Eligible Ex-Husband: A Hero Club Novel

by Marie Johnston

  I peek at her from under my hand. Her wild hair is pulled back into a ponytail and perspiration glows on her skin. The flush on her face is deeper than after we finished our quickie in the bedroom. The concern in her eyes is for me. I have no idea why my parents don’t see what a treasure she is.

  I break the bad news, and I hate that my parents visiting is considered bad news. “My parents are coming next weekend.”

  She takes the chair next to me at the table. “Is it one of their turn and burns?”

  “Yep. And I told them we’re back together.”

  “Ah. Didn’t go well?” After our college years, she’s taken everything with my parents in stride, mostly because we haven’t had to deal with them much. But it can’t feel good.

  “It’s hard to tell. We’ll have to see if they cancel.”

  “They need time to recruit one of their friend’s single daughters to fly up here with them and lure you away.”

  Like the time in college I went home to meet up with Liam, but my mother had planned a dinner—with the daughter of her bank’s president. Or the time when I wasn’t allowed a plus-one for a family friend’s wedding and was seated at a table with that same woman. It wasn’t subtle, and it was horribly insulting to Natalie.

  “They can bring an entire harem and it won’t change anything.”

  She flashes me a smile. “I know. I need to grab a quick shower.” She stands but pauses midway through pushing her chair in. “You know… I don’t have to go. It could just be you and the girls.”

  Surprise lifts my brows. We’ve always made a show of solidarity. “You don’t want to be with us?” At her flat look, I change my question. “You don’t want to be my moral support?”

  “Then who’s my moral support?”

  “I need you there,” I say quietly. My parents’ lack of visits doesn’t make them any less stressful. The time between seeing them only compounds it.

  She hides whatever she’s feeling behind her resolve. “All right. I’ll be there.”

  Relief beats at me. I know these meals are hard for her. She’s practically ignored, but it’s usually better than if my mother tries to talk to her. “Thank you. I owe you one.”

  “After Saturday, I may call it in.”

  Chapter 20

  Natalie

  I pick out my nicest slacks. Navy blue with a crisp seam. My cream silk blouse is next.

  It’s hot outside. And more humid than normal. Why am I wearing a silk blouse to meet Simon’s parents?

  Phyllis and Trent Gainesworth are not, and will never be, my biggest fans.

  I need your moral support.

  Buttoning up my shirt, I examine my hair in the mirror. Should I flat iron it?

  My shoulders burn when I do it and then I’m left with a version of myself that I don’t recognize and it makes me feel like the girl that’s always trying to fit in.

  I drop my hands from my collar and stare at myself.

  Simon took that girl and gave her a place where she always fits in. When we divorced, I had to find it for myself. And I did. In seven months. Not bad.

  But today is the highlight of sticking out. My differences and any perceived deficiencies will be pointed out or alluded to. I can’t care. What Phyllis and Trent think can’t make a difference.

  Simon enters the house. His voice rings across the place, calling the girls to load up.

  He pops his head in the bedroom and stops. “Whoa. You look nice.”

  “It’s going to be hot.”

  He shrugs. “The country club’s restaurant will be freezing and Mother will comment that she needs a shawl.”

  My lips twitch. His perpetually cold mother does that every time. “And your dad will remind her that she left it in the car.”

  “I never figured out why she doesn’t bring it in.”

  I do. It makes her stand out. Standing out in the Gainesworths’ world isn’t a good thing.

  Simon drives us to the country club. I swear he’s only a member for the occasions his parents are in town.

  Trent is opening the door of a dark sedan for his wife when we pull into the parking lot. Phyllis Gainesworth unfolds her long, glamorous body. Her pale blond hair is in a tight chignon and she’s wearing a purple sleeveless dress that fits every inch of her svelte frame and short black heels. No matter what her personality is, I’ll always feel short and frumpy around her.

  Trent closes the door after her. His smile widens when the girls race to him.

  Phyllis feigns surprise and puts her hand to her chest. “Oh, my dears. Look how you’ve grown.” She stoops to catch them in a giant hug.

