Page 30 of Denial
“She’s great.” I cross one arm into the other and lean my shoulder against the door. “Having a snack now and doing some homework.”
“Put her on.”
I bristle at his curt tone.
“Of course.” I hold the phone out as I cross the room. “Here you go, Nellie. It’s your dad.”
Her eyes light, the joy in them setting off a pang in my chest. Not ever knowing what that unconditional love feels like opens within me a deep well of sorrow. She eagerly holds the phone up to her ear as I try to block out the knowledge of the sticky, peanut butter fingers wrapped around it.
“Hi, Daddy!” A pause. “I’m almost done with my math.” Her lips tick down in a frown. “But Miss Alice is making soup, and it smells really good.”
What the hell?
My teeth click sharply together.
“Okay. Yes, I’ll tell her. Love you. Bye.”
I retrieve my phone, and Nellie sits up to slide her leg beneath her. “He says he’s ordering a pepperoni pizza.”
Irritation prickles my scalp. “Oh? Did he say why?”
She lowers her voice into a whisper. “He says we don’t know yet if you’re a good cook, and he didn’t want me to be hungry.”
If I knew where he kept the nanny cam, I’d give his pesky, meddling ass the middle finger.
“That’s fine, sweetie. I’ll get the pizza when it’s here, and we’ll save my soup for another time.”
Liketomorrow.
He’s going to have to eat my cooking at some point. I didn’t hear any complaints about my eggs at breakfast. I’m beginning to suspect he’s just looking for ways to stir up trouble.
I leave the soup to simmer. We might not be eating it, but the longer it cooks, the longer it will imbue the flavor. Now I’m extra pissed he doesn’t have a good assortment of spices. I need this chicken noodle soup to be the best damn thing he’s ever put in his mouth.
I close my eyes and exhale.
I should not be thinking of Sutton’s mouth.
As if I summoned him once more, my watch vibrates with a text.
Sutton:
Already paid and tipped. Help yourself. There’s plenty
Me:
How sweet. I’ll just put this soup away for tomorrow. Thanks, Officer Sunny
Controlling bastard.
Swiping over to my CGM app, I check the graph—137 with the arrow flat. Without meaning to, I start to mentally tally. I know from more than twenty years’ experience that two slices are about sixty carbs.Maybea little more. Pizza is one of those foods that just sort of does what it wants to anyway. I can never seem to get it quite right.
I tap the bolus screen on my insulin pump app. The suggested amount is just under six units. I chew my lip and bump it up to seven. Half delivered now and half to deliver over the next couple of hours. It’s not like I’ve never been stuck dealing with a blood sugar spike at midnight before, but hopefully, this will stave it off.
Nellie finishes up her math and puts it away just as the doorbell rings.
“Yay pizza!”
I laugh at her enthusiasm and grab our dinner. We eat together at the table while Nellie regales me with stories of recess.
