“Where have you been anyway?” I ask Palmer.
I don’t mention that I’ve been watching her driveway all night, wondering when she would get back, imagining her in Matt’s hotel room or something. It’s none of my business, I know.
“I was…out.” She steps into my house and into my kitchen. “Is she still up?”
“No, she crashed early. Took her to the slopes after preschool.”
“Again, huh?”
I sheepishly grin because I’d live on the slopes if I could, and she’s worried Adley will follow in my footsteps and not discover anything else that interests her. Palmer just doesn’t get it because she hasn’t done it.
“She asked,” I clarify.
“Uh-huh, and no pushing from you, I suspect.” She grins.
I chuckle and throw my fingers through my hair.
“It’s getting pretty long,” she says, touching my thick hair.
A bolt of electricity shoots through my body when her fingernails graze my scalp. I jump back, and she startles.
“What?”
I shake my head. “I just got a shock,” I say, unsure how to explain what happened.
Palmer has always touched my hair—hell, one time she even cut it. I had to wear a hat for a month afterward, but we still laugh at why we thought it was a good idea at the time.
“So, what’s the problem?” She drops her bag on the kitchen chair.
For whatever reason, that act makes me realize how comfortable we both are at each other’s houses. What will happen if Theresa and I get more serious? This comfort level we have with each other will all fade away, and it will affect Adley, I know it.
“Come over to the fridge.” I walk her to the picture Adley drew at preschool today that she proudly showed me when I picked her up. All her artwork is on my fridge, so I had to put this one up, but I’m not sure what some people will think when they see it. “Adley drew a picture today.”
“Oh nice. Can you even decipher what it is?” She laughs and looks at me. “Remember last time when we thought it was a mouse pooping, but it was the Easter Bunny dropping eggs?”
“Yeah, this is a bit different.” I point at it, and Palmer gets closer, her fingers on the edge of the paper.
“Oh.” Her mouth twists into a frown.
“Yeah, oh.”
On one side of the picture is Palmer and me with Adley between us, holding each of our hands, and there’s another woman on the other side, far away. She’s wearing a dress, and her hair is blonde. She has a straight line for her mouth while Palmer, Adley, and I are all smiling.
“Does Adley not like Theresa? I thought she did?” I’m hoping Palmer can fill in some blanks because I was thrown when I saw it.
“Me too. She lets Theresa do her hair, and she’s never said a bad word about her.” Palmer does appear surprised.
“Have you ever said anything about Theresa that maybe she could’ve overheard?”
Palmer tilts her head and narrows her eyes. “Seriously?”
“I’m just trying to figure this out.”
“So, you’re going to blame me?”
I open the fridge and grab a beer. “I know what you think of her,” I say without thinking it through. Big mistake.
“And what is that?” The thing with Palmer is that she doesn’t back down. Now that I started this conversation, she’s going to see it all the way through even if I say I didn’t mean it.
“I just mean that you guys are very different.” I turn away from her because, in truth, she’s kind of scary when she’s like this.
“I’m aware, but do you think I would talk badly about her in front of Adley? Give me a little credit.”
I prop myself up on the counter, taking a pull from my beer. “I didn’t mean intentionally. I meant that maybe you said something to your mom or Harper, and she overheard you. I get it, Theresa can be a little—”
She signs a million miles a minute, which happens a lot when she’s mad. I’m not even going there. She’s fine. You like her. I’ve dealt with her for the past few months. If you want her to be a part of your life, then I would only encourage Adley to like her, too.
“Okay…I’m sorry.”
You should be. I can’t believe you think I would do that. She points at the picture. I have no idea where this is coming from, but did you try asking her?
“No.”
Why not?
Because I was afraid of what Adley would say. If she doesn’t like Theresa, it’s going to blow up. We’re going to have problems to deal with, and I hate dealing with problems and other people’s emotions.
Before I can even respond, she’s signing again. You’re scared because if she says she doesn’t like her, then you have to examine how strongly you feel about Theresa and whether she’s worth fighting for.
Damn Palmer, I hate it when she’s right, and she always fucking is. The woman has been able to read me like a book since the day we met. Her smug smile says she knows it too.
Listen, Hudson, I get you never thought you’d settle down with someone, but you seem to like her. You’ve kept her around longer than anyone else.
Except for you, I think, but that’s different. We share a daughter.
“We’re just dating,” I fire back.
It’s been a long night, and I’m going home and getting some sleep. I suggest tomorrow morning you have a conversation with your daughter about that. She points at the fridge. Night, night.
She grabs her stuff and walks out the back door. I could follow her, continue this conversation, ask her about Theresa and tell her my worries. But what if it comes out about how I don’t like seeing her and Matt together and then things get weird between us? I don’t even understand it myself. We should both just get some sleep and figure out these problems tomorrow.

