Before Him

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Lost to the swirling morass of thoughts, I’d almost jumped at the sound of Roman’s voice. He’d walked home with us a couple of times recently, tiny, happy domestic moments. Wilder between us, swinging like a monkey between our hands. But he’d never offered me a ride before. In his fancy car. So I’d declined the invitation, but my high horse was a wet ride home, especially when I realised I’d have to backtrack to Annie’s place to pick up Wilder.

Roman shrugged and left, though not before telling me he’d call to see me tomorrow. So I stayed out all day. Jenner opened High Grounds, and Wilder and Grace helped out for a few hours too. Meanwhile, I’d packed up swimsuits, towels and a couple of blankets before Wilder and I hit the coast for some Mom and son time. He seemed a little troubled by my explanation at first that Roman wouldn’t be joining us, but ice cream and pizza seems to cure all concerns when you’re seven.

By a terrific quirk of fate, Wilder went away with Annie and the kids to her family cabin two days ago. It was a spur-of-the-moment invitation, one that Annie assumed, with a telling wink, would give me a few days alone with Roman. Guess I’ll have to break the news to her when she’s back, but not before I tell Wilder his dad is going to be around much less. My stomach cramps uncomfortably at the thought. My boy is going to be so hurt. The only silver lining is that we didn’t reach the point of telling him we’re already married. That we were falling in love.

Tears begin to prick against my lids as I repeat my mantra.

This way is the only way.

Roman is hurt but at least he doesn’t hate me. He doesn’t know I’m to blame for his seven years of missing out. This way, Wilder will never know his mother is a liar.

“No baby daddy today?” Jenner asks, not for the first time this week.

“What is it with your obsession with him,” I snap. “I don’t know where he is. Maybe he’s knee deep in mile-long legs, high tits, bleached teeth and assholes—”

“Best not to get those two bleaching kits mixed up.” His sculpted eyebrows riding high.

Despite my best efforts and the images I’ve been torturing myself with, I bust out into a fit of giggles, even if my outburst was too much. I’m not allowed to be jealous.

“Honeybun, your customer service skills aren’t the best on a regular day, but frankly, you’re frightening the customers into joining the dark side.” Jenner genuflects, warding off the evil that is the corporate coffee overlords.

“My customer service skills are fine. I am always nice to people.”

“Your words are nice. Your face?” He makes an encompassing gesture with his hand. “Let’s just say the two aren’t always aligned. I know trouble is brewing in paradise. What I don’t understand is why you don’t want to talk about it.”

A glass face comes in useful sometimes because I don’t even have to speak before Jenner is spluttering.

“I know—I screwed up telling Annie before.” My eyebrows rise a little higher. “And, yes, it’s my fault Wilder overheard, but I really think I was doing you a favour.”

“I should’ve told Wilder myself. He shouldn’t have had to hear who his father is the way he did.”

“I know. And I’m sorry,” he adds plaintively. “All I’m going to say is if you need someone to talk to, I’m here. Maybe you can just hit me over the head when we’re done, so I can’t remember. Then I can’t make the same mistake!”

“Don’t tempt me,” I reply with a watery chuckle. “But this is something I need to work through myself.”

“Well, okay. I’m here when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.”

I almost take him up on his offer when I return from an appointment with a divorce lawyer.

* * *

After the afternoon rush clears, I leave Jenner to clean and refill while I take a few minutes to myself, carrying my laptop over to what has become Wilder’s table.

While away, Wilder has used Annie’s phone to call me daily, and we’ve used FaceTime to chat each night before bed. But tonight, I won’t be home until late (because reasons), so I’d asked Wilder to call me around about now. I’ve also decided I need to reply to Chelsea’s message because I would die if she somehow turned up on the other side of the counter. Die dead. I know it’s unlikely, but you never can tell how people will react. Especially people you don’t know so well.

Opening my laptop, I navigate to High Grounds Facebook inbox, blowing out a relieved breath when I can’t see her message. Then I remember I’d archived it, with a little help from Google, mainly to hide it from Jenner. Of course, I have to google how to unarchive it, then suffer a nasty twist to my stomach once it’s showing again. Moments later, my phone starts to ring with an incoming FaceTime call, Wilder’s happy, albeit dirty, face appearing on the screen, more nose and mouth than anything else.