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SEVEN

MARA

OCTOBER

One singular mumpkin sat on the Leroys’ porch, likely bought from the school’s fundraiser. Yes, that’s a mum planted into an open pumpkin. I stifled a laugh thinking of Jack ordering a mumpkin.

Sure, fine, whatever. Yeah, get me one. Then he’d roll his eyes or flex his jaw like a mumpkin fundraiser was the most irksome thing to ever happen to him.

Mumpkin aside, Halloween gel clings covered the storm door, and a paper skeleton was taped to the first floor window. I’d just picked up my kids and was dropping off some cookies I’d made for Jack.

He said he didn’t need anything or expect anything in return, but I couldn’t just trample on his kindness, no matter how much it was shrouded in a grumpy veneer.

He seemed like a guy who could use a homemade chocolate chip cookie. And I needed to give his Tupperware back, even if he had the kind of funds to buy unlimited Tupperware.

I rolled down the windows so the kids could wait in the car, grabbing the container of cookies and heading to the door. I rang the bell, footsteps sounding inside. My stomach swooped and I fought the urge to smooth my dress. He had a doorbell camera and I didn’t want him to be able to watch a replay of me separating my cleavage or straightening my posture for him.

The front door opened and I was greeted by Jack’s ex-wife, Sydney, in all her plastic glory. And by greeted, I mean she opened the inner door and looked at me through the storm door. What was she doing at Jack’s house anyway? Were they actually still together? She looked awfully comfortable.

“Hi, I’m Mara, Aspen’s mom. We met at that party in September. I think it was for Lucia’s birthday.”

“Oh,” was all she gave me. She crossed her arms under her rather impressive breasts, whose perkiness put even my still-breastfeeding breasts to shame. In short, it was a good rack. My face burned hot, knowing I’d looked at them too long. I wasn’t expecting a woman in Jack’s house, and there I was, just staring at her boobs.

I smiled because a normal person would have smiled back at me. Sydney, however, did not, instead combing her eyes over me and seemingly looking for flaws.

“Anyway, I was just bringing these by for Jack,” I said, holding up the plate of cookies. “You know, to say thank you for watching the kids last week.”

Why did I feel like someone popped my balloon because Jack wasn’t single? He wasn’t wearing a ring, so I just assumed a guy like him would either be married or single.

“He’s not here,” she said, then continued her scathing survey of me. This woman had said four words to me and I felt like the smallest person in the world.

“Oh. That’s okay! Can you give him the cookies? And his container back. You’re welcome to have one. And the kids. I made enough for everybody.”

I was rambling, just trying to fill the unduly tense air. Her cold blue stare passed over me again and I felt like I was under one of those cartoon body scans where a laser goes up and down your body. “Okay.”

My voice croaked. “I’ll just . . . text him that I came by.”

She put on a saccharine smile that most certainly did not meet her eyes. “No need. I’ll tell him.”

She snaked her hand outside the storm door just enough to take the plate from me. Then she cocked her head to let me know I was dismissed.

“Great. Well, thanks. And it was good to see you again!”

“Yep.” And then the door closed in my face. It seemed she shared Jack’s penchant for abrupt, emotionless and/or hostile goodbyes.

I got back in my car feeling about the size of an ant.