It Starts with Us: A Novel (2) (It Ends with Us)

You lose your mornings after having children.

I used to open my eyes and lie in bed for several minutes before grabbing my phone and catching up on everything I might have missed while I slept. I’d have a cup of coffee, and then mentally map out my day while I showered.

But now that I have Emmy, her early morning cry rips me out of bed, and I become her gopher before I even have time to pee. I rush to change her, rush to clothe her, rush to feed her. By the time I’m finished with morning mother duties, I’m late for work and barely have time to do those things for myself.

It’s why I cherish Sunday mornings. It feels like the only day of the week I get any sense of calm. When Emmy wakes up on Sundays, I always bring her back to bed with me. We lie together and I listen to her babble and there’s absolutely no rush to get up or be somewhere.

Sometimes, like right now, she falls back to sleep, and I just stare at her for long stretches of time—marveling at the wonder that is motherhood.

I grab my phone and take a picture of her to text to Ryle, but I hesitate before hitting send. I don’t miss Ryle at all, but it does make me sad in moments like this that Ryle doesn’t get to do this with us, or that I don’t get to share in the joys they have together. There’s nothing better than adoring the child you made with the person you made them with, which is why I always try to text him pictures and videos. But I’m still upset about last night and don’t really feel like reaching out yet. I save the picture for a more peaceful day.

Fucking Ryle.

Divorce is difficult. I knew it would be, but it’s so much harder than I anticipated. And navigating divorce with a child in the mix is a million times trickier. You’re stuck interacting with that person for the remainder of your life. You have to either figure out a way to plan birthday parties together or figure out a way to be okay with having separate celebrations. You have to plan on which holidays each of you get to spend with your child, which days of the week, down to which hours of the day sometimes.

You can’t snap your fingers and be done with the person you married and divorced. You’re stuck with them. Forever.

I’m stuck dealing with Ryle’s feelings forever, and frankly, I’m growing tired of always feeling sorry for him, worried for him, fearful of him, considerate of his feelings.

How long am I supposed to wait before I start dating someone else without Ryle being justified in his jealousy? How long do I have to wait before I tell him I’m dating Atlas if Atlas and I become a thing? How long until I get to start making decisions about my own life without worrying about his feelings?

My phone vibrates. It’s my mother calling. I slide softly out of the bed to walk to the living room before answering it.

“Hey.”

“Can I have Emerson today?”

I laugh at her blatant disregard for her daughter now that she has a granddaughter. “I’m good, how are you?” My mother loves Emmy as much as I do—I’m convinced of that. When Emmy turned six weeks old, my mother started taking her for a few hours at a time while I worked. She actually stayed at her house overnight last month—it was Emmy’s first night away from me since she’d been born. She had fallen asleep at my mother’s, and neither of us wanted to wake her, so I went back for her the next morning.

“Rob and I are close by; we could come pick her up in twenty minutes. We’re going to the botanical gardens; I thought it would be fun to get her out. I’m sure you could use the break.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll get her dressed.”

Half an hour later, there’s a knock at my door. I open it and let my mother and Rob inside. My mother beelines across the living room, straight to Emmy, who is on a pallet on the floor.

“Hi, Mom.” I say it teasingly.

“Look at this adorable outfit,” my mother says, picking her up. “Did I buy her this?”

“No, it’s a hand-me-down from Rylee, actually.” It’s nice that Rylee is six months older. We haven’t had to buy Emmy many clothes because Allysa gives me more than enough of Rylee’s. And they’re always in great condition because I don’t think Rylee ever wears an outfit twice.

Emmy is wearing the outfit Rylee wore at her first birthday party. I was hoping it would eventually be passed down to Emmy, because it’s adorable. It’s a pair of pink leggings with green whole watermelons on them, and a green long-sleeved top with a pink slice of watermelon in the center of it.

My mother has bought almost everything else Emmy wears, including the blue jacket I’m putting on her right now.

“That doesn’t match her outfit,” my mother says. “Where’s the pink jacket I bought her?”

“It’s too little, and it’s a jacket, and she’s one year old. It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t match.”

