My So Called Life (Love Not Included Series Book 3) (28 page)

Buying a card is sounding a lot better right now, as I scroll through the endless lies of easy-recipe boards. Someone at Pinterest really needs to regulate what people post on this board. Easy, my ass. How the hell do you broil steak? Sick! I don’t want someone engulfing my juicy meat in a pot of water!

Heck with this.

You can never go wrong with an old-fashioned pasta dinner. Grab a jarred sauce, noodles, some garlic bread, and bingo. I’ll have Ian eating out of my hands with appreciation. Well, first his pasta bowl. Then my hands. No wait, my bits. He shall be eating my lippity lip liparoos.

In complete game mode, I skip around grabbing my purse and keys. Sadly, I have to pause when I get to the ‘finding keys’ part because I don’t have any. I don’t even have a car.

I remember that thing in the garage and blanch. Hot diggity! No way. I’d rather walk to the store than get into that. I’m sticking to my guns on this one.

Not doing it.

I continue to collect my things and head out the door. The store isn’t that far. Walking it is. I open the door, set to venture off and a big fat raindrop smacks me straight in the eye.

I curse, nothing Disney, and look out with one eye to the outside world being drenched by Mother Nature.

T
HERE WAS NO EATING
out of pasta bowls for dinner, more like Chinese take-out containers. After coming to terms with the rain, I went back inside. I pouted on the couch for about thirty-seven minutes, reminding myself of every reason I would not get in that van and why I had to stick to my guns. I did get close once. And it was me walking into the kitchen to maybe just look at the thing. Maybe it had leather seats and surround sound. Adele does sound spectacular in surround sound. Too bad for the van, I ended up spotting a pile of take-out menus on the counter first, and thankfully, ditched the whole crazy idea of making nice with the hoarder wagon. Ian seemed content with the meal and Pippa enjoyed the fortune cookies so I guess all in all we came out winners.

Monday under my belt, Tuesday starts off the same way, sore with a little love note on my pillow. Ian knows today is probably going to suck balls for me. Today I have an appointment with the attorney to go over a whole bunch of legal mumbo jumbo regarding Amy and John.

Ian felt extremely guilty he couldn’t come with me, but he just couldn’t reschedule his conferences. Wishing he dumped all his work on Amber, but understanding, I put on my brave face and told him it was totally okay. Of course, sitting waiting to be seen is making me wish I’d given a different response.

I’m finally greeted by a gentleman, I’m guessing in his early forties. “Ms. Daniels?” Addressing me, I stand quickly and we shake hands.

“Yes. Mr. Gallagher?”

“Yes, yes, nice to meet you. Why don’t we go into my office?” He extends his arm, gesturing for me to walk ahead. I step into a pristine workplace and sit in the open chair in front of a table.

“Thank you for coming in today, Ms. Daniels.”

“Please, call me Christina.”

“Sure, Christina. Well for starters, did you bring the key?”

“Oh, yes, I did.” I turn and dig inside my purse for the safety deposit box key.

“Great. So we’ll go grab that and get started on the will. Then we can move along with transferring over guardianship.”

“Over? What do you mean over?”

“It will take some time to go through the courts, but once we have all the forms signed, when you walk out of here today you will officially have legal guardianship of Pippa. Welcome to parenthood, Ms. Daniels.”

I’m sitting on the couch staring off into space when Ian finally makes it home. There’s no missing my off mood. He comes in smiling, but catches the blank stare on my face and slows.

“Hey,” he greets me cautiously. “How’d everything go?” He drops his bag next to the coffee table. I feel the couch dip and he takes a seat next to me.

I still don’t say anything nor do I move my dazed eyes from the smudge on the wall. I’ve been staring at that damn smudge for almost an hour since I got home.

“You in there?” Ian’s deep voice snaps me from my transfixed state. Without budging, I begin to ramble. “I have a lot of money,” I blurt, still staring at my smudge. “My bank account. It’s filled . . .”

“Um. Okay.” Ian sounds confused. Obviously.

“I have a lot of money saved. Enough to probably take a hiatus for the next couple of years if I wanted to and still be okay.”

“Okay, Chris, why are you telling me this? What happened today?” Ian looks worried.

“Well, I have
a lot
more money now.” I stare at him.

He’s looking at me, waiting for the punchline. “Chris, I’m not sure where you’re going with all this. Are you going to tell me what happened?”

I blink once. Twice. Then turn back to my smudge. I’m struggling to spit out the whole scene that’s replaying in my head. And that’s because I’m still in shock.

“Chris, you’re starting to worry me. Did something not go well today? Was it something in the safety deposit box?”

“There was nothing in the box except the will, financial papers, and birth certificates. Did you know that Pippa was born on Presidents’ Day?”

“Yeah, babe, I do. John and I were on a fishing trip because of the holiday. Amy called John while we were on our way home to tell us her water broke. I thought if John didn’t kill us in an accident driving, I was going to have a heart attack at how fast and crazy he was driving trying to get us back home.”

