The Hot Mess and the Heartthrob(82)

Yep.

Gonna cry.

I wave a hand at the stairs. “Thank you. I need to—”

“Say thank you,” Holly whispers next to me. She raises her voice. “Help me with a mug problem.”

“Thank you,” I stutter.

Holly grips my arm and turns me to the stairs. “Gonna cry?” she asks halfway down.

“Yes.”

“That’s hardcore, sending his mom and her friends to take a little stress off your plate.”

“It’s half an hour on Zoe’s birthday.”

She snorts, but she’s grinning. “You’re out of your league, Ingrid.”

She might be right.

I help Yasmin check out our last few customers, then we lock the door. My kids are all laughing upstairs, and I can hear all of the ladies talking too. Shortly after I’ve told Yasmin and Holly to go home for the night, my phone dings.

It’s Levi, texting me.

You’re going to get a FaceTime request from a weird number in about five minutes. Take it.

I text him back. You sent YOUR MOTHER? Why did you send your mother?

He doesn’t reply.

And five minutes later, like clockwork, my phone rings with a FaceTime request from an email address made up of random letters and numbers.

I swipe to answer, and immediately wish I was sitting down.

“Hi!” the bubbly blonde with glitter eye shadow on the other end says. “I’m Waverly. I’m looking for Zoe? I heard it’s her birthday.”

So, basically, my daughter’s entire life is made.

Again.

And I definitely need to sit down.

And breathe.

And probably stick my head between my knees so I don’t hyperventilate, which seems like a silly reaction to a couple small kindnesses, but it’s where I’m at.

I head up the stairs, stammering to the pop star calling on my phone, then holler for Zoe like an idiot, because I’m yelling in front of her favorite singer, and that’s not a good look for anyone, except when I hand her my phone, she screams even louder than I yelled for her.

“Zoe,” I whisper. “Quieter.”

“It’s okay, Ingrid,” Waverly says cheerfully. “That’s how I felt when I met Taylor Swift too.”

“Oh my god, I love you!” Zoe squeals.

“What? No way! I love your hair. Is that pink glitter?”

“My mom let me have a glitter streak since I’m the birthday girl!” Zoe turns her head and shakes the camera, and I almost apologize, except I know what Levi would do.

He’d sit there and talk to a fan and get motion sick without complaint.

While Zoe chats with Waverly Sweet, I drop into a chair at the edge of the loft, close enough to listen in, far enough away to not ruin this little thrill for my baby girl, and I drop my head between my knees, and I breathe.

Most guys would send flowers or chocolates.

Levi sent family.

He sent friends.

He sent a message.

It’s not I can afford nannies and private planes to make this easier.

It’s I can give you what’s important. I can pay attention. I can make your dreams come true.

Or did he put all of this in motion before I broke up with him, and he’s doing this for my kids, and not for me at all?

But if he did, why would his mom be here?

Does this mean he was falling for me too? That he’s not ready to let me go?

Or is he a master of making me regret what I did?

“Overwhelming, isn’t it?” Donna says quietly beside me.

I nod. I can’t yet look up, because if I do, I might cry.

“If you want us to go, we will. You’ve done an amazing job with your babies, Ingrid. We know you don’t need us. And Hudson’s going to be just fine. Take it from several of us who’ve been there. But if you want us—all of us—I think you know how to get our numbers.”

I swipe my eyes with the balls of my hands and look up at her. “I think you did a pretty amazing job with this mom thing yourself.”

“Honest truth? My boys shock me more every day, still. The one thing Levi’s never wavered on since he was nine years old, wailing into a toilet paper tube microphone in the bathroom while he was buck naked, was that he was never getting married or having kids. Watching him fall for you and your family has been like watching his final puzzle piece fall into place.”

My heart hiccups.

It’s easier to think this was all pre-arranged kindness than to know that I need to decide if I want to take a chance on what we had being real.

If it’s real, I have to bend.

I have to meet him halfway.

And after doing my life my way for so long, I don’t know if I know how.

“I broke up with him.” The words taste like rotten sawdust on my tongue. This woman should hate me. I rejected her son.

Instead, not only is she still here, she’s reaching for my hand and gripping it tight. “Apparently not very well if he still thinks there’s a chance he can win you over.”

Something swells so big in my chest that I almost can’t breathe.

I could give her all the arguments I gave him—that my family and I need someone who’s here, someone who won’t miss birthdays, who won’t be performing in Times Square at midnight on New Year‘s instead of hanging out in the loft for our annual celebration of New Year’s in England so that we can go to bed at a decent hour. Someone who can take a day off to get a sick kid to the doctor for a strep test, or who can do split ops with me so that Zoe can level up in gymnastics, since that class is offered at the exact same time as Piper’s hockey practice and I can’t bring myself to ask someone to take Piper to hockey every week when I don’t know when I could pay them back the favor, and I don’t want to miss all of her hockey practices either. Someone who’ll respect the rules and boundaries I’ve already set for the kids without question and fit into our lives smoothly, instead of us having to bend to fit around his life.