Morning comes too fast, and when I finally get Adley ready and at the table, all I can do is stare at the drawing. Palmer is so much better at this than me. This is her realm as a parent, not mine. But I need to man up and ask my three-year-old. Damn, I’m pathetic.
“Hey, Ad?” I ask, pouring a coffee with my back to her.
“Yeah,” she says, and I hear her spoon some cereal from her bowl.
“You know this drawing you did yesterday at school?” I turn and face her, leaning back against the counter.
“Yeah.” Her attention is only on her cereal, scooping out the marshmallows.
“You know you have to eat the entire bowl, not just the marshmallows.”
She doesn’t answer me, continuing to move her spoon around the bowl, scooping up the floating marshmallows.
I sit at the table with her, and my eye catches on the drawing again. “Adley?”
“Uh-huh,” she says with a full mouth.
“The drawing yesterday.”
She glances up and looks back down. “Uh-huh.”
Just bite the bullet, Hudson. You’re the dad here, the authority. Stop thinking about your own hang-ups.
“Is that Theresa with the blonde hair?” I ask.
“I gave her a pretty dress.” She spoons the last marshmallow and reaches for the box.
I snag it and point at the bowl, and her shoulders deflate. “Why is she upset?”
She glances over her shoulder and looks at the picture as if she doesn’t remember drawing it in the first place. “Because you’re with Mommy,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Why would that upset her?”
She finally looks up from her cereal with a serious face. “She looks like that every time we’re with Mommy.”
My stomach pitches, and I open my mouth, only to close it again.
She goes back to her cereal, scooping up the cereal and milk that’s still full of sugar. But at least it’s a little more nutritious than just the marshmallows.
“No, she doesn’t,” I finally respond.
She nods. “Yes, she does.”
I retrace my memory to all the times they’ve had to interact, and yes, it’s awkward, but Theresa just seems uncomfortable, not mad. “I’ve never noticed that.”
She nods and finishes off her cereal. “Can I watch TV until we leave?”
I start to nod but stop. “Wait. Do you like Theresa?” There. The question is out there.
She stares at me so long that I’m not sure what she’s going to say. “Yeah, but I like Mommy more.”
“Well, of course.”
Then she frowns. “She’s not going to be my new mommy, right?”
I blink and blink again. “No.” I shake my head. “Mommy will always be your mommy, nothing changes that.”
She sits back in her chair. “Why don’t you and Mommy sleep together?”
My heart rate spikes, and my breath comes out unsteady. Why is she asking this? I look behind me, hoping Palmer might surprise us this morning, but her car is already gone. I’m trying to convince myself she’s not having breakfast with Matt.
Palmer is a creature of habit, and she loves her house. There have been weeks where she’s been writing, and I’m not sure she’s left, having food delivered to her. She came home late last night and now is gone early this morning. I don’t understand why the change in her behavior.
“Daddy,” Adley says. “Holden said he went into his mommy and daddy’s bedroom because he had a nightmare, and they sleep in the same bed.”
“Yeah, some mommies and daddies do.”
“I told him my mommy and daddy don’t sleep in the same house. He laughed at me.”
My shoulders sag. Fuck a duck, there is no way we’re here already.
“Marcy asked if you were divorced. What’s divorced?”
I look out the window to make sure Palmer hasn’t returned. Where is she when I need her? “We’re not divorced. You have to be married to be divorced.”
“Huh?” She tilts her cute little face to the side.
“Some mommies and daddies get married and then…”
Her innocent blue eyes stare up at me as though I hold all the knowledge in the world, and it’s scary as shit. “Then what?”
“Well, they don’t want to be married anymore.”
Her forehead scrunches. “Why?”
“A lot of reasons. Sometimes they just fall out of love. Other times, one person isn’t happy.”
“Is that why you and Mommy aren’t married?”
Jeez, her gaze is so intense. How am I intimidated by a three-year-old?
“No, I love your mommy.”
“Then get married!”
I glance at the kitchen clock, wishing I had the excuse that we had to hurry and pack up and leave.
“It’s a kind of different love,” I say.
“Like how you love me?” she smiles.
I shake my head and ruffle her hair that I should really brush. “No, I have the most love for you. I love you more than anyone else in the world.”
“You can’t marry me.” She giggles.
Jesus, this conversation has taken a turn.
“Of course I can’t marry you. Smart girl.” Hopefully she doesn’t tell her teacher that her daddy wants to marry her. Wanting this conversation over with, I stand and dump out my coffee in the sink, rinsing it down. “We should do your hair.”
I rush out of the kitchen and into the bathroom to get the brush and ponytail holders. Once I’m alone, I inhale and exhale a deep breath, happy that the conversation is over—for now at least, because I never really explained it all. I just need to keep her busy until preschool, then I’ll call Palmer, and we can figure out how to handle this new stage. I thought the worst part of parenting was when she woke up at all hours of the night, but no one told me it would get harder as she got older. What the hell?