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“So you had fun?” I ask flatly.
“Yeah! Did you know she makes TikToks? Just product reviews and some lip-sync videos showing off her art, but they’re sorta funny.”
Sure.
Simply hilarious when Rina always was a master manipulator, and it seems like the perfect place for her smoke and mirrors. Also, her latest desperate attempt to relate to a kid she’s actively chosen not to care about until now.
He grabs an overstuffed trash bag and grunts as he picks it up.
I know better than to suggest I carry it.
At his age, he’s sensitive to every suggestion that he’s not strong or capable enough, just like every boy.
He’s a fit kid, too, even if he’s always put brains over athletics.
If I’m being honest, after what he’s been through, he’s stronger and smarter than I was at his age. Like it or not, my boy is halfway to being a young man.
Fucking terrifying.
“I get it, Dad,” Colt pants as we lug the bags to the gate. “Why you’re mad at Mom, I mean.”
“Did IsayI was mad at her?”
“You didn’t need to. It’s kinda obvious.” He rolls his eyes and drops the bag. It clatters against the fence and he dusts off his hands. “Like, it makes sense. She ghosted you, then turned up out of the blue, stealing me away. You’re pissed. Fine, whatever.”
She didn’t just ghost me—I could’ve lived with that.
The trouble is, she ghostedhim.
“Why do I have a feeling there’s a but?”
“Well, but… isn’t it worth giving things a shot? It’s been so long.” He sounds so sincere. So sure that what he’s suggesting is the right thing. “Especially if she’s changed.”
I turn that over as we head back to the debris and start piling more wood into another bag.
“Trouble is, Colt, I don’t know that for sure. Hanging around a few weeks and picking you up for parks and lunches doesn’t prove much.” And I hate myself for saying it even though it’s the stone-cold truth. There’s too much bad history to just walk blindly into the future.
“Why? What proof do you need?” he demands.
Shit.
For a thirteen-year-old, he’s a hell of an inquisitor, always homing in on questions that make me squirm.
“Because. A leopard doesn’t change its spots overnight. They need bleach for that.” A fucking lame cliché. Real nice.
What does that even mean?
I’m frowning because I sound like my father, speaking in rhymes meant to sound more profound than they are, even if my heart’s in the right place. All that poetry from Dad rubbed off too much.
Didn’t I loathe that shit he’d give me when I was Colt’s age? Like I needed riddles because I was too young to handle a real human conversation.
My old man was wrong then, and I have a sneaking suspicion I’m wrong now.
“You know, Mom isn’t even weird with you and Winnie,” he says, not looking at me. “Like, you guys being together, she just laughs it off.”
“We aren’ttogether,” I snap. “I’m helping her out. Temporarily. Case closed. As soon as she’s found a new placeand once this bee thing is back on track without any surprises, Winnie will get on with her life and so will we. So don’t keep acting like she’s a fixture now, okay?”
Colt stares up at me with a frown.