  They really do love their grandchildren. If they showed Simon half the warmth they show the girls, he might not be such a debilitating perfectionist when it comes to his professional life.

  “Simon.” Phyllis’s voice holds sincere warmth I’m grateful to hear. She stretches her lean arms out wide and enfolds him in a quick hug, giving him a peck on the cheek. Simon ducks his head like he’s embarrassed, but I know he treasures these rare affectionate moments.

  As Simon exchanges an awkward back pat with his dad, Phyllis assesses me.

  All warmth is gone and her familiar coolness sets in. “Natalie. Nice to see you again.”

  “Glad you could make it. How was the trip?”

  “Well.” She gestures around. “It was certainly a tiny plane.”

  Meaning, there was no first class. “That’s too bad.”

  Maddy tugs on Phyllis’s dress and usually I’d try to curb her tendency to be handsy with loved ones, but I refrain. Phyllis clasps her hands together and delightedly listens to the story Maddy tells of her swimming lessons.

  Trent even waits until she’s done before saying, “Shall we?”

  Simon escorts us inside and we’re seated at a rectangular table. The girls fight to sit around their grandma. Phyllis is on one end with Abby across from her and Maddy right beside her. Simon’s on the other side of Maddy. I’m between Abby and Trent.

  Simon starts in with business, makes a few attempts to draw me into the conversation, but other than a polite smile and nod, Trent doesn’t address my existence. Soon, they’re talking nothing but business.

  Turning my attention toward Phyllis, I’m relieved that she’s deep in discussion about the Frozen movies and how she hasn’t seen them and when the soonest she can see them is.

  “How’s Chloe?” Abby asks.

  Phyllis’s smile is bittersweet. “Doing well, I hear. She’s also learning to swim.”

  “Do you get to watch her swim?” Maddy’s practically sitting on Phyllis’s lap, but my mother-in-law doesn’t seem to mind. “Does she sleep over a lot?”

  The smile turns sad. “No, she splits her time between her mom and her dad.”

  Abby tilts her head. “But I thought Uncle Liam was her dad.”

  Phyllis’s expression freezes and a line forms between her brows.

  I squeeze her hand. “Remember when we talked about all the ways kids can have more than one dad or mom? It’s like that.”

  “Aunt Genevieve remarried?”

  “Uh, no.”

  Phyllis’s brows rise and she adopts the usual disapproving face she gets when she talks to me. An icy chill washes down my spine. What’s she going to say? “No, dear, it’d be like if you weren’t really your father’s biological daughter but he raised you without knowing that. Chloe has a biological father and one who raised her for her first few years.”

  Her pointed stare rests on me a moment too long. Does she think I cheated on Simon? That I lured him into marrying me?

  Abby looks at me, eyes wide. “Do I have a biological father too?”

  I barely keep from shooting Phyllis a glare. “Your biological dad and the dad who’s raising you is the same.”

  “Unless your mom was to remarry.” Phyllis’s voice is sugary sweet. “Then you’d have a stepdad.”

  “But she won’t.” Maddy’s voice overflows with confidence. “Mom an
d Daddy are back together.”

  Phyllis’s smile is tight as she pats Maddy’s hand. “So I hear. Tell me more about this summer camp.”

  Abby starts in on soccer and I smile fondly at every word, but it’s fake.

  Moral support. Simon’s moved onto the stock market with Trent. Phyllis is taking advantage of the kids to ignore me. I’m stuck in the middle, twiddling my damn thumbs.

  I shouldn’t have come. I study the menu for way too long, rereading every entry at least ten times. When we finally order, I go for the cheapest meal option. Chicken something. I’ll never give them reason to think I’m a money-grabber.

  As we wait for the food, everyone has someone to talk to. Except for me. Simon is justifying his business decisions to his father. Why can’t Trent just talk to him like a colleague at the very least? Phyllis is drawing pictures with the girls. My mom does the same thing, only she manages to chat with me at the same time.

