by Claire Adams
“You look incredible,” he said as he relieved me of my haul. I followed him into the kitchen where he placed the groceries on the counter.
I glanced at him sideways and pursed my lips. “I’m wearing the same thing I always do,” I said.
“Exactly.” He grinned wide, showing off his pearly whites. There was a five o’ clock shadow spreading across his chin, I assumed it had been a day or two since he last shaved, and he wore a loose navy blue sweater with khaki pants. He looked more casual, but in a fancy, let’s go to a golf outing in the middle of Florida way. I wanted to tell him he looked good as well, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Belle’s words and the immediate effect they had on me.
“Thanks,” I said and rubbed my elbow. “So, we’re making lasagna tonight.” I set all the ingredients out on the table, and he took his time looking through them.
“You know how to cook this already, don’t you?” I asked. He smiled sheepishly and nodded, spreading his hands over the freshly cut hair on his head.
“I’m quite the expert on lasagna,” he admitted. “But I’m excited to see your method.”
“My method is pretty simple,” I said. “I always felt like the simplest lasagna tasted the best.”
“I’ve never considered that.” He moved behind me and placed his hands at my side. I stiffened, Belle’s voice a nagging entity in my head, and moved away from his grasp in the guise of prepping the oven. He didn’t seem to notice, unless he was pretending.
“And for dessert?” he asked as he peered inside the paper bag.
“White chocolate cake with a hazelnut chocolate liquid inside,” I said. “I’ve made it before, it’s not easy getting the different chocolates to mesh well, but when it does, it’s worth it.”
“I believe it,” he said. We started crushing the tomatoes and making the dough for the pasta.
“Is there anything you haven’t lied about?” I asked with a teasing tone in my voice as he created the pasta without a single flaw. Maddox hesitated.
“I promise, this is it,” he said. “I just wanted an excuse to spend time with a pretty girl. Sue me.”
I faced him. “So what is this now? You’re paying me more than a lot of chefs make in their lifetime to be your cooking buddy?”
He stared at me, an intense look that made me part my lips and take deep breaths. He had such a way to make me feel naked in front of him, especially as his eyes trailed down my face and across my body.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. My cheek twitched. So, neither of us knew what we were doing anymore.
I turned away and busied myself with the task at hand, and an hour and a half later, the lasagna was ready to plate.
“My mother said she had a box reserved for the next Broadway show,” Maddox said as I plated our food. “I can’t remember what show it is, but she specifically invited you. In fact, she made a point to tell me that I wasn’t invited unless you agreed to come with.” He smiled as he shrugged in a what are you gonna do sort of way.
I smiled softly. I knew exactly what Broadway show it was, and it would take a truly crazy person to decline. But seeing shows at the theater with a man and his family felt like such a step that I wasn’t ready to take.
“I’ll think about it,” I said. “Let me know when and what time later.”
Maddox nodded, but there was something off about his expression. He might have felt the tension between us, or the fact that I’ve had a 5-year old’s voice in my head all night, or maybe the lasagna just wasn’t up to par.
Once again, he pulled out my chair, and we sat at the dining table. He took the seat beside me on the end and I watched as he took a bite. He closed his lips around his fork and closed his eyes. I loved the way he savored every dish, and felt a certain sense of pride that he enjoyed it as much as I did. Not only the results, but the process of getting it from the grocer to the gut, as Phil used to say.
“Oh.” His eyebrows rose. “This is amazing.” He took an even bigger bite as I laughed.
“Are you honestly surprised?” I asked. He opened his mouth to reply, but the doorbell interrupted him.
He wiped his mouth with his napkin and rose from the table. “I’ll be right back,” he said on his way out. Moments later Nick’s voice entered the room, followed by a little girl’s excited speech.
“She finished her painting,” Nick was saying as I pushed my plate away from me and met them in the living room. Nick stood in the doorway, his hands shoved into the pockets of jeans and a button-up shirt that was covered in fresh paint. Maddox was kneeling in front of Abby, who held a thin sheet of paper nearly two feet long. “She wanted to show you both.”
