Page 22

Stevie

Marty’s mom leaves on Sunday, and it’s actually a little emotional saying goodbye at the airport. She’s one of those moms who’s awesome. She’s not an old lady, the kind you see on old-fashioned TV shows, who wear house dresses and spend all day cooking and cleaning, but she does a lot of loving and doting and caretaking. That’s the only way to describe it. And it’s not just about the kids.

Marty is her son first—that’s plain as day when they’re together. When she gently brushes his hair out of his eyes or makes him a special French toast recipe that the kids obviously hate, even though it means more work because she still has to feed the kids. Her thoughtfulness when it comes time to talk to Brenna every night, despite the fact that she definitely doesn’t like her. And her willingness to accept me into the fold without hesitation.

My own mother is very…complicated. Because I’m successful with a career and money, she doesn’t believe in mothering. Not in the traditional sense of the word. She never did. Occasionally, she’ll show up for events, proudly boasting that she’s Stevie Marchand’s mom, but when it comes to the emotional or hands-on stuff? Not so much.

Of course, part of that is because of the falling out we had when my sister Jeri married my fiancé. Well, he wasn’t my fiancé anymore at that point, but everyone acted like it wasn’t a big deal and I was the one overreacting. I’d been young, only twenty, and it was the worst kind of betrayal.

We didn’t talk for years but after the incident that almost killed me, she and my sister both made an effort to rebuild things. Not that they sat at my bedside or anything; Mom didn’t even find out I’d had a hysterectomy until nearly a month after the surgery. Didn’t know that I almost died. Literally would not have seen me in almost six years if I’d died that day.

My sister is no longer married to my ex—he dumped her a year after the wedding—and she did a few virtual therapy sessions with me, but I don’t know that we’ll ever be close again. And my mother just puts in the very minimum amount of effort required to keep up appearances. Which is fine with me. I don’t have the patience for her anyway.

So having a family has always been a big priority for me.

I didn’t realize how much I liked having Patty around until she left, and we’re all fairly quiet in the car after we drop her off.

“We should go to that water park,” I suggest. “Who wants to go to the water park?”

“Yes!” Martin bounces up and down in his seat.

“Yay!” Emma probably doesn’t completely understand what that is but nods enthusiastically.

“Wump wump!” Bradley holds up his sippy cup.

Marty, however, gives me the side eye. “We’ll need to go home and pack first. We can’t just go…”

“I know.” I reach over and squeeze his thigh. “Don’t worry. I’ll help. And it’ll be a good way to get their minds off missing Grandma.”

He smiles. “I’m game, I just don’t think you understand the level of supervision required.”

“We’ll divide and conquer. I can take Martin on the rides that you can’t and then I’ll sit in the kids’ pool with Bradley if you want to take Martin or Emma on the ones you’re able to. Besides, then they’ll be super tired and go to bed early.” I wiggle my eyebrows playfully and he laughs.

“You’ve convinced me.”

We drive back to his house, and he frowns as we pull up to the driveway.

“Whose car is that?” I ask, noting the blue sedan parked there.

“It’s Mommy’s!” Martin chirps.

Marty whips his head around. “Mommy isn’t coming for five more days,” he says, narrowing his gaze slightly.

Martin giggles. “She told me last night it was a surprise and that she would see me today! Can she come to the water park with us?”

Marty’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, obviously trying to hide his annoyance.

“I don’t think so, buddy, but we’ll see.” He glances at me and then pulls into the garage.

“Did you change the locks?” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “She moved to Tennessee—I didn’t think it was necessary.”

“If she snooped…” My voice trails because I’m sure he remembers that we left a package of lube on the nightstand—we’ve never needed it, but he always has it. Not to mention all the condoms in the trash.

A regular person would never dream of digging through that stuff but as a woman, I know damn well if someone like her in the middle of a divorce would want to see what Marty’s been up to, if she had the opportunity.

Marty gets out of the SUV and lifts Bradley out of his car seat as I help Emma out of hers. Martin can undo the seatbelt himself these days, and he’s down, running for the door to the kitchen before we can stop him.

Marty and I lock gazes across the top of the car, and he says, “Don’t worry—I’ll take care of it,” before following Marin.

“Mommy!” We hear Martin’s squeal of joy, and I mentally brace myself.

