Reckless

The ingredients seem to weigh a million pounds as I mix in the mayo for a new potato salad recipe I’m testing for Cody’s birthday party next week. My mind snags on Logan and Ethan’s argument last night, their voices animated enough to swell through my closed bedroom door as I was dozing off, drained from my sister’s shower and the Allison drama.

Was it arguing?

All I remember is Ethan saying, “It’s not what you think.”

Those words send chills down my arms.

Because cheaters say those kind of things, my heart warns.

No. No, tontita.

Ethan is not Jamie. It’s a mantra I’ve reminded myself of all summer. Just because Ethan and Allison talked over a glass of wine does not mean anything happened. Rationally, I understand this. Rationally, I don’t have a problem with the two of them needing to calm down to discuss the plan for Cody’s birthday.

But Loony Tunes Tori? The one who fails out of school when she’s too depressed to get out of bed and attend class when her boyfriend cheated on her with his wife? Yeah, she needs help stepping away from the ledge. Because she’s screaming I’m being naive.

My stomach knots at the thought that I might come out the loser again.

Maybe I should take a step back. Maybe Ethan isn’t ready for more. Maybe the kids need time to adjust to everything that happened this summer.

Basically everything Ethan told me after Allison found us that Sunday morning in the back of his truck comes rushing back to me like a dark tide after a storm.

I cannot believe I fell asleep before I could talk to him last night.

With a wipe of my elbow across my clammy forehead, I sigh and taste the mixture before reaching for the mustard.

Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve confronted Jamie about what he did last year instead of shutting him out. Sure, I slashed his tires like a fucking psycho, and that felt amazing in the moment, but it didn’t do anything to help me deal with the emotional turmoil he’d unleashed on my life. Never mind that it was stupid as hell. What if he’d called the cops? It’s not like I can afford to get in trouble again.

Between my sister not wanting me to plan her baby shower and Ethan’s cozy chat with Allison, that kernel of worry snowballs, making me question if this is the right place for me.

Maybe I should be trying to carve out my own life in Austin after all. Ethan and I could take things slow and see each other when Allison has the kids. I’ve never done slow in my life, as my driving record indicates, but if that’s what this family needs to move forward, I’m willing to take a step back.

My hands drop to my sides, mashed potatoes sliding off the wooden spoon and landing on the floor with a wet plop.

It would break my heart to leave the ranch. Already, I feel the cracks forming at the thought, like fissures of ice on the sidewalk when it freezes, making it hard to breathe. I’ve been so intimate with Ethan, opened up to him in ways I’ve never opened up to any man before, but can I really afford to go any further if I’m some kind of rebound from Allison?

I look up at the ceiling and blink away the heat building in my eyes.

Please, Ethan. Please don’t jerk me around.

When I woke up this morning, I could’ve sworn I was going to roll over and find Ethan, but the sun was up, which meant he was already in the barn, and I couldn’t figure out if I’d only dreamt him wrapping his arms around me last night or if we’d really slept in the same bed.

The kids’ voices bring me back to the present where they’re sitting at the kitchen table with a million crayons, coloring Paw Patrol images I printed off the internet. Back to apple slices and story time and dress-up—simple things that bring so much joy to my life.

No more crazy, I decide, mentally boxing up all of this emotional crap until I can deal with it later. Because I have a job to do. I can’t very well take care of these children if I’m an emotional wreck, and they deserve my best. But more than any job or expectation, I love Mila and Cody, and I always want to be in the moment with them instead of staring off into space like a lunatic.

I clear my throat and try to sniffle quietly.

Their jubilant laughter makes me break out into a watery smile. They’re such a bright spot, always cheerful and loving and sweet. Truly, no one deserves happiness more than my tiny tikes.

I turn around and… Oh, holy shit.

Sputtering, I’m caught with my mouth hanging open at the sight before me—Cody’s head coated in butter, his mischievous eyes peeking up at me through the pale yellow slime.

The condiment tub, gaping and empty, sits on the floor. Next to it, Cody-sized hand prints decorate the hardwood floor like an art exhibit gone wrong.

What just happened?

He giggles. “Rawr! Scawwwwwwyyyyy!” Waving his hands, he grins up at me.

Mila shields her smile with her hand like she’s embarrassed. “He’s a ghost. For Halloween.”

Internally, I’m yelling at myself for not paying better attention.

Because like everything else, this is my fault too.