“Emerson,” he says, “while the kids are gone next week, I want you to stay with me.”
“All week?”
“All week.”
My answer is simple. “Yes.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE TALK
Mental note—never tell your ex-husband that you’re going to tell your kids that you’re dating. That conversation did not go well. He repeatedly asked me to wait—but it’s my decision, and Mateo supports it, and that’s all I need.
Exams are done. It’s officially summer break. Mom guilt tells me I shouldn’t jeopardize their first night off school with my own news, but there will always be some reason not to tell them. Maybe the pizza I ordered will soften the blow. I mean, I sprung for the cheesy bread and everything.
The kids and I sit down at the kitchen island. We don’t even bother with paper plates. The pizza box is open, and everyone’s attacking it. Poor Connor eats so slowly, he may not get a second slice.
“Kids, I need to talk to you about something important,” I say.
Ava looks up mid-bite. She knows what’s coming. “Are we getting a dog?” Connor asks.
“No,” I say and take his hand in mine. “I’ve started seeing someone. I’m dating.” Jacob looks at Ava, who’s picking the cheese off her pizza.
Connor’s whole body slumps. I move closer to him and hug him from the side, feeling him start to cry. “I’m the only kid in my class whose parents are divorced,” Connor says. “Why can’t you date Daddy?” he asks.
I look up at the older two. I know Ava’s thinking the same thing. Jacob’s staring at his plate; I never know what he’s thinking. “Your dad and I love each other, but we are better as friends.”
“I’m going to bed,” Ava says and stands up, clearly still uncomfortable with everything, and needing more time to process.
“So tomorrow,” I say, “Mateo is coming over and . . . ”
“Mateo?” Connor says, looking up at me, freezing Ava by her chair. “Why’s he coming over? I like him. Is he bringing that cool car?”
Jacob rolls his eyes and exhales. “Mom’s dating Mateo, moron.”
I narrow my eyes at Jacob then say, “Mateo and I, we’d like to spend some time with you guys. He wants to get to know you better.”
“I don’t like Mateo anymore!” Connor screams with wet eyes then runs off, with Ava following after him.
Jacob takes another slice of pizza. “Would you like to scream or cry now?” I ask him.
“Middle child always goes last,” he says with half a grin.
I playfully bang my head against the countertop then turn to look at him. “I really need to know how you feel about this.”
“I’m okay.”
“Okay is not a feeling.”
“Can I let you know later?” Jacob asks. “I want to talk to Mateo first.”
“You want to talk to him?”
“Yeah. You’re my mom,” he says. “When Dad left, he told me that I was the man of the house. He told me to take care of you.”
I watch my fourteen year old take another bite, so proud he feels protective of me. It’s as close to an “I love you” as I’ll get from him, and I’ll take it for sure. I kiss the top of my boy’s head, making a mental note to warn Mateo.
* * *
I hate packing. The toiletries are the worst. I can throw my clothes in pretty quickly, but it takes forever to remember all the lotions, makeup, and hair stuff I use daily. Then it’s the medicine. As a mom, I’ve learned to pack for anything. We’ve been struck with strep throat on vacation, sinus infections, stomach bugs. Hell, once Ryan even got a chicken bone stuck between his teeth. So now I pack my whole first aid kit and medicine cabinet. There’s also extra pressure for this trip because I won’t be there. Yes, there are stores. Yes, Ryan will be there. But still I want them to have their own things. Plus, I’m trying to pack my stuff for my week with Mateo without anyone noticing. Talk about pressure.
But it’s all a big distraction anyway, trying to avoid thinking about Mateo’s visit today. And he’ll be here any minute. There’s really nothing you can do to prepare for this situation. I haven’t been a nail biter since high school. The SAT really stressed me out. Now my nail beds are suffering again. As for the kids, Ava refused to stay, telling me she already talked to him and didn’t need to stick around. Connor turned on Minecraft when he woke up and has not left the computer since. Jacob actually woke up early for his meet up with Mateo; the phrase “the talk” has taken on new meaning in my house.
