Why It's Called a Goodbye Page 6

An hour and a half later, I feel somewhat okay with what I’ve written, but I want Malcom’s opinion.

  Me: What’s your email?

  Malcom: You want my email?

  Me: Yes, I need to send you this article, and it will be easier through email.

  Malcom: MacMurray23 @ gmail.com

  I send him the article.

  Me: Thanks. Sent.

  While I wait for his response, I drink my fourth cup of coffee and get back to writing more of Kisses After Midnight. I hate the title now. It seems so cheesy, but I guess cheesy sells. I’m about to write the first sex scene I’ve ever written. Do I make it realistic? Do I make it really realistic, like the girl doesn’t get a happy ending at all? Or should I make it the way a woman wants a man to treat her in the bedroom? I think the last one will sell more copies, and I want this company to keep using me. At least for now until I find some other source of income.

  Malcom: It’s really good.

  Me: You’re just saying that.

  Malcom: No, I’m not. I like it.

  Me: Do you even read books?

  Malcom: Not generally, but I do read sports-related stuff, and your article is probably the best one that has ever been in The Hive before.

  Me: You know, when you’re overly nice, it makes me think you are making fun of me.

  Malcom: That’s not true at all.

  Me: Okay then

  Malcom: Okay then

  I walk back in the house, and Mom is standing at the kitchen counter mixing flour in a bowl with her hands.

  “Are you making biscuits for dinner?”

  “Sure am,” she says as she grabs the pan out of the oven.

  “I have a question. Is Malcom Murray single?”

  Mom chuckles. “Has been for a while now. Why?” Mom begins hand patting out biscuits into the pan.

  “How long is a while?”

  “Probably since Elsie’s mom, so about six years ago.”

  “Oh.” I have so many questions, but I can’t ask my mom.

  “You like him?” she asks as she places the pan of biscuits in the oven.

  “No, Mom! I’m still married.”

  She crosses her flour-covered arms. “Doesn’t mean you can’t like what you see.”

  NINE

  My article went over so well in the current issue of The Hive that they’ve asked me to write another piece on the girls’ volleyball team. I had to skip one of Atticus’ games this week and go to one of the girls’ games, but he said he understood.

  I’m not sure what’s come over me, but I’m about two-thirds finished writing this book, and I might be able to turn it in early. They had a few things they wanted me to change from the last chapters. That may slow me down some, but not too much.

  I spend the entire day the boys are at school writing. Then my evenings are split between my parents’ store and running Atticus to games and practice. Sawyer made some ‘gaming friends’, and he had me drop him off at one of their houses this week. I didn’t like it because I didn’t have time to talk to the boy’s parents. He was still in one piece when I picked him up after Atticus’ practice though.

  The boys left with their dad last night. I was extremely surprised he showed up to get them. As I’m folding laundry, I get a text from Atticus.

  Atticus: Can you go pick up my new warmups from Coach? I forgot to grab them last night after the game.

  Me: Sure. Who paid for them?

  Atticus: I had dad pay last night when he picked me up but forgot to grab them.

  Me: I’ll message him. Have a good time. I love you.

  Atticus: Love you too mom

  I’m surprised Stephen hasn’t blown up my phone. I received my first child support payment this week. I figured he’d complain that he had given me enough money, and I could afford to pay for the warmups. Atticus never even told me he needed money for those. Stephen made me set up a checking account here so he could transfer the money instead of going through the courts.

  Me: Atticus asked me to pick up his warmups??

  Malcom: Yeah, I have them. They’re at my place. I’m not home right now. Can you come by later?

  Me: What time?

  Malcom: I’ll be home by six. Elsie begged me to take her to the park. We’ve been here for hours, lol.

  Me: Have fun

  I don’t know why I’m so anxious to go to Malcom’s and pick up something for my kid. He’s his coach, and I’ve been there before. I took two showers because after my first one I ate a cheeseburger that had an onion on it, and I felt like my entire body reeked.

