Ainsley jumps up and races out of the room yelling, “I’ll get it for you, Mommy.”
The conversation about ice between her and Abel is nothing more than murmurs and the sound of Abel ratting around in the freezer. It’s nice to see that my daughter and my boyfriend can get along. His daughter and girlfriend apparently cannot. The current stare-off I’m finding myself in is proof of that.
I don’t know how we end up locking eyes, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to back down. It’s not about winning. It’s about not letting her run over me. She tries to get my goat every single day, and since Abel won’t intervene enough for it to stop, I don’t feel like I have much of a choice left.
Finally, having enough of this situation, I draw out all the mom-jo I can find and put myself into position—leaned back, arms crossed, lips pursed in irritation, one eyebrow cocked, and my head slightly tilted. It’s the universal body language that means “bring it” used by millions of teachers, moms, and step-moms around the world.
For a split second, Mabel’s eyes widen. She knows exactly what I’m saying without using words. The look is gone almost as soon as it happens, and Mabel turns on her heel and stomps out of the room, passing Ainsley who is running back in.
“Abel doesn’t have an ice pack, Mommy, but he gave me a bag of peas.”
She hands me the bag and a rag, so I don’t accidentally get frostbite, then proceeds to chatter about how there is no way we’ll get her to eat these peas now that they’ve been on my foot. I kind of don’t disagree with her.
As she helps me get situated—and “helps” is a relative term—Abel carefully walks in holding a plate and some silverware. He slowly pulls out an actual TV tray I didn’t realize was here and sets it up next to the couch for me. He’s not a moment too soon because, on top of everything else, I’m starving.
“Oh, thank you,” I gush, because truly, I don’t think I could sit at the table easily with my foot up and balance frozen peas on it.
He flashes me the smile that I’m learning is much different than the one he gives anyone else. The one that says our feelings are continuing to grow deeper than they were a month ago. A smile that proves he was right when he said the best relationships start out as friends.
“You don’t have to thank me.” He moves the tray a little closer so I can reach the food without much effort. “It’s just shredded chicken, cauliflower potatoes, and green beans.”
“Cauliflower potatoes? Where did you get that idea from?” I crinkle my nose, not sure what to think of a cauliflower posing as a potato.
“Oddly enough, I got the idea from Rian. My client who is pregnant.”
I smirk at him. “The one you helped get pregnant?”
“Not in front of my boss, or my kid, okay?”
We both laugh as he runs back to the kitchen to bring me a drink and a few napkins.
“Seriously, Abel,” I gush, “I really appreciate you thinking about how to make my night easier. I know it’s hard to be up early and keep the kids all afternoon.”
He shrugs sheepishly. “This is what you do in a relationship, Elliott. Or at least, it’s what I do.”
I open my mouth to respond with “It’s what we all should do,” but the moment is stolen from me by a snot-nosed, soon-to-be pre-teen who suddenly screeches, “How come she gets to eat in the living room and I have to sit at the table?”
If it weren’t for the pain I’m in, the bad day I had, and the fact that Mabel just said
“she” like I’m the most vile, disgusting thing she’s ever seen, I’d let it go. But I am in pain and I did have a bad day. And I’m already anticipating how much worse it’s going to be tomorrow morning when I need them to help me help them get ready for school.
It doesn’t help when Abel’s only response is to say, “Because she has a broken toe, Mabel. When you have a broken toe, you can eat out here too.”
Suddenly, my dinner doesn’t look as appetizing as it did a few minutes ago.
When I push it away, Abel looks at me quizzically. “What’s wrong? Are you starting to get nauseous?”
“You have no idea,” I say under my breath.
Sitting down next to me, he puts his large palm on my forehead. “You don’t feel feverish. That’s good. Maybe you need an antacid? Sometimes injuries like this can make you feel sick once the adrenaline wears off.”
Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I take a few deep breaths. “It’s not the food, Abel.”
“Then what is it?”
