It Starts With Us (It Ends with Us #2) (22 page)

Are you at home?

The text is from Atlas, so I respond to it with,
For a minute. Why?

I pack baby food into Emmy’s diaper bag and then rush around the room, grabbing her a change of clothes. I throw a can of formula in as well, since I’m no longer breastfeeding, and then I scoop her up. “You ready to go see Rylee?”

Emmy smiles when I say Rylee’s name.

When I picked her up this morning from Allysa’s, I had a talk with both her and Marshall about everything that’s happened with Ryle. Allysa agreed that it was smart to show my lawyer the texts he sent me. She also agreed that it’s time we have a serious sit-down with Ryle. I’m nervous, but knowing she and Marshall have my back is extremely reassuring.

As soon as we make it to my front door, there’s a knock. I glance through the peephole, relieved to see Atlas standing there. But Josh isn’t with him, so my heart immediately sinks.
Did he actually choose to stay with his father over Atlas?
I swing open the door.

“What happened? Where’s Josh?”

Atlas smiles, and the assurance in his smile fills me with instant relief. “It’s fine. He’s at my house.”

I blow out a breath. “Oh. Why are you here, then?”

“I’m on my way to my restaurant. I was driving by and thought I’d run up and steal a hug.”

I smile, and he holds the door open for me. He can’t give me a full-on hug since I have Emerson perched on my hip, so he gives me a quick kiss on the side of my head. “Liar. My apartment isn’t on your way. And it’s Sunday—your restaurant is closed.”

“Details,” he says, waving off my point. “Where are you headed?”

“Allysa’s. We’re having dinner with them tonight.” I hoist the diaper bag onto my shoulder, but he takes it from me.

“I’ll walk you out.” He slings the diaper bag over his shoulder. Emmy reaches for him, and I think we’re both a little surprised when she willingly transfers from my arms to his. She tucks her head against his chest, and the sight of it makes me pause for a second. It makes Atlas take a pause, too. But then he smiles at me and begins walking down to my car. He holds my hand the whole way.

I take Emmy from him and buckle her into her car seat. We’re finally in a position where Atlas can give me an actual hug, so he pulls me to him. His hug feels like an entire conversation. He’s holding me in a way that makes it feel like he’s needing strength—like he wants to take a piece of me with him. “Where are you going again?” I ask him, pulling back.

“I really am going to my restaurant,” he says. “I asked Sutton to meet me there. We need to have a serious discussion about Josh, and I’d like to do it when it’s just me and her. She feeds off an audience, so I refuse to give her one.”

“Wow. I’m actually on my way to Allysa’s to have that
sit-down with Ryle I told you I wanted. What is this, problem-solving Sunday?”

Atlas laughs softly. “Hopefully.”

I kiss him. “Good luck.”

He smiles gently. “You too. Be safe, and call me as soon as you can.” He presses his mouth to mine one last time, and then when he pulls away, he says, “Love you, babe.”

He walks to his car, and I don’t know why his words leave me so flustered, but I’m smiling as I get into my car.
Love you, babe.
I’m still smiling as I drive away. My good mood surprises me, considering what I’m on my way to do, and how it’s more of a spontaneous intervention than a planned sit-down. I
am
going to Allysa and Marshall’s for dinner, but Ryle has no idea I’m heading over there with a purpose.

“Lasagna?” I ask Marshall when he opens the front door. I could smell the garlic and tomatoes from the hallway.

“Allysa’s favorite,” he says, closing the door behind me. He reaches for Emmy. “Come to Uncle Marshall,” he says, pulling her to him.

She’s giggling as soon as he makes a face at her. Marshall is one of Emmy’s favorite people, but I think we’d be hard-pressed to find a kid who doesn’t love Marshall. “Is Allysa in the kitchen?”

Marshall nods. “Yeah. He’s in there, too,” he says, whispering. “We didn’t mention you were coming.”

