Page 151 of Please Open Me
Seb shrugged. “Just stating facts.”
My jaw clenched as Sebastian finished working the scissors through my hair. He stepped back, double-checking to make sure everything was even. Once he deemed I was good, I stood up and examined myself in the mirror, and thenhimin the mirror.
And, since he was just stating facts, it was my turn to do the same. Seb was a few inches taller than me, but I was still able to wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him down.
His startled gasp rocketed through the silence as I held his chin in place and forced him to look at us. Same cheekbones. Same lips. Same eyebrows. Same eye shape, albeit his were sky blue while mine were soil brown.
And while Seb and I usually didn’t have a lot in common. We both shared one thing, the man who jump-started our nosedive into never feeling like we were enough.
I cleared my throat, wanting to make sure what I said came across loud and clear. “We look like our dad.”
My comment caused Sebastian to all but fuck off. He didn’t talk to me again, not even to tell me to fuck off. Instead, he and Cameron went on a date while Sophia and I wrangled the kids. That left my lovely wife nowhere to be found.
According to Sophia, Mason passed out while lying down breastfeeding Rosie, and Sophia didn’t bother waking her up.
Mason was a mess when she was tired, so this was for the best. At least, that’s what Sophia said. What she didn’t understand was that Iwantedthe mess. I wanted Mason to be weepy, and clingy, and able to be won over by me just ordering takeout and being there.
I needed her to see I was sorry. I needed her to forgive me, and I needed the easy way out to do that.
But I could still do that.
So, I waited.
And then I made Mac and Cheese for the kids.
And I waited some more.
And I put all the children, including Rosie, to bed.
And then I—well, I dozed off on the couch watchingThirtyof theDumbest Ways to Die.Eventually, my joints protested the impromptu slumber enough to wake me up.
My eyes begrudgingly opened to the far-off clanging of a pot hitting the stove
My ears perked up as I rubbed the rest of the sleep out of my eyes and stood. The floor was cold under my feet, and the house felt too quiet for how awake I suddenly was.
The kitchen light bled into the hallway, and I followed the sound of Mason muttering every curse in the book.
She was standing at the stove when I walked in, hair damp from a shower and sticking to her neck, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants and a black sports bra. Her phone was pinned between her cheek and shoulder.
“Hi Mattie, it’s me, your girlfriend.” I could tell she was trying to sound sweet despite her frustration. “You promised you’d be back, and youdidn’tcome home, and I’m worried.” The slightest crack infested her voice. “Please call me back.”
Mason ended the call, thumb trembling as she shoved her phone onto the counter a little too hard. For a second, she just stood there, hand flat against the granite, head bowed like she was trying to will herself not to cry.
Then, she broke it to root through the cabinets, and I tookthatas my time to shine.
“Go sit,Mi vida. If you’re hungry, let me cook,” I offered, resting a hand on her shoulder.
The goal was to glide her away so I could look for something quick and easy to feed her, but Mason jumped out of her skin as if I’d hit her. Her back hit the counter, and if it weren’t for Seb's cabinets being so high up, she would have smacked her head.
“Calm down,” I soothed before trying to guide her to sit down at the unused kitchen island.
Back in Hartwood, ours was littered with bills, papers we thought might be important, and a fruit bowl filled with good intentions and mealy pears. But Sebastian’s was untouched, perfect just like him.
The thought turned my saliva bitter.
Mason pushed me away with a firmness I’d never seen from her.
“Don’tfuckingtouch me,” she warned with a quiver in her voice.