The bell rings, and I hustle to answer. Mateo’s dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, and I wonder if he gave that any thought. Probably not, but I know if the roles were reversed, I would’ve emptied my closet looking for the right outfit. I motion for him to come in. He leans in to kiss my cheek. I’m pretty sure he gave that greeting some thought—sweet without being sexy. “I missed you,” he says.
It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other. It’s been a while since I—or we—have focused on my list. Life is always getting in the way. And now’s not the time to be checking things off. “You ready for this?” I ask. “Because I’m so nervous.”
He gently places a little kiss on my lips. I take his hand and lead him towards the kitchen for a drink, wanting to keep this casual. I don’t want this to be some big production, but Jacob clearly has other ideas. He corners us at the kitchen island, as Mateo takes a seat on a stool.
“That’s the one my dad always used,” Jacob says.
“Jacob!” I snap.
“What? It’s weird for him to sit there.”
Mateo holds up his hand to me. “Jacob, would you like me to move?”
Jacob starts pointing, saying, “Ava sits there, then Connor, then me. And that was Dad’s stool. Mom’s always standing. There are no other seats. So I guess there’s no room for you.” I know this is hard for Jacob, but he could try to handle this better. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mateo just smiling at him.
“Maybe we’ll have to start eating in the dining room,” Mateo says. “There are more chairs in there.”
A bit thrown by the idea, Jacob takes his own seat and cuts to the chase. “Don’t hurt my mom.”
“I won’t,” Mateo says, staring into his eyes, like this is a real man-to-man conversation, like they are equals in some way.
Then I move beside Mateo, careful not to touch him. Still, I want to show some solidarity. “Mateo’s not here to replace your dad.”
“I have an idea,” Mateo says. “Why don’t you and I do something your dad doesn’t like? That way I’m not stepping on his toes.”
That’s a decent idea, but I know the mischievous look in my son’s eyes. “Dad doesn’t like the movies I watch.”
That seems harmless enough, but I’m sure he’s up to something. He’s never this agreeable. Mateo shrugs and says, “Okay, what kind do you like? Comedy? Action? Science Fiction?”
“Porn,” Jacob says flatly.
“Jacob!” I yell, steam coming out of my ears, then look over at Mateo, who’s stifling a laugh, his hand covering his mouth. I can see it in his eyes. He likes my smartass son. “Your dad and I do not want you looking at a woman’s . . .” I’m so flustered that I can’t even think of the right words. “Sexy bits.” Mateo and Jacob bust out laughing. Clearly, I’m spending too much time with Poppy.
“Gross, Mom!” Jacob says. “Don’t ever use that phrase.”
“I should just take the TV away all together,” I say.
“Don’t do that,” Mateo says with a straight face. “I know how much you love watching TV.”
I feel my face flush, remembering our code word for sex.
* * *
I thought Connor was going to be the easy one, but I was dead wrong. He refused to eat lunch with us, even though I had his favorite chips. No amount of love, tenderness, threats, or bribes could convince him to even glance away from his computer screen. And when I unplugged it from the wall, he simply star
ed at the blackness. He loves his dad a lot, and I fear the only way Connor will ever accept Mateo is if Ryan does. Needless to say, I’m not feeling very optimistic at this point. As for Ava, she did come home in time to say hello to Mateo and tell me about some new flip-flops she just has to have. All and all, it wasn’t a disaster.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
NO THREESOMES
This afternoon, Ryan’s leaving with the kids to drive to the beach. My flight to Atlanta leaves around dinnertime. Mateo doesn’t know that. He thinks I’m coming in tomorrow, and we’ll leave together after work. After a long week, and the drama of him formally meeting my kids, I figure he could use a little surprise. My suitcase is packed. My mail is on hold. And my home phone is being directed to my cell. That took some figuring out, but I didn’t want to have to tell Ryan to make sure to call my cell. Yep, this is the new sneaky me—the one who’s dead set on making progress on my sex bucket list.