My mother huffs, and I can tell by that look on her face that Emmy is going to come home in a brand-new jacket this afternoon. I kiss Emmy on the cheek, and my mother heads for the door.

I hand Rob the diaper bag, and he hoists it over his shoulder. “Want me to carry her?” he asks my mother.

She squeezes Emmy tighter. “I’ve got her.” She addresses me over her shoulder. “We’ll be back in a few hours.”

“About what time?” I ask her. I don’t usually clarify a time with her, but I’m thinking about asking Atlas what he’s doing right now. We can maybe grab lunch since we’re both off today and I’m kid-free.

“I’ll text you. Why? Are you going somewhere?” she asks. “I figured you’d just catch up on sleep.”

I don’t dare tell her I might sneak away to meet a guy. She’d ask me questions well past the botanical garden closing hours. “Yeah, I’ll probably just sleep. I’ll keep my phone on, though. Have fun.”

My mother is out the door and down the hallway, but Rob pauses and looks at me. “Make sure you park your car in the same spot. She’ll notice if you move it, and she’ll ask questions.” He winks, a clear indication that he can read me better than she can.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I whisper.

I close the door and go find my phone. I’ve been rushing to get Emmy dressed and out the door, so I haven’t looked at my phone since I hung up with my mother. I have a missed call from Atlas from twenty minutes ago.

My stomach flips with anticipation. I hope he’s off today. I use my phone camera to check my appearance, and then I call him back over video chat.

I hated when he called me over video chat the first time, but now it feels like the natural thing to do. I always want to see his face. I like seeing what he’s wearing and where he’s at and the faces he makes when he says the things he says.

I’m already smiling when I hear the sound that indicates he’s answered the call. He lifts the phone, and when I finally make out what I’m looking at, I can see he’s standing in an unfamiliar kitchen. It’s white and bright and different from the kitchen I remember when I visited his house almost two years ago.

“Morning,” he says. He’s smiling, but he looks tired, like he either just woke up or is about to fall asleep.

“Hey.”

“Sleep well?” he asks.

“I did. Finally.” I squint my eyes trying to see past him. “Did you remodel your kitchen?”

Atlas glances over his shoulder, and then looks back at me. “I moved.”

“What? When?”

“Earlier this year. Sold my house and got a place closer to the restaurant.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” Closer to the restaurant means closer to me. I wonder how far apart we live now. “Are you cooking?”

Atlas aims his phone at his countertop. There’s a pan of eggs, a pile of bacon, pancakes, and… two plates. Two glasses of juice. My heart drops. “That’s a lot of food,” I say, attempting to hide the immense jealousy running through me.

“I’m not alone,” he says, panning the screen back to his face.

My disappointment must be clearly written all over me, because he immediately shakes his head.

“No, Lily. That’s not…” He laughs and seems flustered. His reaction is adorable but not entirely reassuring yet. He holds the phone up a little higher until I can see a person standing behind him. I’m not sure who’s with him, but it isn’t another woman.

It’s a kid.

A kid who looks just like Atlas, and he’s staring right at me with eyes that look identical to Atlas’s eyes. Does he have a child I don’t know about?

What is going on?

“She thinks I’m your son,” the kid says. “You’re freaking her out.”

Atlas immediately aims the phone back at his own face. “He’s not my son. He’s my brother.”

Brother?

Atlas moves the phone so that I’m looking at his brother again. “Say hi to Lily.”

“No.”

Atlas rolls his eyes and shoots me an apologetic look. “He’s kind of a jerk.” He says that right in front of his little brother.

“Atlas!” I whisper, shocked at every part of this conversation.

“It’s okay, he knows he’s a jerk.”

I see the kid laugh behind him, so I know he knows Atlas is kidding. But I am so confused. “I had no idea you had a brother.”

“I didn’t know, either. Found out last night after our date.”

I think back on last night and how it was obvious something was bothering him about the text he received, but I had no idea it was a family issue. I guess this explains why his mother was trying to contact him. “Sounds like you have a lot to work through today.”