“Okay.” I set Emmy’s diaper bag down and head for the kitchen. I see Ryle and Allysa’s mother sitting with Rylee in
the living room when I pass by. I wave at her, and she smiles, but I don’t stop to chat. I go in search of Allysa.

When I walk through the kitchen door, I find Ryle leaning over the bar, chatting casually with Allysa, but as soon as he makes eye contact with me, his spine stiffens and he stands up straight.

I don’t react at all. I don’t want Ryle to think he holds any sort of control over me anymore.

Allysa has been expecting me. She acknowledges me with a nod and then she closes the lasagna in the oven. “Perfect timing.” She drops the pot holders on the counter and points at the table. “We have forty-five minutes until it’s ready,” she says, guiding both Ryle and me toward the table.

“What is this?” Ryle asks, looking back and forth between the two of us.

“Just a conversation,” Allysa says, urging him to take a seat. Ryle rolls his eyes but reluctantly takes a seat across from both Allysa and me. He leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. Allysa looks over at me, giving me the floor.

I’m not sure why I’m not scared right now. Maybe Atlas already having had a conversation with Ryle has put most of my concerns to rest. Having Allysa and Marshall in the apartment with us also feels like a layer of protection. And Ryle’s mother, even though she has no clue what’s about to transpire. Ryle keeps his behavior in check when his mother is around, so I’m grateful for her presence.

Whatever is giving me strength right now, I don’t sit and question it. I take advantage of it. “You asked yesterday if I spoke to my lawyer,” I say to Ryle. “I did. She had some suggestions.”

Ryle chews on his bottom lip for a few seconds. Then he lifts a brow, indicating he’s listening.

“I want you to undergo anger management.”

As soon as the words come out of my mouth, Ryle laughs. He stands up, prepared to push in his chair and end this conversation, but as soon as he does, Allysa says, “Sit down, please.”

Ryle looks at her, and then me, and then back at her. Several seconds pass as he takes in what’s happening. It’s apparent he feels deceived right now, but I’m not here to give him empathy, and neither is his sister.

Ryle loves and respects Allysa, so he eventually returns to his seat, despite his current anger.

“While you’re undergoing anger management, I would prefer for your visits with Emerson to take place here, or somewhere Marshall or Allysa are present.”

Ryle swings his eyes to Allysa, and the look of betrayal he shoots her would have given me chills at one point in our past, but right now that look does nothing to me.

I continue. “Depending on your interactions with me going forward, we’ll decide as a family when we feel comfortable with you having unsupervised visits with the girls.”

“The
girls
?” Ryle repeats incredulously, looking at Allysa. “Did she convince you I’m not safe around my own niece?” His voice is louder now.

The kitchen door swings open, and Marshall walks in. He takes a seat at the head of the table and looks from Ryle to Allysa. “Your mom has the girls in the living room,” he says to Allysa. “What’d I miss?”

“Are you aware of this?” Ryle asks Marshall.

Marshall stares at him for a beat, and then leans forward. “Am I aware you lost your temper with Lily last week and pinned her against a door? Or am I aware of the texts you sent her? Or the threats you made when she said she was talking to her lawyer?”

Ryle stares blankly at Marshall. His face reddens, but he doesn’t immediately react. He’s trapped in a corner, and he knows it. “A goddamn intervention,” Ryle mutters, shaking his head. He’s annoyed, irritated, a little bit betrayed. Understandable. But he can either agree to cooperate, or he can fracture the few remaining relationships left in his life.

Ryle pegs me with a jaded stare. “What else?” he asks, somewhat smugly.

“I’ve given you more than enough grace, Ryle. You know I have. But from this point forward, please know that Emerson is what matters to me. If you do anything threatening or harmful to me or our daughter, I will sell everything I own to fight you in court.”

“And I’ll help her,” Allysa says. “I love you, but I’ll help her.”

Ryle’s jaw is twitching. His expression is blank otherwise. He looks at Allysa and then at Marshall. The tension in the room is palpable, but so is the support. I could cry, I’m so grateful for them.

