His eyes kept smiling then he took his hand from my hip and turned to the kids.
“Okay, I think we all know each other but let’s make that official,” I suggested. “Auden, Pippa, this is Mickey. Mickey, these are my kids, Auden and Olympia.”
I did hand gestures along the way as Auden pushed in first, offering his hand to Mickey.
“Hello, sir,” he said formally, which made Pippa widen her eyes and look at me.
I pressed my lips together, giving her wide eyes back, as Mickey took my son’s hand and replied, “Mickey’s fine, Auden.”
“Right,” Auden muttered as he let go.
“Hey!” Pippa cried brightly, hopping toward him, beaming up at him and offering a hand.
I watched her do this, allowing myself a brief moment of sheer joy that my girl was back.
Mickey took her hand and replied, “Hey.”
They separated and Pippa tipped her head to the flowers and offered, “Do you want me to take those? I can put them in water for Mom.”
Mickey lifted the massive bouquet of green hydrangeas, peach roses and red gerbera daisies to Pippa and said, “Sure, darlin’. Thanks.”
She took them in both hands, pulling them to her chest, before she beamed at me and skipped away.
“Can I get you a drink, Mickey?” Auden asked.
“Yeah, thanks. A beer,” Mickey answered.
Auden nodded and moved away.
I looked to Mickey. He looked to me. Then he moved in close, sliding a hand to the middle of my back.
“You doin’ okay?” he asked under his breath.
“I’m a wreck,” I told him under mine.
“Don’t mean to freak you, Amy, but you aren’t hiding that.”
“Great,” I mumbled and he grinned.
“It’s cute.”
“It doesn’t feel cute.”
“Relax,” he replied. “I already know you got good kids. This is gonna go fine.”
It seemed so far he was right. I just hoped it kept up that way.
“The flowers were a nice touch,” I shared.
“Got that. Your girl is as easy to read as you.”
I felt my face get soft.
“Uh…Mom,” Pippa called. I jumped and looked her way. She was smiling broadly. “You sold all the vases.”
“Crap,” I muttered.
Auden came out of the fridge with Mickey’s beer and asked him, “Do you want this in a glass?”
“Bottle’s good,” Mickey answered.
“I know!” Pip exclaimed. “I’ll pour the ice water in the glasses and use the pitcher.”
“Good idea, sweets,” I told her.
She jumped to the pitcher, setting aside the flowers.
Auden approached with Mickey’s beer, handed it to him and asked me, “Do you want a glass of wine?”
“That’d be great, kid,” I replied.
He nodded, all man of the house, and moved away.
I watched my kids handling this situation so splendidly, better than I was, and suddenly was overwhelmed with an enormous feeling of relief. Relief that I’d done such a good job raising them (admittedly with Conrad also being a good father). Relief that they survived the “hurricane” as Mickey described it and its aftermath and then settled right back into the great kids we’d raised.
This was coupled with the hope that if my kids could survive a stormy breakup of their parents and move on the way they did, that Mickey’s kids would do the same.
And taking this in, I was no longer a wreck. I was a woman in the warm, friendly home I’d created for my family, with said family and my handsome wonderful boyfriend having dinner.
I looked up at Mickey. “You want to take a seat while the kids and I start putting dinner together?”
“Rather help out,” he replied.
I beamed up at him.
His beautiful blue eyes moved over my face before I saw warmth and pride shine out and he lifted a hand to run his knuckles briefly along my jaw before he dropped it and asked, “What can I do?”
“Mickey, you can help me grill the buns and we’ll get the fries in the oven,” Pippa bossed. “Mom, you cut up the pickles. Auden, get out the cheese platter and coleslaw. And make sure you grab a serving spoon for the slaw.”
We all hopped to, moving around the kitchen doing our assigned tasks. While Mickey and Pip did theirs, he asked how she was liking high school and that was all he had to do. In mile-a-minute speak, Pippa answered, telling him even more than what I knew about how she felt about high school (in summary, it was awesome).
We got dinner together and were seated, Mickey at the end of the bar, me, Auden and Pippa down the front, and Mickey told my son that I’d told him Auden wrestled.
“Yeah,” Auden confirmed.
“You any good?” Mickey asked.
“Made all-county and won regionals last year,” Auden answered, his tone bordering between proud and humble.
My good son.
“You’re good,” Mickey muttered, took a forked-up bite of his pulled chicken sandwich (the only way you could eat it since it was piled high with cheese and slaw). He swallowed and his eyes slid to me. “And this is good.”
I grinned at him. “Thanks, honey.”
He gave me a moment to take in his eyes dancing before he looked back to Auden. “Obviously, you’re gonna wrestle again this year.”
“Yeah,” Auden replied. “We’ve already started conditioning.” He looked at me and teased, “You don’t have to come, Mom.”
I rolled my eyes at him and shoved a forkful of sandwich in my mouth.
“Why wouldn’t you go?” Mickey asked me.
“Mom hates wrestling,” Auden answered for me.
I quickly chewed, swallowed and denied, “I don’t hate wrestling. I just hate watching people wrestle my son.”
“It’s a sport. No one gets hurt,” Auden returned.
“I know,” I replied, falling into a conversation we’d had several times before. “But I’m a mom. This is a feeling you’ll never feel so you’ll never understand it so you just have to let me feel it and deal.”
“I usually pin them,” Auden pointed out.
“This, and the fact you’re my son and I’d go even if you didn’t, is why it doesn’t drive me totally crazy. Just borderline crazy.”
Auden shook his head, his lips quirking.
“You don’t like your kid wrestling, you’re gonna be a basket case at my fights,” Mickey remarked.