The Lemon Sisters (Wildstone #3)(42)

“Stop.” Brooke closed her eyes. “You didn’t. Me staying away was about me, not you. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for that.”

Mindy felt the knot in her chest loosen slightly. But only very slightly, because she knew Brooke was clearly still holding back. “It’s worth a whole lot, actually,” she said quietly. “But I really need to go kiss my babies now.” She turned to the door, but stopped at Brooke’s words.

“Linc handled bedtime. He fell asleep in Maddox’s bed with him.”

“He’s home from work?” Mindy asked in disbelief.

“Yep. He says he’s going to try to get home by six every night.”

That didn’t compute. “Maddox’s bed is a three-foot toddler bed. How in the world does my six-foot husband fit in there?”

“I don’t know, Min,” Brooke said with a shrug. “Love makes you do some pretty stupid shit. And he does love you, by the way. Oh, and he’s not doing Dr. Hottie. He was laboring under the false impression that he could have female friends with perfect boobs. He’s not doing Brittney, either, who, bee-tee-dub, is very happy with her girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Mindy said, feeling very small. “I didn’t know.”

“The kids knew.”

Mindy heard something in Brooke’s tone that put her back up. “She doesn’t talk much to me.”

“Because you intimidate her.” Brooke topped off her mug with the last of the wine. “Remember when we were kids and we wondered why our parents were always in a bad mood? Now I’m like, okay, yes, it all makes perfect sense.”

“You don’t usually drink wine,” Mindy said. Confusion was becoming her default emotion. “I’d have thought you’d have gotten into Mom’s vodka, which is still in the freezer.”

“It’s two-thirds water, not vodka.”

“Why would it be two-thirds water?” Mindy asked.

“Because in high school, I used to steal it and replace it with water.”

Mindy let out a long, shaky breath. She was in overload mode. “Are we going to talk about why you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you. I’m actually impressed at what you pull off here every single day. And I get why you lost your shit. Even with Brittney’s help, it’s . . . a lot. But I gotta say, it’s also pretty damn great. If you slowed down a little and let up on that tight grip of the reins, you might like it more.”

Mindy felt her eyes fill. Dammit. “I do like it. I love it. I’ve missed being here. I missed Linc and the kids. I missed everything, even the dirty footprints on my bed. I already miss your sheets, but at least today was sheet-washing day here. Page two, tab seven in my binder—” She broke off because Brooke had looked away. “And . . . you didn’t wash the sheets today.” Mindy nodded. “It’s okay, you were probably swamped with everything. It takes a lot of practice to get it all under control.”

“That’s what I’m saying, Min. Things don’t always have to be in perfect control. It’s okay to forget to do laundry or go grocery shopping sometimes.”

“Says the girl who’s twenty-nine and still has four frozen pizzas in the freezer in case she’s drunk and hungry.”

“Hey,” Brooke said. “Those pizzas are gluten-free, and the crusts are made out of cauliflower. That makes them a vegetable. And I don’t turn twenty-nine until next month, so bite your tongue. Also . . . I’m glad you missed being here, but there’re a few things you should know.”

Mindy felt her stomach clench. “Like?”

“Like I gave Brittney a raise. And before you say a word, she deserves it.”

“I know. The kids are—”

“Your kids aren’t the problem. Your kids are wonderful. It’s you. You’re trying too hard. You’re Mom, Min. And I mean that in the most loving way possible. You micromanage the shit out of everything and everyone, but you don’t have to. Brittney’s good, she knows what she’s doing. And . . . there’s one more thing.”

Oh God. Mindy had to sit. “What?”

“I didn’t use the binder.”

Mindy stared at her. “What do you mean? But I told you—”

“I know. But it didn’t work for me.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense. It’s an organizational tool. Everyone needs a little organization.”

“A little?” Brooke asked dryly. “That binder’s got hundreds of pages of instructions on how to run your world.”

“So?” Mindy was wishing she’d poured herself a mug of wine. “It’s called real life, Brooke. You ought to try it sometime!”

“Wow.”

“Wow, what?”

“I’m trying to remember if you were always so judgy,” Brooke said.

“Yes, I’ve always been this way! And you’ve always been”—she gestured at Brooke—“that way.”

“What way?”

She’d tried to hold back, tried to be kind, but she said it anyway. “Selfish.”

Brooke’s eyes narrowed. “Since that’s actually true enough to be fair, you should know something else that’s true—the kids thrived without the damn binder.”