without a word. He doesn’t budge. Doesn’t come to me. I inch closer, taking in the sorrow in his features. His face crumbles as he starts to cry. His shoulders quake as I wrap my arms around them. He buries his face into the plush fleece of my housecoat as he tightens his arms around my waist. His body is still quivering, and mine too. “This is for the best,” I whisper, finally uttering the words I hadn’t had the courage to say before.
“I want to be the one here for you,” he sobs. “I understand how you feel. I should be the—”
I pull away from him. “Stop it, Weston. I don’t want to hear that kind of talk. I’m glad you came but…”
“But he gets to take care of you now,” he cries. “Is he taking good care of you, at least?”
I nod, wiping my tears with the sleeve of my housecoat. “Yes. He’s been really good to me.”
He blows out a breath, staring down at the floor. I’ve never seen him look so tired, so weak. “I suppose I’m useless here, then.”
I smile at him. “Go home and get some sleep.”
His gaze lingers on me. His blood-shot eyes are still beautiful. “This doesn’t change anything…the house, the life I had planned,” he goes on. “I still want it. I still want you, Mirella.”
I catch my breath. I don’t want to even think about those things. “Weston, you should go,” I say, my heart heavy. “I promise I’ll keep in touch.”
“I want to know how you’re faring. Please don’t leave me in the dark.”
“I won’t,” I tell him just before he turns to the door.
He gives me a soft smile before he leaves. “I love you,” he whispers.
We pretend it didn’t happen. There was no Weston — no confrontation, sobbing embraces, glares and cries of sorrow. It simply didn’t happen.
After the Weston fiasco (which didn’t really happen), Gabe goes out for a run and a trip to the grocery store around the corner. He picks up a bunch of stuff, including my favorite snacks: dill pickle chips, chocolate chip cookies (the chewy soft kind) and lemonade.
“You want me to get fat, don’t you?” I joke. “Is that your master plan?”
“I can’t lie.” He laughs. “I’ve always liked a little extra meat on the bones.”
I smile up at him, removing the contents from the thin plastic bags and setting them carefully in the cupboard.
“I got you these too,” he says handing me a mixed bunch of colorful flowers — pink carnations, mixed with a few small irises and daisies. My face lights up at the sight of them.
God, the man is killing me. He’s being so sweet, and I feel so guilty.
“Thank you,” I say with a kiss on his cheek. I notice he smells good this morning — very good — the familiar body wash fills my nostrils. “I’ll put them in my grandmother’s vase.”
He smiles. “I’ll take care of breakfast.”
Everything is just rosy when the girls wake up to their dad’s famous pancakes, complete with strawberries and whipped cream smiley faces.
“I might take an extra week off work,” Gabe tells me over eggs and pancakes. “There’s only a week left before school. I thought it would be nice to spend some quality family time together.”
My spirits instantly lift. “Are you sure you can get away with that?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, it’s slow right now. Summer, you know. It’s no big deal.”
“I would love that.”
“Can we go to the city, to the aquarium?” Chloe ventures.
“Yay,” Claire cheers. “We could go to the zoo again.”
“Well, today is McDonalds and the park. Maybe we’ll go to the one with the splash pad.”
If I surround myself with my family, and keep busy, maybe I’ll stop thinking about Oliver. If I put on a smile, maybe it will come naturally. Perhaps I can be happy again, if I try very hard.
I may not be perfectly happy but my stomach sure is post Coke, Big Mac and fries. Gabe sits beside me on the bench, his long legs stretched out. He shoots me a smile here and there, but doesn’t say much. He looks as gorgeous as ever, in his white tee and loose linen shorts, his hair in need of a haircut, a bohemian necklace hanging off his neck. But when he smiles at me, it isn’t that old familiar playful, impish smile — that ‘panty-snatcher’ smile. No, this smile is soft and sweet. It’s more of an ‘I want to take care of