“Wait, don’t hang up yet,” he says. He walks out of the kitchen and into another room for privacy. He closes a door and sits down on his bed. “Biscuits still have about ten minutes, I can chat.”

“Wow. Pancakes and biscuits. He’s a lucky kid. I had black coffee for breakfast.”

Atlas smiles, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He seemed like he was in a good mood in front of his brother, but now that I have him alone, I can see the stress in the way he’s holding himself. “Where’s Emmy?” he asks.

“My mother has her for a few hours.”

When it registers that we’re both off work and I don’t have Emmy, he sighs like he’s bummed. “You mean you actually have a free day?”

“It’s okay, we’re taking it slow, remember? Besides, it’s not every day you find out you have a little brother.”

He dives a hand through his hair and sighs. “He’s the one who has been vandalizing the restaurants.”

I startle at that comment. I need to hear more of this story.

“That’s why my mother tried calling me last week, to see if I’d heard from him. I feel like a dick for blocking her number now.”

“You didn’t know.” I’m standing in my living room, but I want to sit down for this conversation. I walk to the couch and set my phone on the arm of it, propping it up with the PopSocket. “Did he know about you?”

Atlas nods. “Yeah, and he thought I knew about him, which is why he was taking out his anger on my restaurants. Other than the thousands of dollars he cost me, he seems like a good kid. Or he at least seems like he has the potential to be a good kid. I don’t know, he’s gone through a lot of the shit I went through with my mother, so there’s no telling what that’s done to him.”

“Is your mother there, too?”

Atlas shakes his head. “I haven’t told her I found him yet. I spoke to a friend of mine who’s a lawyer, and he said the sooner I tell her the better, so she can’t use it against me.”

Use it against him? “Are you wanting to get custody of him?”

Atlas nods without hesitation. “I don’t know if that’s what Josh wants, but there isn’t another option I could live with. I know what kind of mother she is. He mentioned wanting to find his father, but Tim is even worse than my mother.”

“What kind of rights do you have as his brother? Any?”

Atlas shakes his head. “Not unless my mother agrees to let him live with me. Not looking forward to that conversation. She’ll say no just to spite me, but…” Atlas releases a heavy sigh. “If he stays with her, he won’t have a chance in hell. He’s already harder than I was at that age. Angrier. I’m afraid of what that anger might turn into if he doesn’t gain some stability in his life. But who’s to say I’m capable of something like this? What if I fuck him up more than my mother has?”

“You won’t, Atlas. You know you won’t.”

He accepts my reassurance with a quick flash of a smile. “That’s easy for you to say; you’re a natural at this whole raising-kids thing.”

“I just fake it well,” I say. “I have no idea what I’m doing. No parent does. We’re all full of imposter syndrome, winging it every minute of the day.”

“Why is that both comforting and terrifying?” he asks.

“You just summed up parenthood with those two words.”

He exhales. “I should probably get back in there and make sure he isn’t robbing me. I’ll call you later today, okay?”

“Okay. Good luck.”

The way Atlas silently mouths the word goodbye in return is sexy as hell.

When I end the call, I fall onto my bed and sigh. I love the way I feel after I talk to him. He makes me giddy and energized and happy, even when the call is as shocking and chaotic as that one was.

I wish I knew where he lived. I’d go give him a drive-by hug like the one he gave me last night. I hate that he’s dealing with this, but at the same time I’m happy for him. I can’t imagine how alone he’s felt since I met him, not having a single family member in his life.

And that poor kid. It’s like Atlas all over again, as if one kid feeling that unloved by their mother wasn’t enough.

My phone chimes, indicating I have a text. I smile when I see it’s from him. I smile even bigger when I see how long the text is.

Thank you for being the most comforting part of my life right now. Thank you for always being the beacon I need every time I feel lost. Whether you mean to shine on me or not. I am grateful for you. I’ve missed you. I absolutely should have kissed you.

I’m covering my mouth with my hand when I finish reading it. I’m filled with so much emotion, I don’t know where to put it.

Josh is lucky to have you in his life now.

Within seconds, Atlas hearts my text. Then I send another one.

And you’re right. You absolutely should have kissed me.

Atlas hearts that text, too.