Checking my suitcase one more time, I’ve packed so much it feels a little bit like I’m moving in with him. With all the starts and stops, waiting and wondering, I feel like it’s taken forever to get to this point. But this feels big—spending a whole week together—24/7. Not even Ryan and I did that unless we were on vacation. So this is a huge step for us.
Closing and locking my front door, one of my neighbors runs up the front walk holding a package. “I’m so glad I caught you. This was delivered to my house by accident,” she says.
I thank her, taking the package, and say a quick thank you to God that the package is discreet and she didn’t open it. I stuff it in my suitcase, not wanting to be late to the airport. It’s a short flight between Atlanta and Savannah, and a lengthy cab ride to his place. He lives in a hip and trendy area of the city, his building sleek and modern, the complete opposite of my charming old Savannah home.
His apartment is on one of the upper floors, so I know he’ll have a great view. I put my suitcase at my feet, wanting to have my arms free when he opens up the door. Then I ring the bell. I suddenly hear a woman’s voice calling out. My heart drops.
The door opens. Her brown eyes slide up and down my body, landing on my suitcase. She looks like a model: perfect, exotic, beautiful, young. “I take it you’re not here to deliver the dry cleaning,” she whispers.
My head shakes slightly, and hers does, too, muttering something in Spanish under her breath. Dammit, why did I take French? I’ve never even been to France, or French-speaking Canada, for that matter.
“Emerson,” I hear Mateo say from behind the gorgeous woman.
I throw my hand towards my suitcase. “I was trying to surprise you.”
Thank God, he smiles. “Celia,” he says in a voice almost begging, one I’ve never heard him use before.
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, but you owe me, Mateo.” Then she takes my suitcase, turns around in time for him to drop some keys in her hands, and disappears into the elevator. He steps into the hallway, shutting the door behind him, his hands slipping around my waist. I motion towards the elevator. “Um, she took my suitcase.”
“She’s putting it in the trunk of my car.”
“Did I miss that part of the conversation?”
He laughs. “She’s my twin sister. We just kind of know that stuff without having to say it.”
“Twin?”
“Yeah, I’m older.”
I can’t help but laugh that this thirty-something buff man felt the need to make that point. “Still, why is she taking my suitcase?”
“My mom and dad are inside, along with Celia’s husband and kids,” he says. “My parents are old school. I mean, I’m sure they know I’m not saving myself for marriage, but I don’t want to rub it in their faces.”
“Should I go?” I ask.
“Not at all,” he says, playing with a few strands of my hair. “My mom was disappointed you weren’t here. She wants to meet you.”
“You told them about me?”
“Yeah. We’re close.”
“Do they know I’m divorced with kids?”
“Of course.”
The door flies open, another beautiful woman appearing, an older version of Celia. This must be their mother. Clearly, sexy is in his gene pool. “Mateo,” she says, the slightest hint of an accent.
“Mama,” he says, intertwining our fingers. “This is Emerson.”
Her dark brown eyes go from him to me, and she smiles, saying, “I told you she wouldn’t miss your birthday.”
My eyes fly to Mateo. How could he not tell me it’s his birthday? He just shrugs, giving me a smile, and my mind flashes to the package in my suitcase. This has to be divine intervention—a gift for him. His mother reaches out to me, cupping my face, then pulling me down into a hug. She’s a petite woman, so I really have to hunch over.
“I’m Isabel,” his mom says, taking my hand and opening up the door. “You must come meet everyone.” Stepping into his apartment, I don’t have time to take it all in. The scene is a blur: there are kids running around, a baby crying, two men arguing over something in Spanish. Isabel claps her hands. “Everyone, this is Mateo’s Emerson.” They all seem to yell hello at the same time, and his mom starts pointing to them one by one, telling me their names.
I’m so overwhelmed that I only catch the father’s name, Martin. His hand at the small of my back, Mateo leads me towards his dad. His fatherly eyes flash to his son, and I’m not sure if it’s approval or not. Maybe he doesn’t want his son with someone older, or divorced, or with kids. Then another thing hits me, something I hadn’t even thought about before—about Mateo and me being an interracial couple. Hispanic and Caucasian? Is that even considered interracial? I don’t know. He’s just Mateo to me.