Abby showed Maddox first, but she stared at me with such a bright smile and hopeful eyes that reminded me of Belle, and the years I spent annoyed by her.
“This is beautiful!” Maddox said as he examined it. I stood just far enough that I couldn’t see the painting, but I could see the moment Maddox’s expression fell, and his eyes darted toward mine. “Oh, no.” He tried hiding the painting, but Abby tore it from his hands and held it for me to see.
“I painted this!” She exclaimed and stood proud as ever.
The center of the painting was a house similar to Maddox’s, and in front was three stick figures. A short one in the middle, with curly blonde hair and baby blue eyes, holding the hand of the tallest figure, a near bald head and gray eyes.
But the short figure was also holding the hand of another figure, average in height, with bright green eyes and red hair. It took me a moment to realize what I was looking at, even as Maddox said my name and held Abby’s shoulder in his hand.
The picture was of us, Maddox, Abby, and me; we were a family. I was Abby’s mother.
I hope you are. Because then you’ll have a kid soon, and then I’ll have someone to play with.
Belle’s innocent voice and Abby’s sweet gesture was enough to make my world spin off its axis and go unbalanced. Nausea washed over me, and I ignored both Abby’s frown and Nick’s worried eyes as I rushed out of the house. It was all too much too soon, and I had to get away from them both.
“Everly!” Maddox called after me. I turned to find him in the doorway.
“I have to go,” I said, holding up a hand to stop him from coming any closer. Then I turned and left before he could follow me.
Chapter Thirty-One
Maddox
Everly ran out of the house, and I hesitated in the doorway. She said she had to leave, but the pure terror in her expression made me worry for her drive home. I decided I would call her in 20 minutes, and hopefully she’d give me a chance to explain. I understood completely why she left, and why the painting freaked her out, but I still didn’t know what else to do or say. If she wanted to be with me, this was the only package I could present.
“I’m sorry, man,” Nick said. “I didn’t know she was going to react like that.”
“You didn’t think she’d be a little freaked out that a child wants her to be her mom?” I whispered. Abby was staring out the door, where Everly had run. Nick held up his hand.
“Don’t be mad at me. You keep Everly all to yourself; how are we supposed to know what she’s thinking?” Nick said, and I couldn’t help but agree with him.
“You’re right,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“She hates it,” Abby said and looked at the both of us with fresh tears in her eyes. I shook my head and tried soothing her, but she started crying even more. “It’s ugly, Everly hated it!” She ran toward the stairs, and Nick and I both watched as she stormed up to the second floor. I flinched as she slammed her door shut.
“Shit,” I cursed. There were two upset women in my life, and I had no idea how to make either of them happy. I’d never felt so helpless.
“Maybe this was for the best,” Nick suggested. I looked at him, not sure I wanted to hear the rest of his opinions. “Abby wants a mother. It’s not fair to anyone in this situation to be with someone who doesn’t want that. I
t’s not fair to Everly.”
I raked my fingers through my hair and took a deep, calming breath. “She just needs time to think,” I said. “Finding out that way would be a bit much for anyone.”
Nick got ready to leave, and he paused for a moment.
“Are you convincing me, or yourself?” he asked and then without another word he left, closing the door a little too hard behind him. I sighed, frustrated and lost, without a single idea of what to do. Of course, I’d check on Abby first. But then what? What was going to solve this problem?
I knew that this was going to happen one day, that I would have to have a serious talk with Everly and her expectations for the future. She didn’t want children, and I was fine with that. Abby was more than enough for me, but I wasn’t sure if she would be a deal breaker for Everly. At the end of the day, if it didn’t work between us, then I would gladly stand beside Abby and promise that nothing would ever come close to the love I have for her. We could make a life without a mother, or possibly try again one day.
