Stay(15)

He takes the phone back and reads what I wrote. Just as fast he cuts me a look, and it’s like a charge of electricity straight to my core. What am I doing?

He quickly taps a reply, but I’ll have to wait and read it later. “See you tonight. Wear a dress.”

I’m about to tell him I’ll wear what I want, but he turns to Burt. “Take it easy, Dickerson. I see you haven’t changed much.”

“I could say the same to you.” Burt straightens, getting right in Stephen’s face.

A knot is in my throat, and I’m not sure I can breathe. Stephen only exhales a laugh, and takes a step back from my ex-husband. “Good thing I didn’t need to.”

Burt’s face goes red. “Neither did I.”

God, Burt’s such an idiot. My forehead drops to my fingertips, and I shake my head. Stephen only chuckles and walks out the door, leaving me to deal with my ex.

“You’re going out with that guy?” His voice has always reminded me of an annoying little brother older guys would stuff in a trash can.

Or maybe that’s what I wish would happen.

I can’t believe I actually got stupid drunk and slept with him that one night. Or that I got pregnant. Or worse, that I married him. My head spins at the layers upon layers of dumb decisions I made trying to correct that mistake.

The one bright light to come out of that dumpster fire of a year is sitting in Lulabell’s office identifying 120 North American birds.

“Do you really care who I’m dating?” It would be the first time Burt cared about anything not involving his penis.

“I care who my son’s around.” I don’t believe it. “That guy is the biggest asshole I know.”

I can’t resist. “Have you ever looked in a mirror?”

He’s about to snap back at me when we’re interrupted by the one male voice I’m always happy to hear.

“Mom! I got them all right! I made a hundred!” He’s jumping all around holding up a sheet of paper.

“You did not!” I fake disbelief as I try to catch the paper in his waving hand. “Let me see.”

He hands me the sheet verifying completion of the ornithology unit of the state’s junior high science curriculum, and I turn into his biggest cheerleader. “You did it!”

I hold the sheet towards Burt. “He’s making straight As in a sixth-grade science class.”

“Yeah, great.” Burt waves the page away. “You’re still not a teacher.”

Eli’s chest sinks, but I step forward to catch his arm. “This is really amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

He looks up, and I give him my brightest smile. It gets me a small grin, and he lets me hug him. I kiss the top of his head, briefly closing my eyes. It’s moments like this I want to remember.

Not how shitty Burt can be or how I never should have married him.

“All right, get your stuff. We’ve got to go.” Burt walks to the door, while Eli runs to the lockers to grab his backpack.

I duck under the counter and put the bag of sewing supplies in Lou’s cubby. Eli returns, giving me a brief hug before running to where his dad waits at the door.

“Got everything?” Burt asks, and he nods. “Pack your football gear?”

My breath catches, and I spin around in time to see my son’s pleading face. “You know he can’t play football.”

“He can play football. You don’t let him.”

Heat rises in my cheeks, and I’m on the other side of the counter in a flash. “Burt, stop. You know it’s not safe. If he hit his head…”

“He could hit his head riding a bike.”

“Which is why he wears a helmet.”

“He’ll wear a helmet when he plays football.”

I feel like I can’t breathe. “No. That is not in our agreement…”

“The only thing wrong with Eli is his overprotective mother.”

I’m so upset, I’m shaking. “I don’t want to fight you over this—”

“Then stop fighting me.”

He pulls the door open, but I catch his arm in my firm grip. “I will if you force me.”

Our eyes meet, and I don’t expect to see anything in his flat brown gaze. Incredibly, he backs down. “I’ll see if there’s something else we can play.”

My shoulders slump, and I feel like a dishrag. “Thank you.”

Eli is out the door when he steps back, getting right in my face. “This is why I’m with Peg.”

I’m sure he means it as a burn, but all I can think is Peg can have you. “Just take care of my baby.”

“He’s not a baby.”

My jaw tightens, and I say a little prayer as I watch them go. Eli walks dutifully beside his father, who’s checking his phone. Speaking of phones…

Digging in my vest, I pull out mine to see a text waiting on the face. Dick Dickerson is not your hero.

I quickly tap out a response: He never was.

The gray bubble appears with dots in the center. I wait to see his reply. At least his genes don’t seem very strong.

A sigh escapes my lips. Only the sick ones.

My phone goes quiet. No gray bubble. I put it on the counter and start sorting clothes as I think about tonight. Dinner with Stephen Hastings. What have I gotten myself into?