Tommy, as usual, is the first one up. I find him in the piano room, working on the puzzle. They started from the top, CeCe’s choice, and the sky is beginning to come together. I can’t remember if the thin and wispy clouds are cumulous or whatever the other kind is, but it looks beautiful.
“Morning.” I give him a quick kiss before heading into the kitchen to get us both coffee.
“So what’s on tap for today?” I ask. We’ve been trying to tackle at least one item from his list every day, and as much as I resisted the idea at first, it’s been nice giving every day its own purpose.
“I was thinking maybe Big Kahuna’s,” Tommy says.
The mention of the water park down the street sends waves of worry through me. I shiver at the thought of Tommy there, carrying the portable oxygen concentrator he started bringing everywhere two days ago.
It’s almost to the point where even the walk up our stairs leaves him breathless, and I don’t see how he could manage to climb to the top of those towering slides. And knowing him, he wouldn’t be able to sit back and watch others have all the fun without him.
I bite my lip, trying to figure out how to be a voice of reason without crushing his spirit.
“The mini-golf part,” he says.
I exhale a sigh of relief. Mini golf we can handle.
“Are we going to make an exception on the grounding?” I ask.
“About that,” Tommy says.
“Were we too hard on her?” I ask.
“Probably not,” Tommy says. “But maybe we can let it slide this once? It might be selfish of me, but I don’t want to waste a day of the time we have left with CeCe being punished.”
“You are the least selfish person I know, Tommy Whistler.” I give him a kiss and watch as he focuses his attention on finding a puzzle piece that has a bird’s left wing on it.
Once he finds it and snaps the wing into place, he looks up with an expression I can’t quite read. “Speaking of being less selfish and more selfless, Monica called me this morning.”
The coffee I’d been drinking goes down the wrong way and I start coughing.
“Monica-Monica?” I ask, just to be sure.
“That Monica.”
My stomach turns at the thought of my worst fears being realized. I assumed there would be a run-in at some point, but I thought it would be more accidental, and I didn’t think it would happen this soon.
“What did she say?” I ask, trying and failing to sound casual.
“That it’s been a while.”
I snort. “That’s an understatement.”
“She heard what’s going on, from Brit, I’d guess,” he says. “She wants to come see me. To talk.”
“To talk?” I raise my eyebrow suspiciously. For what reason, I have no idea. Tommy has made it clear I have nothing to be worried about—but that’s easy to say when his ex is just an idea. But when he sees her again, with her jet-black hair, olive skin and almost translucent green eyes, making you wonder what cultures collided to create her, then it might be a different story.
I shiver at the thought. Monica would be a hard act to follow even for a woman who had high self-esteem and a positive body image.
“Of course, just to talk,” Tommy says. “If you aren’t comfortable with it, I’ll tell her not to come. I know I promised.”
I take another sip of my now cold coffee. He did promise. But I know I can’t and won’t stop him from talking to her. If nothing else, he deserves closure. There was a moment when she mattered to him, and if he can forgive her, then he’s a better person than I am. Which, of course, he is.
“No, you should talk to her if you want to.”
“I knew you’d understand,” Tommy says. Clearly, he has more faith in me than I do.
“But I don’t want CeCe to be here.”
Tommy nods, and I search his eyes for a clue to how he’s feeling about all of this.
“Do you forgive her?” I ask.
“I did, a long time ago.”
I nod, trying to gather enough courage to ask the question I wasn’t quite brave enough to ask the last time we talked about her. And I can’t unhear the answer if it’s what I’ve been afraid of all these years.
“Have you kept in touch? With her?” I ask.
“With Monica? No.” I exhale, relieved. “The last time we spoke was when the divorce was final. But I did tweet her to say congratulations after you told me her Netflix news.”
I try to hide my surprise. “You did?”
“Of course not.” He laughs. “You know I don’t tweet.”
“But if you did?” I ask, relaxing into our natural banter.
“Then my tweets would only be for you, my love.” He takes my hand and brings it to his lips.
“Oh, stop,” I say, pulling my hand away. “But keep going.”
“I would sing your praises a hundred forty characters at a time.”
“You can have two hundred eighty characters now,” I tell him.
“Even better.” He smiles and wraps his hand around mine. “Just one more thing about Monica?”
I nod.
“She doesn’t hold a candle to you.”
“You don’t have to.” I avert my eyes down to the puzzle, which is starting to take shape.
“I want to.” He reaches over and gently turns my head toward his so I have no choice but to look at him. “I wouldn’t change a thing—well, maybe a few things. But everything I went through and everything I did before you is what I needed to go through to be ready for you. So what good would it do to be upset with her? I ended up with everything I ever wanted.”
I slide my chair closer to his and rest my head on his shoulder, my thoughts bouncing between how I got so lucky to find a man like Tommy, and how in the world I can find a way to keep CeCe out of the house when Monica comes knocking on our door.