I smile at his memory, watching his eyes light up, speaking about his cousin. He lifts his hand to my hair, wrapping a loose strand around his fingers.

He rubs the curl in his fingers before tucking it behind my ear. “Are you going to enlighten me on what’s gotten you into this mood?”

I lean into his palm, still lingering by my cheek. “John had a life insurance policy. Apparently, he
really
wanted to make sure his family was taken care of if something happened to him.”

“Sounds like John.”

“Well, add in Amy’s policy, subtract two policy holders, and divide between two beneficiaries, myself and Pippa, and that puts one point two million into an account, half of that going to Pippa when she turns eighteen.”

“Wow,” Ian reacts.

“Yeah, wow, but I was thinking more like holy shit, or holy fuck, or holy fucking shit, or holy—”

Ian cuts me off. “Hey, stay with me here.” Stay with him? Has he not been following me?

“One point two million, Ian. One point two million. One point two mill—”

“Chrissy, I heard you the first time. Honey, you need to calm down.”

Calm? I’m calm. I’m totally calm. Never been calmer.
Why am I sweating?
“Is it hot in here?” I ask. Or babble. I’m sure Ian’s about two seconds away from slapping me just to bring me back to reality. He takes both my hands and grips them to his chest. “Baby, it’s just money. Calm down.”

“Okay. You’re right.” Deep breaths. “I’m sorry. I’m all good now. Minor glitch. I’m totally over that part.”

“You say part as if there’s more.”

“Oh, there is.”

“And are you going to tell me?”

“Oh, just that as of about,” I stop to look at my watch, “12:47 p.m. today I officially became Pippa’s legal guardian.”

That actually wows him more than the money did.

“Wow.”

“Yep, wow. But I was thinking more like holy shi—”

“Stop.” He places his finger over my moving lips.

I shut my mouth.

“So how do you feel?”

“About being filthy rich or being a legal parent to a four-year-old?” I mumble through closed lips. He gets the point and removes his finger.

“You know what I mean.”

“Well, I feel scared. And excited. And scared and pretty excited.” I can’t stop the smile that begins to grow widely across my face. “I’m her guardian now.”

“I think that’s great.” He smiles at me.

My smile suddenly falls. “I have to take care of her and make sure she eats and sleeps and does her homework and brushes her teeth and prays at night and—”

Panic mode back in full effect.

Ian takes immediate control and does what he does best, so with both hands securing my face, he crashes his lips to mine. The mumbling of my freak-out fades as his tongue makes his way into my mouth. And that tongue will shut a politician up. I forget about my rant, well, I forgot and continue to allow him to kiss me senseless.

K
ISSING IS A GREAT
remedy. It’s a multi-purpose solution to so many problems. Ian remedied my freak-out by doing just that. By the time he released me, not only was I calm but putty in his hands. Once he got a good look and felt the crazy was gone, he inquired where the child in question was.

I explained that in my state of shock when I got home, I may have handed Pippa a box of something and told her to have at it. I mean, not the best way to start off parenthood, but in my defense, I was not one hundred percent lucid when she walked in the door. I remember opening the door and waving at Betty the bus driver, while Pippa came skipping inside claiming “hungry, feed me now.” At first, I stared at her, thinking if she knew better, she could buy herself her own cookies. Shit, she could purchase a cookie factory and make all the cookies she wants. Then I realized that I had to be the adult here and no more cookies. She needs fruits and vegetables. I started to make a good argument about trying something healthier when I opened the fridge and got a whiff of death.

“Oh, my God, what is that smell?” I gag.

“I’m not eating anything that comes out of the fwidgewaiter.”

It was hard to argue with her on that one since I sure wasn’t touching a thing in there.

Needless to say that’s when I tossed her the cookies, and planted my confused, shocked ass on the couch until Ian showed up.

Which brings us to the present.

I wish there was a cheat sheet on telling a four-year-old that you’re technically now their stand-in-mommy. Ian told me to just be myself and explain how I felt.

Well, how I felt was the urge to drop-kick Ian to the floor.
Be myself.

I’m just not good under pressure. At least not this kind. I can hook and sell anyone in the art gallery world. I’ll dazzle you with a pile of dog doodoo and you will love me for it. I’ll even upsell you the glass case to go with it.

Give me ownership of a real life human and nope. Just nope. I practically treated the situation like a business transaction. I asked Pippa where she saw herself in five years.
Yep, I asked a four-year-old that.
 Her response was simple: Can Ariel sleep over?

It was a mess. Nothing came out as I wanted it to. Nor did the other party technically share my excitement.

I knelt in front of Pippa and swatted at the crumbs playing house on her ruffled shirt.

“So Pip, I’ve got some super exciting news,” I boast.

“Is Ariel coming over?”

“What? No. Not that kind of news.”

“But you said you had good news.” She pouts.

“Well, I do. So today I went and saw a man.”

“Like that bad man that was here before?”

Ehhh, let’s not bring up that can of worms.

“No, baby, not him. A good man.”

“Did he have cookies? And when is Ariel coming over?”