Rewrite the Stars by Christina Consolino (classic fiction TXT) 📗

if that’s what you want. And by the way, let me tell you the effect you have on me. None of those statements were quite appropriate to say as we sat in the dark waiting for Clara to wake.

But in the split second before he expected my answer, a bubble of recognition emerged at the surface of my mind. Andrew represented a taste of something I didn’t possess: freedom. The freedom to pursue what he wanted, when he wanted it, anywhere he wanted it. He didn’t have to sit and watch a former love fall apart, nor did he have to witness three lovely children deal with the drawn-out drama of their father’s and mother’s failures. The stress of my life brought tears to my eyes. I wanted to be free too. Of my obligations, my job, my kids, my situation. Free of my life. My napkin served a wonderful purpose—to blot at my tears under the weak lighting that hopefully shielded my emotions.

Andrew waved his hand, as if trying to push away the past, and took a sip of his coffee. “Thanks. The thing is, and yes, I realize how unimaginative this sounds, we got married too fast. My ex and I harbor no ill-will and try to keep everything running smoothly for the kids. The little guy will be starting second grade. And he’s at an age where he’s noticing everything, especially when it comes to his mom and dad.” Andrew placed his mug on the end table. “His vulnerability reminds me every day to keep the relationship with my ex-wife as amicable as possible.”

The man had his head on the right way. The more I learned about him, the worse off I’d be.

“Did it get bad at all?” Theo and I hadn’t legally parted ways yet, and with him still living in the house, the burden of divorce was still an unknown to me. What if Theo and I did divorce? What would our lives be like then?

“Thank goodness, no. Both of us had the wisdom to see we’d grown apart. While we tried to figure out a way to make it work, it just wasn’t going to happen. We agreed divorce was the right option for us.” His movements—leaning forward to place his napkin on the coffee table and then settling back against the couch cushions—stirred the air, bringing with it the clean scent of laundry detergent.

The music crooned in the background, and my thoughts roamed to my situation. What would Andrew say if he knew about my life? A woman living with a man she used to love. Some might say I was an enabler, but Theo needed help and was seeking it out with therapy. Our situation served as a bandage of sorts.

“Heavy stuff here, Andrew, and I just met you.” A few stray tears clouded my vision, and I blinked them away, ever grateful for Pete and Jackie’s lighting.

“Well, technically this is the third time we’ve met, so it’s okay.” His heart-stopping smile beamed across the room, setting my discomfort on edge.

A cry came over the monitor and both of us froze, looking at each other in surprise.

“Let’s wait and see what happens,” I whispered.

“But we don’t want her to wake Pete and Jackie up.”

“True, but they’re sleeping downstairs anyway, so let’s give her a minute. Sometimes, they go back to sleep—”

A burst of crying blared over the monitor, and I clutched my hand to my chest. It had been so long since I’d heard wailing like that.

“And sometimes, they don’t.” Andrew flew from the chair. “I’ll get the baby, and you get the milk.”

Thank goodness I’d had the foresight to keep a bottle standing on the counter because a quick rinse under the hot tap water had the milk ready when Andrew walked into the kitchen. Still fumbling with the kitchen towel, I started at the sight of such a large man with a petite baby in his arms. Clara looked snug and cozy, protected within the confines of Andrew’s embrace. Her tiny mouth, however, hung wide open.

“Shh, shh, shh,” I said and handed Andrew the bottle. “Do you mind trying first?”

“Not at all. Let’s go back to the living room so the noise doesn’t carry as easily.” A stack of diapers on the counter caught my eye, and I grabbed a few, along with a burp cloth, and followed Andrew to the living room, where he sat on the sofa this time.

“Go ahead and get settled in, and if you need something...” I handed him the burp cloth. With ease, he positioned the still-crying Clara into the crook of his left arm, placed the burp cloth under her delicate chin, and popped the bottle into her mouth. She took three sucks with her tiny mouth and spit the bottle out.

“Uh-oh. This does not bode well,” he said and looked up at me with trepidation in his eyes.

“Let’s be positive. Go ahead and try again.” Hoping for the best but expecting the worst, I held my breath and scrunched up my shoulders, ready to fall to my knees and ask the universe to help us. Clara’s heart-wrenching cries went right through me. “What about a walk?” I said and moved toward the foyer to get my flip-flops. Andrew had gotten up off the couch and was standing with his feet wide, rocking the baby back and forth. She hiccupped but seemed to be settling. “Or maybe not. Which is a good thing because I forgot about the rain.”

“Will I have to stand like this all night?” A certain fear suffused his face.

“Can you? Just kidding. Let’s hope not. Do they have a swing? We used to prop up the kids’ heads if we needed to use the swing before they were old enough to do so. Let me go check.”

Trying to be as quiet as possible, I surveyed the living room, then peeked into the foyer closet and made my way to Clara’s room, but there was no swing in sight. By