Fuck them ribs.
I’m so damn tired of hearing about Josiah’s incredible little chef. I’m not the most accomplished cook, but last night’s lasagna was great, and my kids act like I’m reheating dog food for dinner.
“If you want to,” I murmur, turning into our driveway and raising the garage door. “It’s fine with me. So you’ll be okay while I’m gone, right?”
“Sure.” Deja opens the door and gets out quickly. “We’re not babies, Mom.”
I need to go inside so I have plenty of time to get ready, but Kassim hasn’t moved. He’s just sitting in the passenger seat, fiddling with the zipper on his backpack.
“You okay, Seem?” I kill the engine and turn slightly in my seat to consider him.
“Yeah, I’m good.” He draws in a sharp breath through his nose and nods.
“Look, I can imagine it’s weird for you, your dad and me dating other people. Divorce is hard on everyone.”
“I’m not upset that you’re dating other people, and I’d rather you be divorced than fighting all the time like you used to.”
I do a double take. We tried to be so careful, always bringing our arguments to the garage to protect the kids from our increasingly antagonistic exchanges. I mean, of course they heard us fighting from time to time, but Kassim makes it sound like a regular occurrence.
“When did you hear us fighting, Seem?”
“All the time.” He shrugs, grabbing his backpack by the strap and opening the door. “I used to go to Deja’s room and get in the bed with her sometimes because I was scared.”
“Scared of what, son?”
“That you guys would get a divorce, but Deja said even if things changed, we’d always have each other, her and me.”
“You still have us too.” I reach over to caress his hair, badly in need of a cut.
“I know.” He gives me a small smile that is much too old and knowing for his age. “But it’s different now.”
His wide eyes meet mine. “I mean it’s fine. It’s just different.”
“Remember what we said? It’s okay not to be okay, and you always have someone to talk to. If not your dad or me, then Dr. Cabbot. Got it?”
“Got it.” He gets out, pausing at the open car door and poking his head back in, his eyes, so much like his father’s, dark and earnest. “I can, um…I think I’ll just have your lasagna if that’s okay?”
My sweet boy. My empath.
“You don’t have to eat the lasagna if you don’t want it. Your dad can bring some of Vashti’s—”
“No, I want your lasagna. It was good. For real.” He twists his lips. “I know Deja said ewwww, but she was just being…You know.”
“Yeah.” I grimace, grabbing my purse and getting out of the car. “I know.”
I pull the lasagna from the fridge, pop it in the oven, and dash upstairs to get ready. I wish I had more time, but it’s the cheap car-wash version, with water flying at my body, hit-or-miss scrubbing and waxing, and a not-so-thorough polish at the end. I give my face a quick jade roll, hoping the cool stone will work its calming magic not only on my skin, but on my nerves.
I frown at my reflection. “But what to do with this hair?”
My regular stylist is out of town, and I didn’t want to chance a blowout with someone new. One silk press set to hell degrees Celsius could wreck my curl pattern.
“Mom.”
I turn from the mirror to find Deja standing in the doorway of my bathroom.
“Day, what’s up?”
“I heard there’s going to be aHotwivesreunion special filming downtown at the end of the season.” She presses her hands together under her chin. “Please see if Aunt Hen can get me in? I wanna go so bad.”