Coming Home (Morelli Family 6)

I attempt to stifle a wry smile. “I’ve actually been in precisely that scenario. Only it wouldn’t have made me feel good to hurt the person who hurt me back—that’s sort of petty,” I tell her, wrinkling my nose up. “Is this about that Tommy kid?”

Her little cheeks immediately flush, and dread rolls over me. This is not who I want Isabella’s first crush to be on.

“Never mind,” she tells me, focusing intently on her book. “I have to finish reading this.”

“No, tell me,” I insist, injecting a little more enthusiasm into my tone. “I need details.”

“I’m gonna ask Dad what he would do.”

Openly grimacing, I shake my head. “That’s—No. I wouldn’t do that.”

“He’d do the bad thing, wouldn’t he?” she asks, more knowingly than I’m comfortable with.

Instead of answering, I try to shift her focus. “There’s no one answer to this question,” I tell her, as delicately as I can. “What you do in that scenario varies from person to person, the thing you have to think about is what kind of person you want to be. What I would do, what your dad would do—it doesn’t really matter, because you are your own person. The choices you make and the reasons you make them are all yours, and those things will shape who you become. So, make your list for your assignment. Write down the pros and the cons, write down the possible outcomes, and at the end of the day, decide which choice you feel good about. I would also like more details about this situation so I can give better advice. If your friend is mean to you, maybe he isn’t a very good friend.”

“Isn’t Dad ever mean to you?”

God, she’s killing me here! “Your father and I love each other, so we do our best not to hurt one another. Everyone has a bad day now and then, and sometimes then we aren’t our best selves. But at the end of the day, we treat each other with love and respect. If your friend was having a bad day, then maybe you should just talk about it. If your friend is mean to you, maybe you’re better off making a new friend.”

My response doesn’t seem to satisfy her. Her little lips press together and turn down, but she buries her nose back in her book so she can finish her reading for the night.

I climb off the bed and go back to the bathroom so I can brush my hair, but now Bella has me thinking about the tremors my problems could make. Mateo’s storms never used to touch the kids, but now it will impact everyone. What if the baby is a dealbreaker for Mateo? What if he can’t stomach me having Vince’s baby? He won’t give up easily, I know that, but what if everything goes dark again? When he was drunk he remarked he could force his will, and as much as I didn’t want to think about it… how much longer can I avoid considering the very real potential threat he represents?

My soul feels darker just thinking about considering it, so I give myself another night and shut down those thoughts.

By the time I’m done stressing out in the bathroom, Bella has finished her chapter of her book. I walk her back to her bedroom and tell her to finish her homework so she can get to bed, then instead of going back to my own bedroom alone, I seek out Mateo. I’m ready to shut off my brain, tune out our problems, and lose myself in him. Just thinking about it makes me lighter. We don’t even know for sure this is real, so there’s no point letting it ruin everything. Mateo and I had much more unprotected sex during our week together. Vince probably isn’t the baby’s father. It’ll turn out to be Mateo’s and everything will be fine.

My mind continues down that lovely path as I check rooms for Mateo. Images of my cute little baby soothe me, fill me with anticipation instead of dread. That’s what it’s supposed to be like. That’s what I’m going to focus on.

Then I find him.

Well, them.

They’re not paying any attention so they don’t see me, but I can see their profiles from the doorway where I stand. Mateo and Meg are sitting on a couch together in the red sitting room. My heart sinks, moves uncomfortably through me, and falls into a vat of acid in my gut where it disintegrates. It wouldn’t have been so upsetting a few weeks ago, but right now, especially in the midst of this disaster, it feels awful. Meg leans her head on his shoulder. He murmurs something that I can’t hear. Meg raises a spoonful of vanilla ice cream toward his mouth. He smiles, pulling back. She tries again.