I need to focus. I’m about to meet his father. It’s been forever since I’ve done this. Do I call him Martin or Mr. Reyes? He and Mateo have the same initials. If I married Mateo, my initials would be E.R. That can’t be a good sign. Why am I thinking about marriage? Still, I’ve debated changing my last name back to my maiden name of Montgomery since Ryan and I divorced. I kept my married name, Baker, so the kids and I would have the same last name. But if I ever married again, my last name would be different from theirs.
Before I have time to decide the best way to address him, he’s right in front of me. “Thank you for having me at the party,” I tell his father. “It means a lot to me to celebrate this day with your son and meet his family.” He says something to Mateo in Spanish, and Mateo nods and grins. “What did he say?” I ask.
“He told me I couldn’t tell you.”
I look at his dad, a mischievous grin on his face. “I can see where Mateo gets his charm from.”
He leans forward, patting my hand and grinning. “Happy you could join us.”
“Now where is Celia?” his mother asks.
“Right here, Mama,” Celia says, stepping away from the front door she just snuck back through.
“Oh good, come meet Emerson.”
Celia gives me a bright smile, like she’s meeting me for the first time. “Happy Birthday,” I say, playing along.
She thanks me then walks over to the baby girl crying in her father’s arms. “All the kids are mine,” she tells me before pointing to a couple boys. “Our oldest set of twins.”
My eyes bulge. “You have more than one set?”
“We had twin boys, then two years later, another set of twin boys.” She kisses the baby’s belly. “Then finally I got my girl.”
His mom grabs my arm again. “You must be starving. Mateo didn’t think you were coming, so we ate already.”
“I’m . . .” I start, but Mateo shakes his head at me, making an eating motion with his hand. “Starving.”
She doesn’t ask me what I want, but instead just fills up a plate of food for me. “I’m so happy we didn’t cut the cake yet.”
Mateo kisses her on top of the head. “Can you give us a minute, Mama?”
“Of course,” she says, patting his cheek.
As soon
as she disappears, he leads me to the farthest corner of the kitchen where no one can see us, and leans in for a kiss. But I playfully hold him off. “It’s your birthday? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t think you could come in today with your kids leaving. And I knew you’d feel bad if you couldn’t make it.” He shrugs. “Besides, I’m too old for birthday parties, but my mom insists. She makes it just like when we were kids.” His arms cinch around my waist, forcing our bodies together. “I can’t believe you’re all mine for a whole week,” he says.
I hope it’s for much longer than that.
* * *
I can safely say I love all of Mateo’s family, but mostly Isabel. She’s like my mom’s twin. It was the cutest thing seeing Mateo and Celia blowing out their birthday candles. Yes, his mom actually had thirty-three candles on each cake. Mateo’s was yellow cake with chocolate frosting, and Celia’s was chocolate cake with strawberry frosting. She even had them in party hats. Mateo in a striped cone hat is a sight I will never forget.
Watching Mateo today, I got to see another side to him: the brother who still teases his sister, the uncle who is goofy and silly, the son who is respectful and loving. Getting to see him in the context of his own family was a nice little glimpse of how he’ll hopefully fit into mine.
After Celia and her family went home, his mom and dad hung around longer. His mother insisted she clean up, even though Mateo reminded her he has a cleaning lady who does it. She didn’t care. And when Mateo and I offered to help, she shooed us away with some nonsense that guests shouldn’t clean and neither should birthday boys. So we simply have to wait her out. But I sense Mateo’s patience is waning. If he shifts and adjusts his pants one more time, I’m not going to be able to keep myself from laughing out loud.
My cell phone rings from my purse, and I answer to Connor in tears. “You didn’t answer your phone,” he cries. “You said you’d answer if I needed you. I called you three times.”
Huh? I look at my phone and see three missed calls. I guess I didn’t hear with all the noise at the party. Now I feel terrible. Mother guilt to the Nth degree. It’s like I can hear his lip pout through the phone. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”
The Sex Bucket List Page 15