  I dress in a pair of leggings and a long flowy shirt that covers my backside. I leave the top three buttons of the shirt undone. I want to reveal a little cleavage, but I don’t want to come off like a slut, so I button the one closest to my chest. I slip on a pair of flats and make my way to the car.

  I park at the end of his driveway and wait until it’s six eighteen before I drive the rest of the way back to his house. I don’t want to come off as needy. I’m here to get something for my kid and leave.

  Why am I acting so strange?

  I park out front and make my way up the steps and knock on the door. He hasn’t come to the door yet, so I walk around the porch. It wraps around the side, and I walk that way to get a better view of the lake. It is so breathtakingly gorgeous. The tree leaves seem to light up the water with colors of mustard, maroon, and rust. I can’t believe he gets to look at this every day. He probably takes the sunsets and sunrises for granted.

  I turn around to go knock again before leaving when I see a naked Malcom standing in the middle of his living room. Water drips from his hair down across his collar bone. I follow its descent down his abdomen to his…. My hands come up to my face as I yell, “I didn’t see anything!” I run blindly until I hit the porch railing. I remove my hands and head for my car.

  I can’t believe I just saw him bare-ass naked. Naked! With his…with his…. I hear the door open behind me. “Don’t leave, let me get dressed. Sorry, I thought you weren’t coming.”

  I wait a minute before turning around, and he’s gone, but he left the door open. I walk in the living room and sit down on the couch. He looks magnificent naked; I find it hard to believe he’s still single. With an appendage like that, he has to have women lining up. He’s probably got one hiding in the back room waiting for me to leave.

  Malcom comes back in the room wearing gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt. Good lord, is he trying to make me combust on his couch? I need to get out of here. I haven’t had sex in so long I think my body might jump him.

  I stand. “If you give me Atticus’ things, I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “They’re here on the kitchen table, but you don’t have to rush off and leave.”

  I sit back down as soon as he says I don’t have to leave yet. I want to ogle at him a while longer. “What about your daughter, or I thought you might have a date or something?”

  He sits down at the opposite end of the couch and positions his body so he is facing me. “Elsie wanted to stay with her grandma tonight, and I already told you I don’t date.”

  “Oh. Have you spent any time with your females recently?” I ask knowing I have no right to.

  “No, like I said, most of my time goes to Elsie and I just haven’t wanted to be with any of them.”

  “Where’s her mom?” I ask and then feel like I’m overstepping my bounds. “You don’t have to answer that, sorry.”

  “You’re fine. She lives in Malibu. She comes around on holidays. I have Elsie the rest of the time. Want something to drink?”

  “Sure. I could never spend that much time away from my boys.”

  He puts our drinks on the coffee table before taking a seat next to me. He’s closer than he was before. “She feels like she does enough.”

  “I want to know more about your females.”

  He laughs. “Why?”

  “Curious, I guess. I mean I totally get why they would keep coming back, but if they
knew it wasn’t going anywhere…”

  “Some women want just that. No strings attached. I’m okay with it. What do you mean you ‘get why they come back’? Did you see more than you said you did?”

  I put my face in my hands and muffle out a “Maybe.”

  His fingers circle my wrists as he removes my hands from my face. “Why would you lie?”

  “I didn’t want you to be embarrassed that I saw it.”

  “I don’t embarrass that easily. I guess you liked what you saw.”

  “Shut up, Malcom! Can we change the subject now? Or I’m going home.”

  He releases my wrists. “Why’d you leave your husband?”

  “I thought you didn’t care about my personal stuff?”

  “Well, now I do.”

  I shrug. “He cheated on me. I caught him. I haven’t been in love with him for a long time, so I left.”

  “And now you’re divorcing?”

  “We are. It seems like it’s going to take longer than I had hoped, but we’ve had a mediation, so it’s coming along.”

