Eligible Ex-husband - Marie Johnston Page 0,18
Monday. Why don’t you take the call and send me a report?”
My mouth twists. He doesn’t see the irony in wanting to take a weekend while making his assistant do it. When I worked with him, I quit asking the question, “But does this need to be done on the weekend in the first place?”
Simon didn’t realize that some of his clients were divorced workaholics who are alone in life and if he didn’t set limits, he’d end up the same way. And look what happened.
Except he’s clearly taking the weekend off and sloughing the duties off onto Helena.
But it’s not any of my business anymore.
“Thanks,” he says. “And can you return Lancaster’s call? I forwarded the email to you already.”
Helena probably has a full workday ahead of her.
I must’ve made enough noise to catch the girls’ attention. “Mommy, are you done in the office?”
I lean against their door frame. “Yes. But it looks like a rainy day. What should we do?”
Abby pivots away from the dollhouse, her legs twisting in a way that would land me on the couch for days, rehabbing a sore knee. “Daddy said we should go to the movies.”
“Is there anything good out?”
Simon speaks behind me, making me jump. “There’s always a kid’s movie in the theaters, right?”
“I need to run.” One, I’m not committing to a family outing. I’m too raw and it sounds too good. And two, I haven’t done a thing to train all week. I don’t want to show up to my next session with Aleah and be out of breath before we even finish our warmup.
His eyes light up. “Gainesworth family workout?”
Abby cheers and jumps up. Confusion puffs Maddy’s lower lip out. “What’s that?”
She was still in diapers the last time we all hung out in the home gym together. Only in those days, Simon punished himself on the treadmill and I entertained the kids while half-assing some weights.
Abby grins and explains. “Daddy plays the music really loud and sings along while he’s running and we’re down there with him.”
Simon’s grin matches his daughter’s. “Only this time, Mom is going to be on the treadmill singing. Runner’s choice.”
A staggering case of self-consciousness hits me. This is worse than a family movie date. I’ve never run in front of Simon. Walked on the treadmill, yes. Walked outside, of course. Ran while he chased me with promises of tickling me silly, yes. But not, like, a real show of athleticism.
Running is something I do for an escape from the real world. To build myself up after the hurt he caused. I don’t want to do that in front of him. If it wasn’t too early, I’d suggest we go to the movies immediately.
Simon starts down the stairs. “Get your shoes on, girls. I’ll grab the water bottles.”
They’re all crazy excited while I’m standing here dying inside because I don’t want my ex-husband to drop in a fit of laughter over seeing me try to run for real. I can’t fall apart on the treadmill and sob in front of my girls. That hasn’t happened for months, but my wounds aren’t fully healed.
But as I watch the girls race around their room, changing T-shirts because they think the new ones are better to work out in, it’s clear they’re second-guessing nothing. In their world, why wouldn’t I do something as simple as run on a treadmill in front of them and their dad.
Be a good role model.
If I can do this, I can do the movies without my heart hurting so bad I can’t sleep.
I swing by my bedroom and get changed. By the time I hit the basement, music is pumping from the speakers. Simon is running the kids through steps that look like a line dance we once learned in a college class.
I make my way to the treadmill as if I’m trudging through shin-deep snow. The song switches out to a fast-paced dance song. I glance at Simon. His back is to me, but he found my playlist as easily as he does everything else.
I warm up with a brisk walk that stretches longer than normal. Finally, I push the speed up. My feet hit the belt with a steady rhythm and I get lost in the sound of the motor and the music.
Until Simon appears at my side.
My right foot hits the outside edge of the belt and I steady myself on the arm rails.
“Sorry.” He puts a hand on the outer edge of the treadmill monitor and his