I groaned. I didn’t realize this was going to be so difficult.
I knocked softly on Abby’s door, listening to the sniffles on the other side.
“Go away!” she yelled. I tapped again and opened it. “I said, go away.” Abby ducked under the covers as I entered her room. I tried soothing her by rubbing her back through the blankets, but she huffed and shoved my hand away.
“Am I ruining your sense of trust?” I asked, hoping to get a chuckle out of her.
“Betraying,” she corrected me. “Now go away. I don’t want to talk to anyone ever again. She hated my ugly painting.”
“Abby,” I sat on the edge of the bed. “No one hates your painting.”
A tuft of blonde hair popped out from beneath the comforter. “Everly hates it. She ran away.”
“Did she tell you that she hated it?” I asked. Abby squirmed on the bed, and finally her head popped out. Her blue eyes were covered in a thick layer of tears, and they slid down her face as she sniffed and wiped her arm beneath her nose.
“No,” she admitted. “She didn’t say she liked it.”
“So if Everly didn’t tell you to your face that she hated it, why do you think that?” I asked.
“Because it’s ugly,” Abby said.
“Did you know that Everly was feeling really sick all night?” I asked again. Abby shook her head.
“She’s sick?”
“Yes, she is. And she thought she was going to throw up, and didn’t want to ruin your beautiful picture. She might not have even seen the picture, to be honest. Would you rather she throw up on your painting?” I asked, trying to find the straightest and most innocent lie to help Abby feel better.
“No,” She shook her head. “I don’t want her to be sick on the painting.”
“Good,” I said. “So how about we let Everly get better, and then try showing it to her again? In the future?” I suggested. I would find a way to deal with Everly before then. Abby nodded.
“So it’s not ugly?” she asked.
“It’s beautiful,” I said and offered her my hand. “Come on, follow me.”
Abby slipped her tiny, clammy hand in mine and followed me down the stairs. I picked up her painting that she had thrown onto the ground, and led her into the kitchen, stopping in front of the fridge.
“This painting is so beautiful I’m going to put it right here on the fridge,” I said. “So everyone can see it. It’s a very special painting to me, sweetheart.”
Abby giggled and wiped off the rest of her tears. I picked her up and held her in my arms as we both admired the painting. The three stick figures had giant smiles on their faces, and the sun was shining brightly high above them. There were two cars parked on the side of the house, one a sports car, the other a van. Everly’s stick figure was wearing black pants and a white button-up shirt. I smirked, the typical outfit for a chef, and I was wearing my usual gray business suit.
We looked like a happy family, and I had to admit, I liked how it was making me feel. If only I could get Everly to come around. My heart was cleft in two thinking there may be no way to move forward with her.
“I’ll show her again,” Abby said. “Do you think she’ll like it?”
I didn’t want to lie, but I didn’t want to crush Abby’s hopes of having a mother.
“I hope so,” I said honestly. “I really hope so.”
Abby fell asleep on the couch moments later, and I took the opportunity to clean the kitchen. I scooped the lasagna into a container and set it in the fridge. I would reheat it for me and Abby later when she woke. Until then, I decided to attempt the lava cake myself and started chopping the blocks of chocolate.
It had been a while since I’d made a lava cake, and I had to look up one of the crucial steps. I wished I could have watched Everly make it, how her thin fingers moved around my kitchen as if she owned it. The sweet smell of her hair, always still dampened from what I presumed to be a shower before she arrived, mingling in with the scent of hazelnut and cake batter. She would glance at me with those bright green eyes that curve just slightly at the edge and smirk, asking if I was brave enough to mimic her actions.
I called her, the third time within the hour, but she didn’t answer. I didn’t want to annoy her, but I wanted to know that she was home safe. I sent a text and finished making the lava cake. Abby woke just as I was placing it into the oven, and I reheated the lasagna for us.
Abby approached the table with curious eyes. “Everly made this?” she asked as I pulled her chair back. She climbed up in it and her tiny feet dangled.
