“Tell me about Chloe,” I said, and he did, imitating her Montana accent, telling me how she made fun of his Cape Cod vowels. Her parents’ home was huge and posh, as I’d seen when we FaceTimed on Thanksgiving. She had two younger brothers who’d liked him right away. It sounded like the family was wealthy—they were well traveled, and Dylan said they owned a ranch.
“They want me to come to Spain with them this summer,” he added.
“Wow! Spain!” For how long? I wanted to demand. My heart clenched, and my mind calculated the cost of the plane ticket.
“I said we’ll see, but if I do, she definitely has to come to the Cape. She has no idea what the East Coast is like.”
“She’s more than welcome anytime, honey.” Thank you, Saint Anthony.
Zeus was almost hysterical with joy that I’d brought him a very tall, two-legged playmate. Dylan collapsed in the front hall, allowing himself to be licked, jumped on, pawed, snuzzled and licked some more.
“He’s awesome, Mom,” Dylan said. “Aren’t you, boy? You are! You’re wicked pissah, buddy! Yes, you are! Yes, you are!”
Getting a dog had been a smart move on so many levels.
Then Dylan got to his feet and looked around. His eyes got shiny. “Shit,” he whispered.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” I said, my own eyes stinging.
“Whatever. It’s not your fault. It’s just . . . weird. I expect him to come in any sec.”
“Yeah.” I wanted to redecorate a little, at least buy a new couch, but the literature had said to wait a bit, for Dylan’s sake. Also, new couches were expensive.
With a huge sigh, Dylan shouldered his duffel bag. “This is all dirty, by the way,” he said. “Sorry. The dorm washing machines were all taken.”
“Of course. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll do it.”
“Damn right you will.” There. The mood was lighter. “You want a nap before Hannah and Pop come over?”
“Maybe. Hey, is Ben coming, too?”
I had told Dylan about my recent tenant, of course. “I didn’t invite him, no,” I said.
“Okay. I’m sure I’ll bump into him. I gotta get a good picture of this dog and text it to Chloe. Zeus! Come here, boy! Come on, buddy.” My dog—or Dylan’s dog, apparently—ran up the stairs on Dylan’s heels.
It was so good to have my boy back in my house. For the next four weeks, I could cook for him, watch TV with him, beat him at Scrabble, take walks with him. We’d go to P-town tomorrow for Christmas shopping, because other than University of Montana gear and mugs, Dylan hadn’t bought any gifts yet.
Christmas morning would be . . . different. But for Christmas Eve, I’d invited a few extra people. Wanda, Addo and Leila always came, since their families were from away, and this year, Carol would also come, because her daughter was flying out to see her own daughter in California. Ben, because how could I not? This year, Hannah had asked me to invite Manuel, her assistant, who’d recently broken up with his boyfriend and had nowhere else to go.
Hopefully, the places where Dylan’s father and Fairchild grandparents used to be wouldn’t be too obvious.
As I went downstairs to check on dinner, my phone chimed.
Brad.
Lillie, I was thinking we should all have Christmas dinner together. It would be a great way for Dylan to ease into this new dynamic and understand that we’re all still family.
I ignored the text—did he really think I would have dinner at his house with his pregnant new wife, his new daughter and our son? He probably did. He was that obtuse. A moment later, this was confirmed by another text. Especially since he is going to be a brother soon.
Translation: We have something you never will.
Not for the first time, I wondered if Brad ever thought of our daughter. I remembered him sobbing in the hospital, holding her. Holding me. He slept in the hospital bed with me that night. Where had that guy gone?
Another text from my ex. BTW, we are waiting till the delivery to find out the gender. Thought you would be interested bc you are a midwife and my wife goes to your practice.
Now he was just rubbing it in.
I might need another skunk.
* * *
Christmas Eve was oddly wonderful. I’d been bracing for more weeping in the closet, or that heart-punched feeling I’d had so many days after Brad left. But having Dylan home outweighed everything, I guess. And having a crowd was always fun.
Much to my surprise, the Moms showed up . . . I always invited them, and they always declined. They had declined this year as well, a fact my mother disputed for ten minutes as I was making her a martini.