“Um…the dad,” I reply, feeling my cheeks flush under my parents’ watchful eyes. I tuck my hair behind my ears and stare down at my hands on the table.
“Is he a good guy?” Dad inquires, and I can feel his papa bear energy flare up. He always was so protective of Becca and me. Similar to how Max is with Everly.
“He is a good guy,” I answer, feeling those annoying butterflies take flight in my belly as I picture him with Everly at the kitchen counter. “I expected him to be very different, like a lot of the rich CEOs I came across in Denver. You know…always traveling, barely present in their children’s lives, egos bigger than the Rockies. But he’s not like that…he’s got better balance, it seems.”
My brow furrows at this realization I haven’t really given Max proper credit for. Yes, he works nearly twelve-hour days, but when he’s home with Everly, he seems completely focused on her. And I haven’t seen him go into the office once on the weekends so far, which, for the CEO of a company, that seems almost unheard of.
My mother’s voice chirps in next, “Rebecca said he’s a bigwig in Boulder. Maybe you could find a job at his company when the summer ends?”
And we’re back to our regularly scheduled programming!
My parents…God bless them, but they just can’t quite wrap their heads around my new outlook on life. They are typical middle-class people who have saved for every treasure in their lives and never gone a day without working. And I love them for that. Their hard work set me up to have the privilege of taking some time for myself.
And maybe if I had chosen a different career path, hell, even a different company, things wouldn’t have gone so sideways for me. All I know is that I’m going to be a lot more careful about my next career choice. And I’m going to know what I’m getting into before I jump into the deep end. Or get yanked in.
It’s late Friday night when I hear the faint buzz of a sander running in the garage. Everly is in her pajamas and watching a movie in the basement, finally seeming to be in better spirits after we talked at dinner. Apparently, today wasn’t the best for her, but she assured me nothing was wrong, just an off day, so it makes me think Cassandra’s texts she sent me earlier might be right.
Cassandra: Tough day today. ? Everly cried a lot after she hung up with her mom and just couldn’t seem to shake the emotions away all day. I even tried to do a dance party with her on the deck, and she wasn’t in the mood.
Me: What can I do to help?
Cassandra: Ice cream always helps me when I’m feeling blue.
Me: I’ll bring it home when I’m done at the office. You think she’s just homesick for her mom?
Cassandra: Yeah, I’m sure that’s part of it. I also think it could be hormones. I’m not a mother, but I’m a woman, and when she broke down crying because she misspelled a word on her book report, I knew it wasn’t just missing her mom.
Me: Maybe a quiet night at home tonight?
Cassandra: Definitely. And perhaps some screen time. I know you try to limit her, but she’s a young woman whose body could be changing. It’s a lot to think about, and sometimes the escape of a good movie helps calm the nerves.
Me: For once, I agree with you, Cassandra.
Cassandra: It’s about time. ?
Me: Thank you for letting me know.
Cassandra: Always. XoXo
I head downstairs and find Everly still engrossed in her movie. Her eyes look bright and happy as she offers me a quick smile, so I leave her to continue watching some young Lindsay Lohan film in peace.
I walk through the kitchen toward my bedroom but pause when I reach the door that leads into the garage. I should really talk to Cassandra. This is the first day that Everly has struggled since she started, and I want her to know that I appreciate her comforting my kid.
Plus, I haven’t had time to really talk to her all week. She seems jumpy every time I bring her a cup of coffee, and I’m not trying to freak her out. I’m just trying to show her that she’s appreciated. And she is. Today she sent a photo of Everly cuddled into her chest. Her eyes were red, and her smile was kind of sad, but I still saved the damn thing to my phone because she was cared for. That’s not something I take lightly.
I make my way out to the workshop and find Cassandra hunched over a long piece of wood clipped to a sawhorse. She’s running a handheld sander over it and my eyes can’t help but slide over her curves. They are still just as alluring as they’ve always been. I wonder if my teeth marks are still on her ass?