Coming Home (Morelli Family 6)

“He likes to take you more than us,” she tells me, causing my stomach to sink with guilt.

“That’s not true. He loves to go on family vacations; it’s just more hectic with everybody. I think sometimes your dad just needs some peace and quiet, you know? Just to calm down and not have any expectations of him. Everyone needs to unwind, and while family vacations are wonderful and we both love them, they’re just not as relaxing.”

“I wouldn’t have a lot of expectations, though. You guys could just take me and leave everyone else home.”

I gently rub her back. I know she just wants to be included. “I’ll insist we take you on the next one, how’s that? Maybe we could take you on a birthday vacation this year. Would you like that, instead of presents?”

Forgetting I’m trying to braid her hair, she turns to look back at me, her face lit with enthusiasm. “Yeah, I’d love that! Can I pick where?”

“Sure,” I say, since I’m apparently throwing out promises I have no authority to make.

“Can we go back to Paris? My mom loved Paris.”

God, Mateo hates Paris. This is going to cost me so many blow jobs. Good thing I like giving them. “I’ll ask,” I assure her, gently turning her head so I can resume braiding.

“You never met my mom, did you?”

I shake my head, forgetting she can’t see me. “Nope, I sure didn’t. I’m sure she was lovely.” I do not believe this at all. I hate Beth. But I’m certainly not going to tell her daughter that.

“Someone at my school said Daddy killed her.”

I freeze, stomach sinking. I try to draw in a breath, forcing my hands to move again, crossing one section of hair over the other. “That’s a horrible thing to say,” I offer, since I’m not sure what else to say. The story the kids know is that Beth just left, that she fell in love with another man and ran off with him. I never thought much about it until Meg pointed out that once they got older, they were bound to hear a much different version.

I thought we had longer, though. Isabella’s only nine. What nine-year-old says shit like that?

“Yeah. We used to be friends, but then his mom found out who my dad is and now he’s not allowed to be my friend anymore.”

Impulsively I drop her hair, wrapping my arms around her and hugging her. “I’m sorry, Bella. That’s…” I trail off, not even knowing how to finish it. I want to say awful, because it is awful—she can’t help who her father is. But I can’t completely blame the other kid’s parents, either. “Sometimes people can very judgmental and it isn’t fair,” I offer, since it’s the best thing I can come up with.

“He says my dad’s a bad guy,” she continues.

This is making me queasy. I’m not prepared for these conversations. I’m going to have to talk to Mateo about this tomorrow when I see him. I wish I could tonight, but since it’s our first night back from vacation, he had to spend it with Meg.

Then again, do I want him to know some little asshole in Isabella’s class is being mean to her? He tends toward the overly protective response, and the last thing any of us needs is for him to send someone to have a little chat with the kid’s parents.

Maybe I should handle it.

“What’s your friend’s mom’s name? Maybe I could have lunch with her and straighten all this out.”

“Veronica. I don’t have her number or anything though.”

“I’ll pick you up from school Monday,” I volunteer. “You can point her out to me—or at least your friend. Give me a first and last name and I can get the rest.” I’ll just ask Adrian.

“Okay,” she says easily, trusting me to fix it.

I smile a little and let her go, fixing the braid and finishing it up. Once it’s tied at the end, I tell her, “There you go, all done.”

She hops off the bed and goes over to my dresser, admiring her long, dark braid in the mirror. Then she comes back and jumps up on the bed, climbing up on the pillows beside me. “Will you show me the pictures now?”

“Of course,” I say, settling back into the pillows myself. “It’s mostly a lot of selfies since it was just the two of us. We went snorkeling. That was pretty awesome.”

“I wanna snorkel.”

I open up my photo album on my phone and start scrolling through. I keep the phone tipped away from her, only tilting it toward her when there’s an appropriate picture to share. Some of them are not appropriate. Those are my favorites. There’s one of Mateo in bed, not inappropriate exactly, just unguarded, a genuine smile on his face, the sun hitting him in just the right light. He looks so happy. I want to wallpaper my bedroom with that picture.