I could cry for all the victims who don’t
have
people like them.

Ryle stews over everything for a long beat. It’s so quiet, but I’ve made the point I wanted to make, and I’ve made it obvious that there’s no room for negotiation.

He eventually scoots back from the table and stands. He
brings his hands to his hips and stares down at the floor. Then he drags in a long inhale before he heads for the kitchen door. Before he leaves, he looks back toward us, but makes eye contact with none of us. “I’m off this Thursday. I’ll be here around ten if you want to make sure Emerson is here.”

He leaves, and as soon as he does, my shield of armor collapses, and I shatter. Allysa puts her arms around me, but I’m not crying because I’m upset. I’m crying because I am so, so relieved. It actually feels like we accomplished something significant. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two,” I say through my tears, hugging Allysa.

She runs her hand over my hair and says, “You’d be so miserable, Lily.”

We both start to laugh. Somehow.

I called Sutton after I dropped Josh off at my house and asked her to meet me at Bib’s. I got here an hour before we agreed to meet. I’ve never cooked for her, so I’m hoping my making her a meal does something to her. Pleases her, puts her in a decent mood. Anything to make her less combative.

My phone pings, so I step away from the stove and look at the screen. I told her to text me when she arrived so I could let her in. She’s five minutes early.

I walk through the dark restaurant and flip on some lights on my way through. She’s standing near the front, smoking a cigarette. When she sees the door open, she flicks the cigarette into the street and then follows me inside.

“Is Josh here?” she asks.

“No. It’s just me and you.” I gesture toward a table. “Have a seat. What do you want to drink?”

She regards me silently for a moment, then says, “Red wine. Whatever you have open.” She takes a seat in a booth, and I head back to plate our food. I made coconut shrimp because I know it’s her favorite. I saw her fall in love with it when I was nine years old.

It was on the one and only road trip she took me on. We went to Cape Cod, which isn’t all that far from Boston, but it’s
the only time I remember my mother ever doing something with me on a day off. She usually slept or drank her way through her days off, so the day trip to Cape Cod where we tried coconut shrimp for the first time is not something that went unappreciated by me.

I place our plates and drinks on a tray and walk it out to the table she’s seated at. I set the food and wine in front of her, then take a seat across from her. I slide silverware to her side of the table.

She stares at her plate for a beat. “You cooked this?”

“I did. It’s coconut shrimp.”

“What’s the occasion?” she asks, opening her napkin. “Is this an apology for assuming you could actually parent a kid like him?” She laughs like she told a joke, but the lack of noise in the restaurant makes her laugh fall flat. She shakes her head and picks up her glass of wine, sipping from it.

I know she has twelve years on me with Josh, but I’m willing to bet I already know him better than she does. Josh probably knows
me
better than she knows me, and I lived with her for seventeen years. “What was my favorite food growing up?” I ask her.

She stares back at me blankly.

Maybe that was a tough one. “Okay. What about my favorite movie?” Nothing. “Color? Music?” I give her a few more, hoping she can answer at least one of them.

She can’t. She shrugs, setting down her wineglass.

“What kind of books does Josh like to read?”

“Is that a trick question?” she asks.

I settle back against the booth, attempting to hide my agitation, but it’s living and breathing in every part of me.
“You don’t know anything about the people you brought into this world.”

“I was a single mother to both of you, Atlas. I didn’t have time to worry about what you liked to read when I was busy trying to survive.” She drops the fork she was about to use. “Jesus Christ.”

“I didn’t ask you to come here so I could make you feel bad,” I say. I take a sip of my water, and then run my finger around the rim of my glass. “I don’t even need an apology. Neither does he.” I look at her pointedly, shocked that I’m about to say what I’m about to say. It’s not what I came here to say to her at all, but the things I selfishly came here for aren’t what’s nagging at me. “I want to give you an opportunity to be a better mother to him.”

“Maybe the issue is that he should be a better son.”

“He’s twelve. He’s as good as he needs to be. Besides, the relationship you have with him isn’t his responsibility.”