  Each minute ticks by excruciatingly slow until the food arrives. I’m grateful for something to do.

  I take as long as I can to eat my food. Phyllis tells the girls how she had something similar to the pasta dish she ordered when she was in Paris. Only her description makes the Paris one sound like it was served on a gold platter and covered in diamond flakes.

  The only item left on my plate is the mashed parsnips. I set my fork down and put my napkin on the table. “If you’ll excuse me,” I say to no one in particular and I don’t know that anyone paid any attention.

  My face burns as I make my way to the restroom. The chicken sits heavy in my stomach like a block of lead. A wave of nausea surges and then ebbs.

  Slipping into the single restroom, I peek at the door next to it. Good. More than one. I don’t have to hurry. It’s not like anyone will notice that I’m gone.

  After I lock the door, I lean on the cool granite counter. My cheeks are flushed and my eyes are glassy. My stomach clenches and for a moment, I fear my meal is going to make a return trip.

  I suck in deep breaths. I can’t believe I’m this upset over Phyllis and Trent’s treatment of me. The idea that I should be used to it doesn’t make me feel better, but still. I should be used to it.

  I close my eyes and take measured breaths. Eventually, the nausea passes and my energy is sapped.

  I lean against the counter. God, I don’t want to go back out there. I don’t want to be in this silk blouse. I don’t want to wear these pants or heels. I want to be in shorts and a tank top and yank some weeds out of my flower bed.

  But I’m here. I’m being a good role model for the girls even if they might not understand it for years.

  Does a good role model sit and sulk through the whole meal when one of the most important people in her life asked her to come for moral support?

  He and I are together in this. I need to go out there and help deflect the hurtful comments.

  I open the door. Simon’s waiting against the opposite wall, his chin tipped down, his eyes searching mine.

  “That bad?” His voice is low.

  I peer down the hallway. His parents and the kids can’t see us.

  “I’m not feeling well.” I let out a gusty sigh. “And yeah, it’s the usual. Your mother gets in a few digs and then ignores me. Your father pretends I don’t exist. But it’s not going well for you, is it?”

  His mouth tightens and he nods. “Think you can make it through the rest of the meal, or should we go?”

  I wave my hand. “I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

  “You shouldn’t have to.”

  “We’re in this together. You have three number one fans sitting at your table.”

  “They happen to be my three favorite people.” He holds his arm out.

  We walk back to the table, me tucked into his side. His father’s back is to us, but his mother’s gaze lands on us and jumps away, her lips thinning.

  It doesn’t get to me like it should’ve. I have moral support too.

  Simon

  “Do you talk to any of your old friends from Wharton?” Dad sips the last of his wine.

  Looking at my dad hurts. I see an older Liam. When we were younger, I never thought Liam looked like Father as much as others claimed. But the last time I saw him, after years of working in the high-stress investment field and in a marriage that wasn’t the fairy tale Liam thought it’d be, he resembled our father. Fine lines fanning out around his eyes and a few grays popping out at the temples.

  My father is almost all gray now. Mother probably would be too, but she’ll never let anyone see it. Natalie once commented that they probably flew back to Pennsylvania every six weeks so Mother wouldn’t miss a hair appointment with her trusted stylist. It’s not a bad thing, but it says a lot about how Mother views life, and how she wants everyone to view her.

  But seeing her with her grandchildren is a revelation. Not once has she been anything less than supportive and loving. I don’t know why her affections skipped a generation, but I won’t complain. Natalie’s parents are wonderful, but I won’t take for granted that mine can contribute a little something to my family.

  However, their treatment of Natalie is a problem. It didn’t cause our divorce, but it’s not helping us.

  “Like Patrick? Or Karsten?” Dad’s question yanks my attention back to him.

  “Uh, no. Patrick lives in Hong Kong and Karsten retired early and moved to the Caymans. I heard he teaches diving.”

  Dad scoffs and takes another drink, his chest puffing. “Retired before thirty? More like he couldn’t handle it.”

