Are you at home?
The text is from Atlas, so I respond to it with, For a minute. Why?
I pack baby food into Emmy’s diaper bag and then rush around the room, grabbing her a change of clothes. I throw a can of formula in as well, since I’m no longer breastfeeding, and then I scoop her up. “You ready to go see Rylee?”
Emmy smiles when I say Rylee’s name.
When I picked her up this morning from Allysa’s, I had a talk with both her and Marshall about everything that’s happened with Ryle. Allysa agreed that it was smart to show my lawyer the texts he sent me. She also agreed that it’s time we have a serious sit-down with Ryle. I’m nervous, but knowing she and Marshall have my back is extremely reassuring.
As soon as we make it to my front door, there’s a knock. I glance through the peephole, relieved to see Atlas standing there. But Josh isn’t with him, so my heart immediately sinks. Did he actually choose to stay with his father over Atlas? I swing open the door.
“What happened? Where’s Josh?”
Atlas smiles, and the assurance in his smile fills me with instant relief. “It’s fine. He’s at my house.”
I blow out a breath. “Oh. Why are you here, then?”
“I’m on my way to my restaurant. I was driving by and thought I’d run up and steal a hug.”
I smile, and he holds the door open for me. He can’t give me a full-on hug since I have Emerson perched on my hip, so he gives me a quick kiss on the side of my head. “Liar. My apartment isn’t on your way. And it’s Sunday—your restaurant is closed.”
“Details,” he says, waving off my point. “Where are you headed?”
“Allysa’s. We’re having dinner with them tonight.” I hoist the diaper bag onto my shoulder, but he takes it from me.
“I’ll walk you out.” He slings the diaper bag over his shoulder. Emmy reaches for him, and I think we’re both a little surprised when she willingly transfers from my arms to his. She tucks her head against his chest, and the sight of it makes me pause for a second. It makes Atlas take a pause, too. But then he smiles at me and begins walking down to my car. He holds my hand the whole way.
I take Emmy from him and buckle her into her car seat. We’re finally in a position where Atlas can give me an actual hug, so he pulls me to him. His hug feels like an entire conversation. He’s holding me in a way that makes it feel like he’s needing strength—like he wants to take a piece of me with him. “Where are you going again?” I ask him, pulling back.
“I really am going to my restaurant,” he says. “I asked Sutton to meet me there. We need to have a serious discussion about Josh, and I’d like to do it when it’s just me and her. She feeds off an audience, so I refuse to give her one.”
“Wow. I’m actually on my way to Allysa’s to have that sit-down with Ryle I told you I wanted. What is this, problem-solving Sunday?”
Atlas laughs softly. “Hopefully.” I kiss him. “Good luck.”
He smiles gently. “You too. Be safe, and call me as soon as you can.” He presses his mouth to mine one last time, and then when he pulls away, he says, “Love you, babe.”
He walks to his car, and I don’t know why his words leave me so flustered, but I’m smiling as I get into my car. Love you, babe. I’m still smiling as I drive away. My good mood surprises me, considering what I’m on my way to do, and how it’s more of a spontaneous intervention than a planned sit-down. I am going to Allysa and Marshall’s for dinner, but Ryle has no idea I’m heading over there with a purpose.
 |
“Lasagna?” I ask Marshall when he opens the front door. I could smell the garlic and tomatoes from the hallway.
“Allysa’s favorite,” he says, closing the door behind me. He reaches for Emmy. “Come to Uncle Marshall,” he says, pulling her to him.
She’s giggling as soon as he makes a face at her. Marshall is one of Emmy’s favorite people, but I think we’d be hard-pressed to find a kid who doesn’t love Marshall. “Is Allysa in the kitchen?”
Marshall nods. “Yeah. He’s in there, too,” he says, whispering. “We didn’t mention you were coming.”
“Okay.” I set Emmy’s diaper bag down and head for the kitchen. I see Ryle and Allysa’s mother sitting with Rylee in the living room when I pass by. I wave at her, and she smiles, but I don’t stop to chat. I go in search of Allysa.
When I walk through the kitchen door, I find Ryle leaning over the bar, chatting casually with Allysa, but as soon as he makes eye contact with me, his spine stiffens and he stands up straight.
I don’t react at all. I don’t want Ryle to think he holds any sort of control over me anymore.