She scratches her cheek and then flicks a hand in the air. “What is this? Why am I here? Do you want me to take him back because he’s too much for you to handle?”

“Not even close,” I say. “I want you to sign your rights over to me. If you don’t, I’ll take you to court, and it’ll cost us both a ridiculous amount of money that neither of us wants to pay. But I’ll pay it. If that’s what it takes, I will drag this in front of a judge, who will take one look at your history and force you to undergo a year of parenting classes that we both know you have no interesting in completing.” I lean forward, folding my arms together. “I want legal custody of him, but I’m not asking you to disappear. I don’t want you to. The last thing I want is for that boy to grow up feeling as unloved by you as I felt.”

She sits frozen in my words, so I pick up my fork and take a casual bite of my dinner.

She stares at me while I chew, and she’s still staring at me as I wash down the food with a sip of water. I’m sure her brain is running a mile a minute, searching for an insult or a threat of her own, but she’s got nothing.

“Every Tuesday night we’re going to have dinner here, as a family. You are more than welcome to come. I’m sure he would enjoy that. I’ll never ask you for a penny. All I ask is that you show up one night a week and be interested in who he is, even if you have to fake it.”

I notice Sutton’s fingers are shaking as she reaches for her wineglass. She must notice, too, because she makes a fist before grabbing it and pulls her hand back to her lap. “You must not remember Cape Cod if you think I was such a horrible mother to you.”

“I remember Cape Cod,” I say. “It’s the one memory I try to hold on to so that I don’t completely resent you. But while you feel like you did this wonderful thing by giving me that one memory of us that one time, I’m offering to give that to Josh every day of his life.”

Sutton looks down at her lap when I say that. For the first time, she looks like she might be experiencing an emotion other than anger or irritation.

Maybe I am, too. When I decided to have this conversation with her on the drive home from Tim’s house today, I fully planned on cutting her out of our lives forever. But even monsters can’t survive without a heart beating inside their chest.

There’s a heart in there somewhere. Maybe no one in
her life has ever let her know they’re appreciative that it still beats.

“Thank you,” I say.

Her eyes flicker up to mine. She thinks I’m testing her with that comment.

I shake my head, conflicted by what I’m about to say. “You were a single mother, and I know neither of our fathers helped you in any way. That must have been really difficult for you. Maybe you’re lonely. Maybe you’re depressed. I don’t know why you can’t look at motherhood like the gift that it is, but you’re here. You showed up tonight, and that effort is worth a thank-you.”

She looks down at the table, and it’s a completely unexpected reaction when her shoulders begin to shake, but she fights back the tears with all that she is. She brings her hands up to the table and fidgets with her napkin, but never has to use it because she doesn’t allow a single tear to fall.

I don’t know what she went through that made her so hard. So unwilling to be vulnerable. Maybe one of these days she’ll share that with me, but she has a lot to prove as a mother to Josh before she and I will ever get to that point.

She pulls her shoulders back, sitting up straighter. “What time will the dinner be on Tuesdays?”

“Seven.”

She nods and looks like she’s about to scoot out of the booth.

“I can get you a to-go box if you want to take it with you.”

She nods quickly. “I’d like that. It’s always been my favorite dish.”

“I know. I remember Cape Cod.” I take her plate to the kitchen and prepare it to go.

Josh is asleep on the couch when I finally make it back home. Anime is playing on the television, so I hit pause and set the remote on the coffee table.

I watch him sleep for a little while, overcome with relief after the day I’ve had. Things could have gone a lot differently. I press my lips together, choking back the emotional exhaustion as I watch him sleep in peace. I realize as I’m staring at him that I’m looking at him the same way Lily looks at Emerson, like she’s so full of pride.

I pull the blanket off the back of the couch and drape it over him, then I walk to the table where Josh’s homework is laid out. Everything is completed, even the family tree assignment.

He drew a tiny seedling sprouting from the ground with two small branches. One says
Josh
and one says
Atlas
.