I don’t want to have this conversation. I really don’t. We’ve had it before, and nothing changed. But this time I’m in legitimate pain, which makes the filter between my brain and my mouth not as strong.
“I can’t keep doing this, Abel.”
“Doing what?”
He looks genuinely confused by what I’m saying, and I can’t help but recognize the sweetness that goes with a father who thinks his baby girl is wonderful. Every father should feel that way . But this baby girl is going to be a menace if he doesn’t take a step back and look at things objectively.
Thinking about how to best approach this topic, I settle on yet another work around. “This is your house, but it’s my house too, ya know?”
He nods in agreement. “Of course. You pay to live here, and as far as I’m concerned, that means we share the house equally.”
Good. I’m glad to see we’re on the same page so far.
“I’ve always been of the mindset that your home is where you should rest. It’s your sanctuary.”
“Absolutely.”
“And if I’m being honest here, this doesn’t feel like a sanctuary to me.”
There. I said it. No take backs.
Abel pauses for a few seconds before getting to the crux of the issue. “Because of Mabel?”
I nod once, not wanting to be overly dramatic. “It’s not that I don’t care for Mabel. She’s energetic and funny. Some of her sassy comments make me laugh really hard. But her attitude toward me is terrible.”
“I know she’s not always kind with her words. But I told you we’re working on it. I talked to her about it the other day. About how you’re not her mom, and she needs to not take her anger out on you.”
I knew Abel would say that. And while I appreciate it, clearly it didn’t work.
“And yet it keeps happening.”
“It’s going to take time.”
“I know that. But, Abel, look at it from my perspective. I’m in pain and needed to come home to rest. But instead of resting, I’m sitting on pins and needles because I’ve already had one showdown with her over my foot being on the table.”
Abel huffs a laugh. “Yeah, that girl likes her rules.”
“First, it’s not funny. Second, it’s not true. If she was so into rules, she wouldn’t have worn her jammies to school the other day simply to prove I couldn’t make her get dressed.”
Abel throws his hands in the air. “Well, I don’t know what to do about it. I’m trying here, Elliott. I really am. What am I supposed to say, ‘I’m sorry your mother left, and you have all this anger inside you, but if you do it again, I’ll take away the Wii.’?”
“Yes! That’s exactly what you say!” Our voices are raised now, and I’m sure the girls can hear us, but I don’t care. This has to be hashed out. The future of our relationship and living arrangements depend on this. “Look, I know she’s hurting. I know. And I give her leeway because of it all the time.” He opens his mouth to interrupt me, but I hold up my hand to stop him. “To a certain point. But she is crossing lines left, right, and center, and pain isn’t the reason.”
“Then what’s the reason?” He doesn’t ask because he wants a real answer. This is a challenge question. And this might all blow up in my face if he doesn’t like the real answer.
“Because no one makes her stop. And by no one, I mean you.”
Abel looks away, mashing his lips together. I know he’s angry with me, but I also know it’s about not wanting to m
ake a mistake as a dad and not knowing how to fix this.
“Look, Abel. Mabel has every right to feel angry. But what she does with that anger is important. If she doesn’t learn how to channel it appropriately now, where will she end up? Probably in New York City with her new agent boyfriend.”
Abel’s jaw drops, and I know he feels like I slapped him. “You crossed a line.”
“I know.” Because I do. Unfortunately, teetering on the edge of that line wasn’t making a difference. “But if you think about it when you’re not mad at me, you might realize I’m also right. When you grow up getting everything you want, you become an adult who still takes whatever you want.”
Gingerly, I push myself up to standing and drop the peas on the table.
“Thank you for making dinner. When Ainsley is done, will you please send her upstairs?”
He doesn’t answer, gaze glued to the floor as I hobble up the stairs into the safety of my bedroom and shut the door.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ABEL
Elliott’s words stung. It’s still stinging a couple hours later.