  “Good,” he says before taking a drink of his beer.

  I pick mine up and take a drink. I want to spit it out. It’s horrible, but I make myself swallow it as I look at the label on the bottle. “What’s this shit?”

  “It’s a stout.”

  I make a sour face. “I don’t like it.”

  He smiles. “I can tell.”

  “What else can you tell?”

  “That you must have really wanted to see me for you to come all the way out here on a Saturday night.”

  “For your information, Atticus asked me to come get his warmups. I can show you the text messages.”

  “I’m just joking. You don’t have to show me. I believe you.”

  “You should. I don’t make it a habit to lie.”

  “But you have before?”

  “Haven’t we all?”

  “What have you lied about?”

  I blurt out, “I more than likely would have let you have sex with me in high school.” Then I lift up the beer and take another drink before I remember why I stopped drinking it in the first place. How does he find enjoyment from drinking this stuff?

  “No, you wouldn’t have.”

  “I would too have. You just needed to try more than once.”

  He leans in closer to me to where our lips almost touch, and I can feel his breath on my cheek when he says, “Would you let me now?”

  Then his lips crash down on mine. I have such conflicting feelings right now. His lips feel great on mine, and it’s like his hands already know the places I like to be touched. They probably know that because they’ve touched several dozen women before me.

  I go to shove him off me when his tongue dips in my mouth, and I forget why I was putting up a fight. My hands find his curls. I always wondered what they would feel like. They are soft and still a little damp from his shower. He moans when my fingertips massage his scalp, and it does things to my insides. I want to hear him moan again.

  He moves his hand to my left thigh and pulls on it until my back is on the couch, and he’s hovering over my body. Am I really going to let him take me on his couch?

  His hand brings me back to reality as it makes its way up my thigh and around to grab my backside. Then it slowly glides up my flowy top to the small of my back. I don’t know why, but his big hands make me feel tiny beneath them.

  I reach for the hem of his shirt when I hear a phone begin to ring. Malcom stops kissing me and sighs as he lays his head on the middle of my chest. The phone relentlessly rings. He lifts off my body and makes his way to his phone. He disappears down the hall when he answers.

  My body feels numb. My head feels groggy. I need to leave, but I miss the feeling of being wanted. He might be what sounds like a man whore, but he was showing me more affection than anyone has in a long time. I miss being someone’s someone.

  As I sit up, he makes his way back in the room. “I uh… I have to go get Elsie. She’s sick and throwing up. I’m sorry.”

  I can tell he doesn’t want to be rude and straight up tell me to leave, but I get it. “I hope she gets to feeling better.”

  I grab Atticus’ clothes off the table and head out the door.

  On the ride back to my parents’, I can’t believe how trampy I was acting. I’m sure the sex wouldn’t have been that good. That was probably one of his females, and he was lying. I really hope he wasn’t lying though. I want him to be a better guy than that, but he might not be.

  TEN

  I turned in Kisses After Midnight and the article for The Hive. The Hive didn’t have anything new for me to write yet. They said they would get back with me if something came up.

  Writing Talent Inc., the agency I wrote the book for, gave me a new synopsis.

  The next novel they would like me to write is Christmas themed, and they want it finished by November 1st. That gives me a month to complete it. It doesn’t have to be as long as the last one because it’s more of a novella. All they’ve given me to go on is that it’s Christmas time, a young woman comes home to help save her parents’ poinsettia farm from foreclosure, and that she is to fall in love with the mysterious new guy in town. I’m playing around with the title The Christmas Farm for now.

  I’m not working on the story today. Today I am planning the boys’ fifteenth birthday party. They were born in the middle of the night via emergency c-section on the last day of September. I was hoping to keep them inside of me until October, but they had other plans.