Allysa has been expecting me. She acknowledges me with a nod and then she closes the lasagna in the oven. “Perfect timing.” She drops the pot holders on the counter and points at the table. “We have forty-five minutes until it’s ready,” she says, guiding both Ryle and me toward the table.
“What is this?” Ryle asks, looking back and forth between the two of us. “Just a conversation,” Allysa says, urging him to take a seat. Ryle rolls
his eyes but reluctantly takes a seat across from both Allysa and me. He leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. Allysa looks over at me, giving me the floor.
I’m not sure why I’m not scared right now. Maybe Atlas already having had a conversation with Ryle has put most of my concerns to rest. Having Allysa and Marshall in the apartment with us also feels like a layer of protection. And Ryle’s mother, even though she has no clue what’s about to transpire. Ryle keeps his behavior in check when his mother is around, so I’m grateful for her presence.
Whatever is giving me strength right now, I don’t sit and question it. I take advantage of it. “You asked yesterday if I spoke to my lawyer,” I say to Ryle. “I did. She had some suggestions.”
Ryle chews on his bottom lip for a few seconds. Then he lifts a brow, indicating he’s listening.
“I want you to undergo anger management.”
As soon as the words come out of my mouth, Ryle laughs. He stands up, prepared to push in his chair and end this conversation, but as soon as he does, Allysa says, “Sit down, please.”
Ryle looks at her, and then me, and then back at her. Several seconds pass as he takes in what’s happening. It’s apparent he feels deceived right now, but I’m not here to give him empathy, and neither is his sister.
Ryle loves and respects Allysa, so he eventually returns to his seat, despite his current anger.
“While you’re undergoing anger management, I would prefer for your visits with Emerson to take place here, or somewhere Marshall or Allysa are present.”
Ryle swings his eyes to Allysa, and the look of betrayal he shoots her would have given me chills at one point in our past, but right now that look does nothing to me.
I continue. “Depending on your interactions with me going forward, we’ll decide as a family when we feel comfortable with you having unsupervised visits with the girls.”
“The girls?” Ryle repeats incredulously, looking at Allysa. “Did she convince you I’m not safe around my own niece?” His voice is louder now.
The kitchen door swings open, and Marshall walks in. He takes a seat at the head of the table and looks from Ryle to Allysa. “Your mom has the girls in the living room,” he says to Allysa. “What’d I miss?”
“Are you aware of this?” Ryle asks Marshall.
Marshall stares at him for a beat, and then leans forward. “Am I aware you lost your temper with Lily last week and pinned her against a door? Or am I aware of the texts you sent her? Or the threats you made when she said she was talking to her lawyer?”
Ryle stares blankly at Marshall. His face reddens, but he doesn’t immediately react. He’s trapped in a corner, and he knows it. “A goddamn intervention,” Ryle mutters, shaking his head. He’s annoyed, irritated, a little bit betrayed. Understandable. But he can either agree to cooperate, or he can fracture the few remaining relationships left in his life.
Ryle pegs me with a jaded stare. “What else?” he asks, somewhat smugly.
“I’ve given you more than enough grace, Ryle. You know I have. But from this point forward, please know that Emerson is what matters to me. If you do anything threatening or harmful to me or our daughter, I will sell everything I own to fight you in court.”
“And I’ll help her,” Allysa says. “I love you, but I’ll help her.”
Ryle’s jaw is twitching. His expression is blank otherwise. He looks at Allysa and then at Marshall. The tension in the room is palpable, but so is the support. I could cry, I’m so grateful for them.
I could cry for all the victims who don’t have people like them.
Ryle stews over everything for a long beat. It’s so quiet, but I’ve made the point I wanted to make, and I’ve made it obvious that there’s no room for negotiation.
He eventually scoots back from the table and stands. He brings his hands to his hips and stares down at the floor. Then he drags in a long inhale before he heads for the kitchen door. Before he leaves, he looks back toward us, but makes eye contact with none of us. “I’m off this Thursday. I’ll be here around ten if you want to make sure Emerson is here.”
He leaves, and as soon as he does, my shield of armor collapses, and I shatter. Allysa puts her arms around me, but I’m not crying because I’m upset. I’m crying because I am so, so relieved. It actually feels like we accomplished something significant. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two,” I say through my tears, hugging Allysa.
She runs her hand over my hair and says, “You’d be so miserable, Lily.” We both start to laugh. Somehow.
