Pretty? She called my son ‘pretty’? No one calls my son pretty and gets away with it.
I may have been polite to her before, but this time she has something I want, and I’m not in the mood to play nice. “Masen is a boy, so I’m not sure ‘pretty’ is the correct word.”
“Oh, you know what I mean.” She shrugs it off. “Since Haden postponed the wedding and all, my mind is all over the place. The caterer is booked for the next six months, so I’ve been running around trying to find a new one. It’s been a mess.”
“I’m sure you’ll find one.” This time it’s my turn to bring the fake smile to the table.
“We’d better. The wedding is next Saturday.”
“You’re getting married next Saturday?” I almost choke.
“Uh-huh. This is it. I told Haden no more postponing and he agreed,” she squeals. “I hope you’re free?”
“I… uh… Masen will probably cry and stuff.”
Did I just say that? Excuse me while my heart throws itself onto the ground so it can continue to be stomped on, along with any self-respect and dignity I have left.
“Well, that’s another thing. We’d really like it if Haden’s mom can push the baby down the aisle. Actually, I bought this little outfit for him, and my mom decorated my old carriage with lace and flowers.”
She pulls out her phone and flicks through photographs while I continue to stand here, shell-shocked.
The wedding is still going to happen, and everything Haden said was nothing but empty promises.
Lies, to be exact.
And just at that moment, the realization that maybe I’m living in denial in this sick and twisted game is like a sword piercing my heart, continually stabbing me until I am out of breath. My hands have clasped onto the handle of the stroller, and all I can see is my knuckles turning stark white. My breaths are few and far between, and all the while, the echoes of Eloise’s laugh taunt me, naming me a fool.
“Oh! Here it is!” She places the phone in front of me, and I push it away, unable to control the fueling rage inside of me.
“He’s my son,” I grit. “I don’t care what you do. But don’t you dare expect to have my son attend your wedding.”
“Presley, I—”
“I don’t want to hear it!” I raise my palm to block her from saying another word. “You don’t care about Masen. You didn’t even have the decency to come see him.”
“I sent you flowers,” she answers defensively.
“Oh!” I laugh sarcastically. “I didn’t realize flowers were the same as meeting your future stepson.”
She remains still, her face in complete and utter shock at my outburst. And I’m just getting started.
“I don’t know why the two of you are getting married. But know this… my son will not be a part of your lives. If I have to move hell and earth to make that happen, I will!”
I push past her, and thankfully, the elevator opens on cue. The second I’m inside, I repeatedly tap the close button until her wretched face disappears, allowing my tears to fall freely. With clouded vision, I take out my phone and send two texts—one to Vicky confirming that tonight is still on and one to Jason, letting him know I’m excited about dinner.
I have no clue what I’m doing. And that’s the thing about broken hearts—they open up a dark abyss, and all you can do is try to stop yourself from falling into that deep hole, even if that means spending the night with your ex to get over the man who never intended to steal your heart.
Twenty-Five
Vicky arrives to babysit Masen while I get ready for my dinner with Jason. It’s no coincidence that I choose to wear my short black dress that fits even nicer than before with my new, full bust. I accessorize it with a ruby-red necklace, my hoop earrings, and those red pumps that the Jerk drooled over. They also happen to be Jason’s favorite piece on me.
“You look too hot. MILF type of hot. The girls are totally out for show. Unless, of course, they’re out on purpose.”
“It’s nice to dress up.”
“Pres, what’s going on?”
I grab my purse off the nightstand and kiss Masen on the forehead.