I make it to her car, press the unlock button on the key fob, open the door, and hit the control on the side of the driver’s seat until it’s all the way back. I’ve done this a time before. The last time, I had my knees to my chest while Tyra was laughing her ass off at my expense, and me joining her. There are a shit ton of good memories; my only hope is that the good outweighs the bad. I start her car, shaking my head. Some things never change. Her gas light is on, as well as the tire pressure light, and fuck if her car isn’t due for an oil change, too. I make my way out of the parking garage, realizing I forgot my sunglasses. The Vegas sun is brutal, and Tyra’s windows aren’t tinted. Damn shame. Whenever I get her back to us, that’s one of the things I’ll make a priority—getting her oil changed regularly, making sure there’s plenty of gas in her car, detailing the car when it clearly needs it. I get it; she’s a single mom, has our son more than she ever should have, another thing I’ll be taking care of. I owe a massive apology to Von, and I’ll be doing that this week, too. Flipping the visor down while waiting at a light, I get the surprise of my life. There, where one would least expect it, is a glimpse into the woman I shut out, a picture of the three of us, the last one we took together. Von is on my shoulders looking at the camera, my gaze slanted downwards, eyes locked on Tyra’s as she looks up at me, the cannons in the background, the two of us not giving a single fuck about what’s going on around us. The only thing that mattered was us, and it’s time I get us back to that, starting now.
FIFTEEN
Tyra
I didn’t wantto leave Mace’s place. The scent of him surrounding me, the calmness his presence seems to bring, it’s an enigma, really. I should be running fast and free away from him, except I’m not. Once he left, I was alone in his empty apartment, doing what any other woman would do—snooping. I went through drawers, closets, and even looked under his bed. I’m not even sure what I was looking for, but once I was done, there was no time like the present to get home to clean, which is what I did, well, after stealing a cotton shirt and a pair of sweatpants, along with socks. Doing the walk of shame in my dress would be awkward at best; put pairing the now stolen outfit with heels, that’s a hard no.
Thankfully, no one was out and about in the apartment complex to see me wearing Mace’s clothing, not that they know a whole lot about me. When we moved in, I was just another tenant, a single mom getting back on her feet, and I kept things quiet. It was nobody’s business where I came from and the background it entailed. I unlock my door. The emptiness and quietness have me ready to turn around and march right back to Mace’s place, not that his apartment isn’t just the same, but at least there I’m surrounded by his things, albeit very little of it seeing as how it’s so sparse. Truth be told, I’d probably hide away beneath the comforter and sheets, allowing his scent to surround me and fall into a deep sleep where there’s not a single freaking worry.
“Jesus, you need mental help or maybe a therapist, stat.” I dump my keys into the bowl, keeping my phone in my hand because there’s only one person I know who will be available to talk my crazy ass down from the roller-coaster ride I’m currently on. One I might add that I don’t want to get off, and it’s not from the delicious soreness between my legs either. Mace is, well, Mace, the good and the bad, and I think a piece of me knows I’ll always love him no matter what.
Before I call Celeste, though, I seriously need to pick up the house. It’s not that the place is filthy; it’s just not picked up. The floors are a few days past the cleaning stage, laundry needs to be done, the fridge needs to be cleaned out, and the dishes definitely need to be off-loaded out of the dishwasher. My little stinker Von conveniently forgot to pick up his toys and help with a few other things around the house, mainly his dirty clothes, shoes, and then his bathroom. God, that boy is hell on wheels when it comes to brushing his teeth. Toothpaste spatter covers the mirror from top to bottom. He’s supposed to wipe his mess down when he’s done, but clearly, we’re all slacking.
