “This is the most we’ve seen of you since Monday.”

  Guilt presses my lips firmly together.

  “Where are you two goin’?” His eyebrows swiftly rise. “Meetin’ or something?”

  I catch Yasmine cringing out of the corner of my eye.

  She clears her throat, mouths she’ll meet me downstairs, and exits the room.

  He doesn’t hesitate to continue his interrogation. “Is that why you’re all dolled up?”

  “Not exactly.”

  The expression on his face becomes seething.

  An uncomfortable lull begins to transpire between us, and suddenly, shame sinks into my system.

  Should I feel bad for this?

  Should I feel bad for sharing a drink with my boss?

  With my new…friend?

  Should I feel shitty for not staying in by the phone when I’m in Vegas for the first time?

  “Hey boys, Dad needs to speak to Mom alone before she leaves for…more work.” The lie at the end of his sentence is said through gritted teeth. “Can you two tell her goodnight and give her love, please?”

  Kenny is first to state his affections. “Night, Mom! Love you!”

  Kyle is speedily behind him, frantically waving. “Love you! Miss you!”

  His bandaged hand prevents me from letting them exit. “Wait! Wait! Wait! What happened to your hand?!”

  Small fry tilts his head in confusion then glances at the injury. “Oh!” He shows me the wrapped appendage again. “I fell wrong at basketball.”

  “Not a sprain,” Eddie swiftly adds. “Just a little sore.”

  “He tripped over his own shoes,” Kenny teases.