This is the drama Marty wanted to spare me, so I know what I signed up for, but I’m not particularly excited about Brenna potentially making a scene. They’re legally separated so we’re not doing anything wrong, but my gut tells me she won’t be happy that the man she cheated on is now dating a supermodel. I’m not being vain or trying to toot my own horn—Marty knows my shortcomings—but from the outside looking in, who wants to be replaced by a supermodel?

“Brenna.” Marty doesn’t even try to hide his annoyance. “You’re supposed to call before you come over. You don’t live here anymore.”

She laughs. “This is where my kids are, why wouldn’t I just come in? And we’re going to spend a few days in L.A. seeing old friends, so why wouldn’t I stop by and see my babies?”

We?

That means Philippe is with her.

Yikes. I hope he’s not here, in the house.

Marty hates him so that wouldn’t be good for anyone.

Brenna’s attractive in her own way, with blonde hair that falls to her shoulders in what people might describe as beach waves, a cute sundress, and low-heeled sandals. She freezes when she spots me, her eyes widening in what I’m sure is recognition.

“Who are you?” she demands, frowning.

“Hi. I’m Stevie. You must be Brenna.”

She scowls and turns to Marty. “What is she doing here?”

“None of your business.” He perches against the kitchen island. “We’re divorced, remember?”

“Not yet!” she shoots back.

“What? What’s good for the goose isn’t good for the gander?” he asks dryly.

“But she’s…” She cuts off when Bradley starts to cry and reaches for him. “Come to Mommy, baby.”

To my surprise and amusement, he shakes his head and buries it in Marty’s shoulder.

“What have you done?” she hisses under her breath.

I put Emma down and she runs to her mom, wrapping sticky fingers around her legs.

“Hi, baby.” Brenna reaches down to lift her and then wrinkles her nose. “What’s on your hands?”

“Syrup!” Emma says happily.

“Gross. Let’s wash your hands since Daddy obviously didn’t do it.”

He didn’t do it because Emma dawdled at breakfast, so we let her take the rest of her waffle in the car with her and she ate it with her hands.

“We’re going to the water park,” Martin says, oblivious to the tension in the room. “Do you want to come, Mommy?”

“Uh, no…” She looks horrified. “Philippe and I are going to brunch at the St. Regis.”

Martin’s face falls. “But I want you to come.”

“Remember, I wasn’t supposed to be here for another five days, so this is just bonus Mommy time. Then you’ll go back to Tennessee with me and we’ll be together every day.”

“What about Daddy?” Emma asks.

“Well, you know that Daddy lives here. You’re going to live with me and Philippe in Nashville.”

“I don’t want to live in N’ville,” Emma mumbles.

Yikes.

“You’ll get used to it,” Brenna continues easily, drying her daughter’s hands now that she’s washed them. “Now let me get some cuddles from my littlest one and then I have to go.”

Martin bursts into tears so then Emma gets teary-eyed.

And Bradley wants nothing to do with his mother.

I don’t know what this is about—Marty has never mentioned issues with the baby—but Bradley is definitely not interested in letting his mother hold him. When she tries to forcibly take him from Marty, he lets out a piercing scream and claws at his father’s shirt.

“Stop, Brenna.” Marty’s voice is low but dead serious. “He’s a year old. You can’t force it.”

“Dammit, Marty, he’s my baby!”

“Yes, and the kids are going through changes because of the divorce. You can’t force the issue just because you decide to breeze in unannounced.”

Her lips pull into a tight line. “Just because you’re screwing some model doesn’t mean you?—”

“Shut your mouth.” Again, his voice is so low the kids may not even register what he’s saying, but I hear him. And so does Brenna.

Her mouth falls open and he leans closer to her. “This is legally my time with them. I’m trying to be gracious but you’re not supposed to be here, and I’ll be damned if you talk crap about the woman in my life. Now take your stuff and go to brunch. Don’t make me get the attorneys involved.” He says it in a somber tone that brooks no argument. In fact, it’s kind of hot, the way he’s standing up to her.

“Why are you being this way?” she demands, her voice shrill and angry.

“Mommy?” Emma has tears streaming down her little face. “Daddy?”

“Stevie, would you take the kids upstairs and get their bathing suits on?” Marty asks quietly.

“Sure.” I quickly take their hands and usher them out of the room.

“You fucking prick!” is the last thing I hear before we get upstairs and out of earshot.

Holy shit.

An encounter with Brenna was definitely not on today’s bingo card.