I shake my head, snatching a stale chocolate chip cookie from one of the plastic containers. Years ago, I kicked my emotional eating habit, introduced my body to Pilates, dropped twenty pounds, and took a vow of celibacy as a last attempt at self-preservation.
Maybe I slip up and eat a few too many cookies. No big deal. I’ve inherited a ten-year-old.
A TEN-YEAR-OLD!
Really, Kyle, leave me your Land Rover and Emily’s Pilates reformer. But Gabe? I love him … more than the world. I’m just not equipped for parenthood. What if I mess him up? I’ve messed up so much in my life.
The early stages of menopause tap on my shoulder every day. My unused uterus put in its request for early retirement. After I finish this stale cookie, there’s a fifty percent chance my face flushes and I sweat through my clothes.
Hot flashes.
Mood swings.
Seven p.m. mandatory bra removal.
No kid, especially not a young boy, needs to witness such a hot mess.
“Kyle and Emily want him to stay in San Diego. Same school. Close to friends. While I have no desire to live here, I agree with them. The less we have to disrupt his life, the better his chances are of making it through this grieving process and returning to some semblance of normalcy.”
With his aunt Gracelyn—Queen Hot Mess.
“I don’t want you to be overwhelmed.” Mom pulls out a chair and sits next to me, frowning at the baked goods. She’s had her fair share. The emotional eating apple (or cookie) doesn’t fall far from the tree.
“He’s a great kid. I love him to pieces. We’ll be fine.”
“You need a job here.” Mom goes for some sort of chocolate drizzled popcorn. It has to be staler than my cookie.
Yep. She spits it back into the bowl.
I grin. “I’ll make sure he talks to someone, if he doesn’t want to talk to me. I’ll get a job.” Glancing around at the fancy surroundings, I twist my lips. “I doubt we’ll be able to stay here very long.”
“Oh … no.” Mom shakes her head. “The taxes and upkeep on this place must be insane.”
Kyle and Emily splurged on a house they could barely afford when they should have splurged on better life insurance.
“Sell the house. Use the money to raise Gabe and put some back for his college.”
I nod several times.
“Are you sure about all of this?” Mom rests her hand on my leg.
“Absolutely.”
No. Not even close.
CHAPTER TWO
Nathaniel
Two months later …
“I think this is a good thing.” Morgan drops her backpack inside the four-bedroom rental on the beach.
“You say that about every place we stay.” I lug our two suitcases into the narrow tile entry.
“Yes. But San Diego feels extra good.”
“You’re ten. I think the definition of being ten is extra good.”
“Three months?” She spins in a circle, her long, wavy, blond hair twirling like a kite in the wind.
My world.
This girl is my world.
“Yes.” I haul the luggage up the stairs as she shadows me.
“Then I get to go home! Public school. And I will meet the boy I’m going to marry. Right?”
Ten is the new fourteen. My daughter is too smart.
“Three months until we settle into a place that’s ours. Three months until you join the herd, eat lunch out of a bag, and find out how truly mean boys can be at your age. You’ll meet the boy you’re going to marry when you’re thirty.”
“Daaad!” Morgan giggles when I stop at the first bedroom.
“Unpack your stuff.”
She jumps onto the queen bed adorned in white and sea-foam green blankets and pillows. “Tell me how you met Mom.”
“Unpack and then you can tell me how I met your mom since I’ve told you that story so many times.” I give her a wink and find another bedroom, hoping I didn’t just give her the bigger bed. She’s strict with things like first come, first served and finders keepers.
Eight years ago, we left Wisconsin in search of … the world. Morgan learned to speak, read, and write—in multiple languages—by immersion. Her only school has been life. And …
Books.
Books.
Books.
I have a phone, but I’ve given her limited access to technology other than computers at libraries or ticket machines for subways. She has no firsthand experience with social media, apps, texting, email, or what it means to binge something on Netflix.
However, her feet have touched five continents and countless countries. She has a bag filled with stationary and pens she uses to write to all the friends she’s made during her time traveling the world.
“Oh, thank god,” I whisper, seeing a king bed, a balcony, and an en suite bathroom.
Three months of sleeping on a twin bed in Budapest wasn’t memorable in a good way. Princess Morgan slept in a king bed with three stuffed animals because … finders keepers, no take-backs, and a deal is a deal.