The process was already going well. When I first bailed them out, I was essentially in complete control over the restaurant. I acted as sole owner and made massive alterations to several elements of how the place ran. Over time, I gradually eased up on my control and handed more of it over to the family. Little by little, I was backing out, relinquishing more control as they paid back my investment. There wasn’t a question in my mind that they would be successful even when they had total control again. This restaurant would pass down to the next generation and the next.
When it was time to leave, the cook came up to me with a bag of food.
“The top box is for Frankie,” he said.
“Thank you. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it,” I said.
I felt much lighter and less aggravated when I made it home. Frankie greeted me like always but gave me only a cursory nudge before going to the bag. He was well aware of what was in there waiting for him. There was no option for putting it in the refrigerator for the next day. If I tried to pull that stunt, the enormous cat would ensure I got no sleep.
Pulling little bits of the unseasoned fish out of the package, I tossed them on the floor. Watching the big fluffball go crazy was more than worth having to mop that night.
I had purposely chosen to ignore my phone the entire time I was at the seafood shack, so I took it out to check it as I tucked the rest of the food away in the refrigerator. There was a text message from Darren.
Mom won’t let me have a horse and carriage.
She had talked him down. I laughed. I couldn’t do anything else. They were crazy, but they were mine.6LindseyWhen my alarm went off Saturday morning, everything in my mind and body protested. It was like I couldn’t pry my eyes open or convince myself to move. All I could manage was wriggling my fingers under my pillow to get the offending device and turn off the alarm. Then I sagged against the mattress and willed time to stop for a bit so I could get some extra sleep.
But today was my day with Remy.
And if I wanted to make sure I got every second I possibly could out of my visit with him, I had to get moving. Grant was not the type to be flexible. Especially not with me. He wanted to meet at a coffee shop at eight, which meant I damn well better be there no later than three minutes ’til or he would scoop Remy up and leave. Even if he didn’t leave, he’d be counting down the minutes and would happily dock my time.
I managed to take a shower, get dressed, and throw on my makeup in record time. When I hopped into my car, I noticed I’d made it out of my apartment just in time. I didn’t feel like wasting any time actually patronizing the shop Grant chose, so I swung by my favorite local coffee shop to grab a drink. Taking a few fortifying steps, I headed to the wealthy part of the city.
When I arrived at the coffee shop, I immediately saw them. Grant had staked out the most visible table on the outdoor patio. That wasn’t for my benefit. He liked to show off. In everything he did, he wanted recognition and attention. That was particularly true when he had Remy out of the house. Grant was very familiar with the idea of gaining attention and sympathy from women by trotting out his adorable three-year-old son.
Not only did he have the appeal of the single father going for him, but he also got to be the epic hero by fearlessly and selflessly taking care of him through his disability. I couldn’t count the number of times I had gagged on Grant’s simpering speech he gave to women who noticed Remy. I could only hope he would stop using our son as a prop by the time Remy was old enough to really be aware of what was going on around him. At only three, he couldn’t understand what his father meant by the things he said or why he would be trying to get so much attention from these women. But that would eventually change.
Soon enough, Remy would understand. He would be able to interpret exactly what was being said and internalize it. I couldn’t stand the idea of him getting hurt because Grant was out looking for a playdate of his own.
Right then, he looked like he was on the prowl. He sat at one of the cast iron tables sipping his usual latte. Leaned back in the chair with one leg propped casually over the other, he watched every woman who walked past. He hadn’t noticed I was there yet. Not that he would have any shame if he did. He didn’t care if I saw him with other women. I wouldn’t put it past him to actually enjoy me seeing it. But if he noticed me standing there watching him check out every woman anywhere close to his taste range, he’d lose some of his sacrificing, dedicated-father leverage.