I pick up the throw pillows that were tossed every which way, some on the ground, some stacked on top of one another in a corner of the couch, fold the throw blankets to place them in a basket, then do the same with Von’s toys that he keeps out here in the living room. Thankfully, that the majority of his toys stay in his room. At our last place, he had a toy room, literally. The room was as big as my living room and kitchen put together in the apartment. It was major overkill. He had too much, and part of that issue was mine, trying to console him with a toy when Mace was working over the weekend, and I was lost in a stupor in how to get through to my then husband. It was hard, but with the move came change, which was for the better in some ways and for the worse in others. I get the main area picked up, go through the house, collect all of the never-ending laundry, knowing that’s going to take the majority of time with having to separate it and wait for one to load to be done before tossing it into the dryer only to repeat the process. The entire time, I’m lost in my own thoughts, replaying last night, worrying if I’m doing the right think, trying to hurry this process along. I really need Celeste to help me work through these thoughts and maybe tell me I’m doing the right thing, too.
My phone chiming in the kitchen alerts me to a text message. At one point in time, the damn thing was always on silent, another change with the divorce. You don’t get to turn off if you’re a single parent; it doesn’t matter if they’re with their grandparents or father, you worry that if something goes wrong, you won’t be available. I pick up my phone and see it’s the man who’s causing all this inner turmoil, and that I forgot to give him something when I made it home.
Mace: Siren, kind of can’t grocery shop if you don’t send the list.
Me: Crap, I’m sorry. Is a picture of the list okay, or do you want me to type it out?
I’m kind of an old soul when it comes to pen and paper, loving to write instead of typing it into notes on your phone. I’d much rather have it written out; it’s easier to cross out as you navigate the aisles. Plus, it helps to get Von off a device and working on his writing skills, too.
Mace: Send the picture. It can’t be that bad.
Me: It’s your funeral.
Laughter leaves me. Mace really has no idea the grocery situation that’s taken hold lately. Von is in one of his growth spurts, which sadly means he’s devouring food like a human garbage disposal. I snap the picture of my list, keeping the phone unlocked to wait for his response. He’s in for a treat, that’s for sure. It doesn’t take long for the message to sayDelivered, thenRead, and the bubbles appear, alerting me he’s typing his response.
Mace: Jesus, is this for the week?
Me: I warned you. Don’t get it all if it’s a lot of trouble. I can always pick up the rest after work this week.
Mace: I’m here, I’ll get it taken care of. Von is only going to go through more food the older he gets. I remember Mom and Dad complaining about me eating them out of house and home.
Me: Great, just what no mother wanted to hear.
Mace: Sorry, babe. Alright, I’m at the store. I’ll text you when I pull up.
Me: Thanks, Mace, a lot <3
Mace: Anytime, Tyra, anytime.
I close out of our texts, pull up my contacts, scroll until it lands on Celeste’s name, put the phone on speaker while it rings, and pray she’ll answer.
SIXTEEN
Mace
“Hey, thanks again, Mace.”Tyra is holding the door to her apartment open for me. I’m carrying the first batch of what I’m sure will be three loads of groceries. I did what was needed on her car before hitting the grocery store, minus the oil change, which I’m going to see if she minds trading vehicles one day this week so that can be taken care of. No way do I want to get a phone call that she’s stranded on the side of the road because her car died suddenly due to lack of oil.
“Hi, siren. It wasn’t a big deal. Did you get things taken care of that you needed to?” I ask, bending at the knees to graze my lips across hers. Tyra had a towel wrapped around her naked body when I left earlier. Now I see she’s raided my dresser of the clothes she’s wearing—an old college tee, even older sweatpants, and judging by the bunched-up fabric at the back of her ankles, I’m assuming my socks as well.
“Yes, let me help you grab the groceries,” she offers. I shake my head, moving to the kitchen and placing them on the counter.
“You off-load the food. I’ll grab it from the car. No need for us both to be out in the heat.” I’m not getting into the fact about her vehicle and the issues that needed to be handled. Tyra will figure it out when she gets in next. Hopefully, it’ll lighten her load and allow her to see the changes I’m willing and able to make.
“Okay, fine, but tell me the total, and I’ll send you the money.” I ignore her. No fucking way am I going to take her money. What she asked for child support is nothing. I even tried to fight to give her more, but it didn’t work. It’s why I make sure anytime there’s a way I can help, I do.