Page 29 of The Write Choice

I pull my phone out of my purse with one hand and send a quick text to Brandon: Long story short, Ben wants to take Mason and Brody to lunch. Okay with you?

Brandon’s response is immediate: Yeah. Ben’s good people.

I’m not too proud to admit I’m relieved. I want to see Mason make a friend while he’s here, and I would love a little quiet time to myself while Christine naps. I give Mason and Ben my best stern look. “Your dad says it’s fine, but I need Ben’s phone number. And Mason, you’d better behave.”

All three of them high-five each other. I glance at Ashley, who looks amused. Ben takes my phone and enters his number, and the three of them leave quickly, as if they’re worried I’m going to change my mind.

Caleb is now lying on the ground, vrooming his car around with far less enthusiasm. Chloe finds her seat behind the counter again, still popping bubbles with her gum.

“Okay,” I say, knowing I want to get out of here quickly so as not to waste a minute. “It was nice to see you all again, but I’m going to get this one home.”

Ashley waves. “It was great chatting. Hopefully, we’ll see you again soon.” She sounds genuine, so I allow myself to smile slightly as I grab my purse and leave.

Once I get Christine home, I feed her a quick lunch and put her right to bed. I leave the door of my studio open while she sleeps so I can hear when she gets up, and I stand there taking in the work I did last night. I was a tornado of activity for the hours I was left alone. I’m not sure if it was because I was so excited to get back to my art, or if I was worried someone would interrupt. Either way, I wanted to get as much done as I could.

By the time I decided I needed to get some sleep, my eyes were too tired to make heads or tails of any of it, but now I take it all in with fresh eyes. Most of it is garbage, but there are a few drawings taking shape that I really like. The ones I like the best are, unsurprisingly, of my kids doing various fun activities together. One is the view from our airplane window as we left New York. Another is the view from the same window as we landed in Chicago.

I select the one of the New York skyline from above and clip it to my easel, then open up a box of paints Brandon placed in here. I grab two paintbrushes, shove the extra one in my bun, and get to work.

Chapter 9

Brandon

I dreamt about Katie all night. Beautiful, sweet dreams about her lips pressed against mine and my hands raking through her platinum blonde hair. By the time my alarm goes off, I’m so hard that I have to do a lot of innocuous mental math and take a cold shower before I can go upstairs to the kitchen. Katie holds out a mug of coffee to me, our fingers touching briefly in the hand-off. Her eyes hide a secret longing as if she had been dreaming about the same things as me last night. A giddy sensation passes over me at the touch, and I have to sit down quickly at the island because I’m hard again.

My wife is fucking perfect. And we kissed last night. It’s not everything, but it’s something.

And then, she and I banter back and forth about Mason’s school, just like we used to do. It’s exhilarating. It’s exciting.

It’s like I’m falling in love with my wife all over again.

After all that, it takes far more effort than usual to leave her. As I stand in the doorway, studying her before saying goodbye, I vow to myself that I am going to leave work on time every day from now until the end of time. I’ve missed too many hours with her already, and this move is supposed to mean more time home with her. With them. I’m going to make sure that’s the case.

The drive to Chicago isn’t bad, though I have heard that traffic in and out of the city can be unpredictably awful. The firm is in the Loop—in the heart of downtown—on the tenth floor of an office building with a gorgeous view of the city streets. I was here when my parents were scouting out office spaces, and I’ve come out a few times since. I honestly never thought they’d retire, so when they called in the fall to see if I wanted a shot at taking over this branch, I was surprised. And excited.

When I arrive at the office, my mom and dad are both waiting for me in the lobby near the receptionist’s desk. Nothing like having your parents greet you when you get to work.

I haven’t seen them yet because they’ve been traveling for the holidays, but I was hoping to have at least a few minutes to settle in my office before being accosted by Patrick and Maria Conley. I smile, hopefully conveying excitement that I don’t quite feel.

My mom comes up to me and brushes a speck of invisible lint off my shoulder. “Oh, Brandon, try not to look so happy to see us,” she says sharply, but quietly enough for only my dad and I to hear. Seems like I didn’t do a great job of pretending to be happy.

My dad reaches out a hand to shake mine, his expression a good deal warmer than my mother’s. I grip his hand and smile.

“Good to see you, son. How are Katie and the kids settling in?” he asks, releasing my hand.

“They just arrived yesterday. They seem to love the new place,” I answer.

Mom makes a disbelieving sound in the back of her throat. “Haven’t you been here since just after Christmas? What took them so long to move?”

“We talked about this, Mom.” I grit my teeth. “Katie wanted to stay through New Year’s Eve, and moving two kids is a lot of work.”

She waves this away. “I will never understand that woman’s insistence on not hiring help.”

I simply shrug and smile. It’s not worth it to try to explain that Katie did, in this instance, insist on help moving because she adamantly refused to participate. It’s also not worth admitting Katie isn’t yet fully on board with the move here. If I can’t get this presentation ready for the administrators by March, it may all be a moot point anyway.

“Well,” Mom claps her hands once as if this is no matter to her. “When can I come see my grandbabies?” Her sharp, gray eyes soften at the mention of the kids. I’ve always admired my mother for her toughness and her ability to pull up a chair in a room full of men and have her own seat, but even this hardened woman has a soft spot a mile wide for her grandchildren.

My gaze flicks to my father’s, and a corner of his mouth tips up slightly in knowing amusement. The woman will not be satisfied without an immediate answer, and she does not give a single shit that Katie would rather walk across hot coals than have her over any time soon.