It’s not that I don’t understand where she’s coming from. I do. No one should feel uncomfortable in their own home. Even if that home is shared with another family. But no one should be backed into a corner and have to choose between their girlfriend and their child either.
I know that’s not what Elliott said. But it definitely felt that way. Like if I don’t discipline Mabel the way she sees fit, it’s a deal-breaker for Elliott. But what if I don’t think Mabel is doing anything all that wrong? Sure, she’s being mouthy, which we definitely need to talk about. But she’s a kid. They process their anger and grief in different ways.
Right?
These thoughts were running through my mind the entire time the girls and I were eating dinner and all the way through my cleaning up afterward. The only conclusion I have come up with is… I don’t know what the right thing to do is. I don’t know if I’m being too harsh or too lenient. Maybe both. Maybe neither. I’m stumped.
The kicker of it all is I thought I had this parenting thing nailed, but after tonight, I’m second guessing everything I thought I knew.
I’ve based my entire strategy as a parent by being stricter than my parents were. They basically let us run wild and do whatever we wanted. By the time we were teenagers, that meant no curfews and very few rules. As long as it was legal, it was fine.
Unfortunately, not all of us stayed between the very lax boundaries, which is probably how my older brother ended up doing a short stint in the state prison. And why my sister ended up dropping out of high school, only to finally go back and graduate after realizing fast food wasn’t going to pay for diapers, and without an education, she wasn’t going anywhere.
Don’t misunderstand—my parents are great. They’re fun and loving and want their kids to make good choices. They just fell more into the “friend” role than “parent” role. With our strong-willed personalities, that may not have been the best way to go.
Which is probably why my younger brother is still single, and why I’m adamant about having a regular bedtime and making Mabel eat her vegetables. She’s as stubborn as I was, so I want to make sure she had more guidance than I ever got. Now, though, I have this uncomfortable pit in my stomach that has me questioning it all.
The one thing I know for sure is I need to talk to Mabel. I need to find out why she has such animosity for Elliott and what she needs from me to help curb it. And I need to figure it all out soon.
“Hey, Mabel.”
Freshly bathed, my little girl is climbing into her twin bed, settling between her bean-bag-style basketball and the My Little Pony stuffed animal May sent her for Christmas. That damn pony is a harsh reminder of why I’m trying so hard not to cause my child to feel any more rejection.
Mabel sleeps with it every night. She doesn’t like cartoons and has never seen the show, but she won’t part with it, and it has a pride place on her pillow during the day. I guess when your mother leaves you and doesn’t make much effort to visit, you cling to any present they send you, no matter how ridiculous it is. Seeing it now makes it so much harder to have this conversation.
Biting the bullet, I go for it. “Why don’t you like Elliott?”
She looks at me and if she was a few years older, I’d swear she was thinking, “Really? We’re doing this now?” But she’s not old enough to have those kinds of thoughts yet. I hope.
Instead she grabs her pony and hugs it tight to her chest. “Because she’s not my mom.”
Sitting on the edge of her bed, I make myself comfortable. “Neither is your teacher, but you don’t say ugly things to her.”
“My teacher doesn’t live here and try to be my mom.”
Finally, we’re getting somewhere. She’s wrong, but at least she’s being honest. “Mabel, Elliott isn’t trying to be your mom.”
“Yes, she is, Dad. She makes me get up in the morning. She makes me breakfast, but she makes the wrong kind and won’t make me what I want to eat.”
“Honey, she does all that in the morning because I asked her to. That way you can sleep in and don’t have to go to the gym with me in the mornings. Just like I pick up you and Ainsley in the afternoon while she works.”
Mabel lays her head on her pillow and closes her eyes. I know I’m going to lose this battle of wills soon. When she doesn’t want to talk about something, she literally shuts down. Usually in the form of falling asleep. But this time, it’s not before she gets in one more dig.
“She doesn’t even wear eyelashes,” she scoffs.