  Their birthday is Thursday, and I’m having a small get-together at the house. Sawyer asked for some kind of new gaming console, and Atticus asked for a car. I told Atticus he is only turning fifteen, not sixteen, and a car was out of the question. I ended up getting them both a new pair of shoes that they had been going on and on about. I feel bad I didn't get Sawyer the new gaming console, but I didn't want to spend more money on one than the other.

  I wrap up their shoes and shove them in the hall closet before getting ready for Atticus’ game tonight.

  The boys didn’t complain too much when they opened their new shoes last night. I know they wanted more than that, but they both put their new shoes on as fast as they could get them out of the box.

  Inez came over and gave them both season passes to a new arcade that opened up a couple towns over. My parents bought them savings bonds. We all ate cake. I cried because my boys are growing up, and I don’t like it. They don’t need my help for much anymore. They have hair growing on their face, and their voices are deep. I need to quit referring to them as boys because they show me every day they are becoming men.

  Their father will be here shortly. I’m sure he has something extravagant to do for their birthday this weekend. He wouldn’t have even remembered it was their birthday if I hadn’t reminded him earlier this week. I honestly do not want him to be a bad father. I’m not sure why I care, but I want him to be the best version of himself for our boys.

  I’m sitting between Atticus and Sawyer on the couch in the den while a home movie plays on the television. My mother filmed the first few days of their lives while I was here before I took them to Colorado with me. I wrap my arms around their shoulders and hug them tight to me while I kiss both of their foreheads.

  Sawyer says, “We love you, Mom, but do we really have to watch us as babies?”

  My mom chimes in, “You let her have her moment now. You’re about to leave for the weekend, and she just wants to spend a little time with you two before you run off with your father.”

  Atticus turns around and looks at Mom puzzled. “Grandma, you make it sound like we are never coming back. It’s only for the weekend.” He faces me. “Plus, he already told us he can’t come pick us up next weekend.”

  I don’t say anything, but he hasn’t told me he can’t take them next weekend. I wonder when he was going to tell me. The mediator said he had to let me know when he wouldn’t be able to spend time with them during his scheduled
time. I’m not upset about it. I love spending time with my boys.

  We have one more mediation appointment before Inez said she would try for court. She said it would be less of a headache if we could come to an agreement out of court. I won’t have time to talk to him today about it. He’s running late.

  I hear a horn honk, and the boys jump up and sling their bags over their shoulders. They kiss me on my cheek one at a time and head for the door. I follow behind them.

  Sawyer opens the door and both boys’ jaws drop open. They look back to me and then back out the door.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  I walk out on the porch behind them and see Stephen standing next to a shiny new Maserati. It’s a slate-blue color, and the top is down.

  He pops the trunk and reaches in as I hear him say, “Hold on boys! I thought I’d have more time before you guys came outside.” He pulls a big white bow out. “Happy Birthday! I hope you guys like it.”

  “This is so cool!” Sawyer says.

  “Can I drive?” Atticus asks.

  “No, you cannot,” I say. “Neither of you have your permit, and you won’t even be able to get that for another six months. Stephen you can’t be serious. This isn’t for them.”

  Atticus gets in the driver’s seat, and Sawyer takes his hand and glides it across the hood.

  “I’m sorry. I wanted to get them something nice for their birthday,” Stephen replies.

  “Something nice for their birthday? This is too much. They need something way more practical. Please assure me you will not let them drive this. I don’t want to get a call that they are dead from a car wreck.”

  “You know I always wanted a GranTurismo when I was kid.”

  Ha. “So, this is more about you than them then?” Figures. He’s having a midlife crisis. “Promise you won’t let them drive it, or I’m not letting you take them with you.”

  “Come on, Dad, let’s go!” Sawyer exclaims, as he moves from the driver’s seat to the passenger seat.

  Atticus jumps in the backseat without even opening a door.

  “Boys, put your seatbelts on now,” I say then look at Stephen. “Do not drive over the speed limit no matter how much they beg. They are my babies. They are your babies. Think about how bad you’d feel if you hurt them. Don’t do it.”