  Since Karsten started dabbling in drugs in college and then used them to fuel his long hours on Wall Street, I think rehab and retirement is the best decision he made. “He realized he didn’t have to handle it.”

  “Well.” Distaste turns Dad’s lips down. “He’s at the beck and call of his co-workers when they go on vacation in the Caymans and want to learn diving. Do you ever get a chance to row?”

  “They call it kayaking here, Dad,” I joke.

  He smiles, but his disgust of living the regular man life hasn’t left. “Not one crew you can row with?”

  “I’ve heard they’re trying to bring the sport here, but I haven’t had time to look into it.” I don’t miss rowing. Liam rowed. Therefore, I was expected to row. His team won trophies. Mine didn’t. All that practice for a sport I wasn’t invested in means I don’t care to touch a paddle again.

  “You’d have more time if you hired a proper team to work for you.”

  “Like I said”—over and over—“I’m working on it.”

  “Well.” That’s my father’s way of saying I’d love to beat the dead horse of how I think you should run your business, which happens to be exactly like Liam did but I’ll give you a pass and you should be thankful. “Are you busy enough to expand though?”

  “Dad’s going to coach soccer,” Abby interjects from the other side of Natalie. I didn’t realize she was listening.

  There’s that fatherly frown of disapproval. “I guess you’re not busy enough, eh, if you’ve got time to do stuff like that. Didn’t you coach in high school?”

  It’s not an innocent question. It’s more code. This time for Don’t teens coach because the adults have important jobs to do?

  “It’s important to me to be a part of my kids’ lives.”

  Father lets out a non-committal grunt. They didn’t even go to my parent-teacher conferences unless they were mandatory.

  “Is it time, dear?” That’s my mother’s code for I want to leave and you need to say it’s time to go so I never look like the bad guy.

  Dad looks at his Rolex and winces, but I doubt he’s remorseful. “Sorry, we can’t stay longer, but we need to get back to the airport.”

  Natalie packs the girls’ stuff as they lead their grandmother out the door. I smile at the sight of my prim mother in her designer dress getting led out by each hand.

  I drop my gaze to Natalie and my smile dies. Her mouth is set in a firm line and she�
��s shoving crayons and notepads into her purse.

  Father’s not done with me yet. “Did I tell you that Crenshaw’s daughter, remember the one you met when you were home sophomore year of college, moved back to Pennsylvania?” He chuckles. “She lives in the neighboring suburb. Small world. She runs a telecommunications company. The head of it. Pretty impressive for someone her age. I don’t think she’ll be quitting when she has kids, or retiring at thirty.”

  My gaze darts back to Natalie. She stiffens but follows the same path to the exit as the girls and my mother.

  “Good for her.” Retiring at thirty doesn’t sound bad to me. But there’s no way I’ll be in a position to kick back and quit. My company is at a critical growth level. I have several more years before I can take a back seat, or even get away to the Caymans and take diving lessons from Karsten.

  My father continues informing me about Crenshaw’s daughter and her job as we walk out. Natalie’s standing by the passenger door of my car with her arms wrapped around herself. The girls are playing around in the back seat of my parents’ rental.

  “Go get loaded up,” I order the girls. Nerves tighten in my gut. Is Natalie feeling like crap because of my parents? And I’m the one that asked her to come when she didn’t want to.

  I meant it when I said I’m not messing up my second chance with my wife. And that means something needs to be done.

  I didn’t wake up today, thinking I’d need to confront my parents. I’ve never done that. Not about the way they treated me versus Liam. Not about the way they treat Natalie. And not about how little they’re truly involved in my kids’ lives.

  That ends today.

  After the girls give my parents another round of hugs and run off, I steel myself. “Listen.” Something in my tone makes them pause. Neither one has gotten in the car yet. “I’ve never said anything before, but I’m rectifying that. You need to treat my wife better. She’s the love of my life, the mother of my kids, and I don’t want to lose her. If that means cutting toxic people out of my life, then…”

  “What the hell are you saying?” Father blusters. “We’ve never said anything bad to her.”