Furrowing my brow, I’m not sure I heard her correctly. “What?”
“I said, she doesn’t wear eyelashes. And doesn’t she notice the wrinkles on her face? Someone needs to get her a good face cream to help with that. I’d probably like her better if she didn’t look old.”
I’m stunned into silence. Not because that was probably the snottiest thing I’ve ever heard my child say, but because it confirms everything Elliott was trying to tell me.
My child is turning into a mean girl.
My mind is racing with scenes from when May and I were married and the things she would say about other people when I was only halfway paying attention.
“She would be so much prettier if she got better clothes.”
“That’s her style? Are you sure she isn’t trying to imitate Cindy Lauper’s early years?”
“No woman should leave the house without lipstick. It’s a cardinal rule or something. It makes you look poor.”
I never really paid any attention when May was going on about other people. I had learned to tune it out when we were in that brand-new honeymoon stage, so I wasn’t really listening to what she was saying for the remainder of those years. But our daughter was. And despite May not being here, her influence is still very much in this house.
“Mabel.” She ignores me, pretending to be falling asleep, but I know her better than that. “Mabel, look at me.”
She sighs dramatically. “Daddy, I’m tired. I need to go to sleep.”
“And you will after you listen to me.”
Finally, she opens her eyes and turns toward me.
“Mabel, Elliott is a nice woman. She takes care of you when I’m not here. She makes sure you aren’t forgetting anything when you go to school. She leaves notes in your lunchbox sometimes, right?”
Mabel nods and I can see her expression softening a bit. She didn’t know I knew about the notes. She also doesn’t know I found the box she keeps them in. I won’t admit to that little tidbit, though.
“Elliott is my friend. I know you wish your mom was here instead of her, but she’s not. She’s not going to be. That’s a choice she made. I know it’s hurtful to you, but Elliott didn’t do that. Elliott just wants to have a nice, safe place for her and Ainsley to live. And she deserves for you to at least be civil to her.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“That
means you listen when she tells you to do something like get dressed for school.”
Mabel scowls, although I’m not sure if it’s because I’m calling her out, or because apparently wearing Disney characters on your clothes isn’t the way to make yourself popular in second grade. Elliott was right on that one—the natural consequences seem to have worked.
“It also means you stop trying to make her follow your rules and you remember she’s the adult here. You need to be respectful and mind your manners.”
Mabel doesn’t say a word, only stares at me. I can tell she’s battling her own pride right now, and I don’t want to push her. Just admitting why she doesn’t like Elliott is a good step in the right direction.
“Look, I like Elliott. And I know it’s weird she’s my girlfriend—”
“I don’t want you to marry her,” Mabel blurts out.
Now how do I answer this one? “Marriage isn’t an option right now, baby, so you don’t need to worry about it. But if someday we decide to get married, that’s something we would have to discuss.”
“No.”
“No what?”
“No, it’s not something I want to discuss.”
I sigh. We’re getting off track. “There’s no reason to discuss it now anyway. All I’m asking is for you to obey Elliott and be respectful instead of acting like you hate her. Whether you like her or not, having her around makes things easier for all of us. I don’t want us to lose that.”
Mabel rolls her eyes to the ceiling and stares at nothing, huffing her annoyance. It’s a look I’ve seen her mother make before, and that bothers me. I don’t want Elliott to be right, but when Mabel does stuff like this, I can understand the comparison.
Finally, she looks back at me. “Fine. I’ll listen to her in the mornings.”
“And not be ugly to her.”
“I said fine.”
Nodding my approval, I lean down and kiss my daughter on the top of the head then tuck the sheets around her. “That’s all I’m asking, baby girl.”
I’m actually asking for more than that, I think as I shut off the light and walk out of the room. I’m asking for them to get along and maybe, eventually, even like each other. But this is a good start. For now.
Cutie and the Beast: A Roommates to Lovers Single Dad Romance (Cipher Office Book 3) Page 21
