Patchwork Paradise(54)

“No, I pretty much came to that conclusion myself. I don’t even know if this was the only day in court. I don’t care. I’m done with it. And I’ll tell Sam’s parents that if I have to.”

“It wasn’t fair of them to ask you to go.”

I sighed and gave Mom another one-armed hug. “They’re afraid people are going to forget Sam.”

She tsked. “Like you ever would. Just because you’re falling in love with someone else—” A wail interrupted her, thank God.

“Oh, hey, they’re back!” I said and sprang away from her to hurry into the house.

Thomas’s hair was in disarray, and he had tight tension lines around his mouth as Milo screamed and screamed in his stroller. I quickly bent down to unstrap him and lifted him into my arms.

“Walkies before dinnertime, bad,” Thomas said, and I laughed even as my headache sharpened a little. Turning around, I handed Milo to Mom. I peeked up at Thomas, stood on the tips of my toes, and kissed his cheek. His eyes went wide. Behind me Mom laughed softly, and I heard her retreat.

“Well, hi,” Thomas said and began to draw me closer, but I pulled back.

“Um,” I said, covering my mouth. “I should probably brush my teeth first. I, uh, barfed at the courthouse today.”

“Oh, Ollie.” Thomas’s dark irises seemed to turn liquid with empathy. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry. Do you have to go back?”

“No, I’m done with it now. No more.”

He pulled me into a hug so tight I could feel my ribs creak. I held him just as hard.

“Why don’t you go brush your teeth,” he murmured, his eyes on my mouth. “And then—”

And then Milo began crying louder. I laughed and patted his arm. “I’ll help you feed him and play with him, until we’re so exhausted we’ll fall asleep on the couch again. With all the sex we’re not having, it’s like we’re married.” I grinned but Thomas didn’t smile back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know this is a huge inconvenience. I want . . .” He looked at me in a way that made me wish I could pay my mom to babysit for a week so I could take him somewhere private and let him do all the things his eyes promised me.

“Be right back!” I squeaked and sprinted upstairs to hide in the bathroom for a while.

Mom was changing Milo when I came down, so I went into the kitchen to help Thomas with the bottle. We were getting the hang of it, but there was still a lot of peering at the schedule and carefully measuring the formula and double-checking all the settings on the bottle warmer.

“Does this get easier at all?” Thomas asked me as he mixed the powder and water.

“I think whenever you get used to something, things change with babies,” I told him.

“It’ll get easier once he starts on solid foods,” Mom said. She was wearing an orange rubber necklace, and Milo was happily mouthing on it.

“And when’s that?” I asked, touching one of the rubber beads. They felt kind of nice and springy, and my mind went to bad, bad places.

“When he’s about six months.”

Thomas stopped what he was doing. “That’s when his mom might want him back permanently,” he said.

Mom sighed softly, I took over the bottle making, and Thomas reached for Milo. “There’s no reason to believe she’s not going to want you in his life.”

“Yeah, but it won’t be all the time.”

“No,” I said, “but what if it’s every other week? Wouldn’t that be nice? You could spend half your time with him and half your time doing, uh, other things.” Mom gave me a disbelieving look, and Thomas seemed to have trouble not laughing. At least he didn’t seem sad anymore. “I mean, whatever, have time to yourself and stuff.” I rolled my eyes. “God.”

“We know exactly what you meant,” Mom said, and Thomas finally began to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled. “Go to the living room, you two. I’ll have this bottle out in no time.”





Friday morning my alarm went off exactly one hour after I’d finally fallen asleep. Milo hadn’t woken up more than usual, but I’d had a hell of a time going back to sleep every time he did. I was in an awful mood when I rushed through my shower and hurried downstairs.

“Coffee?” Thomas asked when I passed him in the hallway.

“You’ll have to make your own. I’m late,” I snapped, and he gave me a startled look.

“I know. I made it, and I was offering you some,” he told me, stung. “I know this is difficult. We’re taking advantage of your kindness. Maybe it’s time we start to reconsider—”

“No,” I said desperately. “Please don’t reconsider anything. I want you here, and Milo too, I just . . . I’m a bit tired, okay? I—” My phone buzzed. “Shit, I have to go. They need me in Brussels today. Don’t—” I held up my hands as I walked backward toward the door. “Don’t leave,” I whispered. I couldn’t read his face in the dimness of the hallway, but I was out of time. The door closed behind me with a finality that scared me.

I had to work late because of course I did, and couldn’t make it home until it was time for Milo’s last bottle of the day. I found myself rushing through the door and into the living room.