Apart at the Seams by Melissa Ford

Author:Melissa Ford
Language: ara, eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BelleBooks, Inc.
Published: 2014-06-05T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

ANY PEACE I WAS able to grab by cleaning up my eyebrows fizzles by the time I get to Monday morning. I stand at the sink, eating a bowl of cereal while I cut up chunks of fruit for Beckett’s breakfast and check email, all at the same time. I’m about to close email on my phone when a message pops up from my mother reminding me that she’s happy to come out to New York and spend the end of August taking care of her grandson. Before I can hit reply, the telephone rings. It’s half past seven on a Monday morning, and she just sent me a message; it can only be one person: my mother. She likes to follow up all emails immediately with a phone call, clearly not trusting technology to carry her important messages to the right hands.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder while I scrape chunks of pear off the cutting board and onto Beckett’s high chair tray. He immediately flings one of the chunks to the ground, where it sticks to the tile.

“How did you know it was me?” she asks, even though she knows all about caller ID.

“Because you just sent me an email,” I tell her. I don’t add that I’m also racing around, desperately trying to get out the door, and she seems to have a sixth sense of when I don’t have time to talk and calls anyway.

“Oh!” my mother says, “you got it? You didn’t respond.”

“That’s because I just got it. You just sent it.” I smile in order to keep the edge out of my voice. “I’m really grateful for the offer of help, but really, Ethan and I have it under control. Why don’t I come to you after Fashion Week is done?”

“I really don’t mind, Arianna. I can give you two a break.”

“I know, and we appreciate it. But the apartment is so small. Smaller than last year with all of Ethan’s stuff. There wouldn’t be a place for you to sleep.”

My mother is quiet on her end of the line, as if realizing for the first time what Ethan moving in means.

“How is Ethan?”

How is Ethan? Well-rested because he’s still in that bed that you can no longer sleep in. It would have been great if he had picked up on my hinting the night before and offered to get Beckett ready in the morning so I could leave even earlier and tackle a few things before Francesca got to the loft, but he only commiserated with how insane my week sounded before rolling over and yawning about how these are his last days of freedom before school begins.

“He’s great. Finishing up teaching his summer classes, getting ready for the school year.”

“Actually, how is Rachel? You barely talk about her anymore. Don’t you see her?”

“I just saw her,” I sigh, bending down to pick up the fruit that has landed on the floor. It’s never worth it to grab the first chunk of pear when I know it’s going to be followed by four more.

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