I lowered myself beside her and smiled. “She did,” I said. “And then she got sick, so she couldn’t finish it.”
“It’s better than yours,” Abby grinned. I chuckled and took a bite.
I savored the taste for a moment. “I guess it is,” I said, shoveling in another bite.
It didn’t take long to finish my plate, and Abby had eaten her fill before asking if we could watch a movie together.
I started it and served up a delicious lava cake. The movie was possibly a little too scary for Abby’s sake, but she braved it like a champ. I hadn’t realized the show would have so much violence, and turned it off early.
“Uncle Nick isn’t still letting you watch his movies, is he?” I asked as I glanced at my phone. Still no response.
“Maybe.” She yawned in my arms. “They’re not scary. It’s all make believe.”
“That’s a yes,” I murmured. “Stop watching horror movies with Uncle Nick. No wonder you’re getting nightmares every night.”
“They’re bad dreams,” Abby said. “Not nightmares.”
“That’s the same thing,” I said. She finished the last bites of her cake and then I carried her upstairs. We got ready for bed together, brushing our teeth as she sat on the bathroom counter.
“Is Everly feeling better now?” Abby asked. I laughed and checked my watch.
“It hasn’t even been five hours,” I said. “You have to at least give her a day.”
“I just want to show her my painting,” Abby said and finished brushing her teeth.
“She’ll see it soon enough,” I said. I only hoped that she wouldn’t run away again.
I helped Abby change into her pajamas, and kissed her forehead as she crawled into her bed. I smoothed out the covers over her, tucking her in tight around her arms the way she liked it.
“What do you want for breakfast?” I asked. Abby closed her eyes in concentration.
“Peanut butter coconut French toast,” she said.
“Did you just pick three random ingredients?” I asked. “I’ve never made that before.”
Abby smiled up at me. “I want you to make it for Everly.”
I nodded and brought the bed sheets up to her shoulders. “We’ll see if Everly is feeling better. If not, I’ll make it just for you, okay?”
She nodded and closed her eyes. I returned to my room and sat on the edge of the bed with my
phone in my hand. Everly hadn’t answered my text, and my worry was growing with each passing moment.
I called her one last time, and left a voicemail.
“Hey, Everly,” I started. “I wanted to make sure you were home safe, and apologize for tonight. If you want to discuss it, I’m available whenever you are. I made the lava cake, and it was delicious. And your lasagna reheats well.” I hesitated, the pregnant pause becoming more awkward as the seconds passed. “Thank you for dinner and dessert, and again, I’m so sorry about earlier. I hope you’re safe at home. Goodnight.”
I hung up and sat my phone on the dresser. What was I supposed to do now? I checked the text message I’d sent, and realized Everly had at least read it. I was relieved knowing that she was just ignoring me.
The door opened, and I looked over to see Abby standing in her pajamas holding a stuffed animal.
“Scared?” I asked. She nodded.
“Can I sleep with you, Daddy?” she trembled, and I decided no more horror movies for her, ever. I scooted over and made room for her at the edge of the bed.
“Come here, sweetie,” I said. She crawled beneath the comforter and rested against me.
“I’m not scared,” she said as a tree branch thumped against the window. She squealed and pulled the blanket over her head.
“Of course you’re not,” I said. “They’re just bad dreams, after all.”
We lay in silence for a while, and just as I was about to drift off into sleep, her voice startled me awake.
“Did my mommy run away?” she asked. I blinked. It took me a moment to realize she was asking about her actual mother, Chelsea, and not Everly. I kept myself from groaning. Just what this night needed, a conversation about that gold digger. “Did she run away like Everly?”
“Abby, baby, your mom did leave,” I said. I was always careful about how I spoke about Chelsea. Abby didn’t need to know the whole truth, not just yet at least. “But it had nothing to do with you. She loved you very much. She left because she didn’t like me.”
