Page 103 of Love… It's Messy
Planning weddings is a rewarding career. Even on my bleakest days as a single mom, I always enjoy the radiant glow of a bride. Heck, I even find the tantrums amusing. As a young girl, I loved weddings, picturing myself as a future Jennifer Lopez, falling for a Matthew McConaughey. After enrolling in college and choosing hospitality management and communications as my major, I thought I’d find a niche in hotel management or museum gala planning. That was more in line with my parents’ objectives of having a daughter with a footprint in Greenwood Village society. There are many elbows to rub in those positions. Then, I got an internship for a celebrity wedding designer, and I was hooked. I never thought I’d be thirty-two years old and having the career I do.
Being fulfilled.
Being so happy.
Yes, I have an extra click to my heels today as I leave the wedding and slide into my car. The sun has just set, yet it’s still early. I enjoy the dusk over the hilltops on the drive to Walden. I listen to the radio and think about how different I feel today compared to yesterday. To last week. To last month. To last year.
I’m surprised I’m not currently agonizing over Luke’s test results. I am not this optimistic. In fact, many would say I’m a scowling realist. If I think of the test for too long, I might start to get that jittery feeling in my legs, paired with the sweaty palms that come with worry.
Those anxious thoughts aren’t with me right now. For the first time in years, life feels like it’s going to be okay. Ainsley is happy with a father who loves her beyond measure. Luke and I have shouted our secrets out in the open. We’ve rekindled.
It’s been a few days since our carousel ride and subsequent bagel breakfast. Luke offered to keep Ainsley this weekend while I worked. He has a rotating schedule and has demanded that he have Ainsley on the weekends when I’m working and he’s not. When I agreed she stay at his home, he was elated, showing up at my house yesterday to pick her up for their first sleepover. Since he drove to pick her up, it’s only right I do the return trip.
Luke texted throughout the day. His father went to Walden to meet Ainsley. He sent a video of Mitch as he streamed tears of joy down his cheeks at the sight of his first grandbaby. The man fell to his knees and hugged our little girl, who seemed a bit confused by the reaction. Ainsley, like her mom, isn’t used to the overly affectionate Incendio clan.
Before the visit was over, Ainsley was playing catch with her grandfather while wearing her Rockford Peaches costume—from a movie Luke had her watch last night in preparation for the costume. Mitch stayed for lunch but couldn’t stay longer, as he had to get home to tend to Peyton. Before he left, Luke sent me a selfie photo of the three of them—three generations of mischievous smiles.
When I show up at Luke’s house, I stop on the pavement and breathe in the evening cold. Last two times I was here, we were not on the best terms. The first time, I had so much animosity toward him. The next, I was distraught by the secrets he held. Now, I’m walking up the path to Luke’s home with a smile on my face.
Country music is playing on the radio, loud enough that no one notices me walk in, except Joe, who is at my ankles and serenading me with a deep purr as he nuzzles my legs. I place my bags on the floor by the door and scoop up Joe, walking into the room of two unhappy faces at a table.
Luke and Ainsley are playing a board game in the dining room. She has a scowl on her face, deep with dark eyebrows, just like her father.
“You look like you’re having a blast,” I comment.
“I want to have babies, but I skip over them every time.” Ainsley pouts from her chair in the corner.
Luke throws his arms up. “I tried to let her win, but it’s the spin of a dial. The number is the number. Now, she’s refusing to finish the game.”
I put Joe down and stand next to Ainsley with my hand on my hip and my chin lowered. “Ainsley Lisette, you cannot throw a tantrum when you don’t win. No one’s going to want to play games with you if this is how you behave.”
She folds her arms and pushes her chin into her chest.
I look at Luke. “Told you parenting isn’t as fun when she’s losing at games.”
“Trust me, I’d let her cheat if it were possible.”
I laugh at the seriousness of his expression. “Don’t give in to her. She’s being bratty.”
He stands up and explains, “I’m not upset because she’s having a fit. I’m upset aboutwhyshe’s having a fit.”
I look at Ainsley and her sour expression. “She’s mad because she wants to fill her car up with kids. That’s what everyone wants to do in this game. She’s had this fit before, and I never let her off the hook. She has to finish.”
I lift a finger and am about to scold my child when it dawns on me what Luke just said. He’s not upset because Ainsley’s upset that she can’t fill her car with pink and blue pegs. She’s upset because …she can’t fill her car up with pink and blue pegs.
My heart drops at his forlorn gaze. Looking back at Luke, I tilt my head.
With a soft voice and in wording Ainsley wouldn’t understand, I say, “It’s just a game. Not real life. You heard what Eric said. There’re options for that. She won’t have to give up anything.”
His chest collapses at my words, and I see the relief slowly crawl over his expression. “You’re right.”
The next week is going to be long and difficult. I try to maintain the positive focus I had on the drive here. I can only control the things I have control of. In this moment, it’s these two and their painstaking personalities.
“As for you, young lady, it’s just a game, and you have no right to sulk. Besides, you know I hate this game. It sets up unreal expectations. You shouldn’t even have to stop at the Stop sign to mandatorily get married before making babies. And, yes, some people have babies, and some don’t. That’s just life. As the game says. Now, get up, give your father a hug, and apologize for ruining his evening.”
With the speed of a sloth, she slips off her chair and then pads over to Luke with her mouth in a steadfast frown and her eyes looking up through her lashes.
“Sorry, Daddy.”