“No black marker in her hand?” Marianne asked hopefully. “It would be the perfect excuse to dismiss her.”
“No black marker,” Kara said. Much as it pained her to admit the next, she went on. “She’s a crazy one, but I struggle to think she would do something like that. It’s not her style. Ripping apart the apartment of an ex-boyfriend, maybe.”
“In her mind, they might all be potential ex-boyfriends.” When Kara and Marianne looked at Reagan in surprise, she blushed and looked down. “Sorry, that was stupid.”
“No, go on.”
“Well . . .” One finger drawing through the condensation from her glass, she continued. “She wants them. I don’t think she cares who. She’s a tag-chaser. But nobody is taking the bait.”
“Levi has.” With a sigh, Marianne pushed her smoothie glass farther from her. “Poor guy. He’s smitten, and she either has no clue, or doesn’t give a crap.”
“Combination, fifty-fifty,” was Kara’s summation. “Continue.”
“So what if she sees all of them as pseudo-exes? They’ve all turned her down, they’ve all scorned her. None of them want to be caught alone with her. They’ve rejected her, and she’s annoyed with it. She’s more than annoyed,” Reagan corrected, scooting in her chair a bit as someone passed behind her in the crowded cafe. “She’s hurt. And a hurt woman, especially an immature one, can do a lot of damage.”
It was something to think about. “Speaking of being hurt . . .” Kara squeezed her eyes shut, then went for it. “I have to go back to mediation again with Henry. Zach’s dad,” she reminded Reagan, who looked confused. Storm clouds gathered in Marianne’s eyes.
Her friend had never cared for the guy, even when they’d been teens. She’d wanted to tear the guy apart back when Kara had gotten pregnant, but that was just as much Kara’s fault as Henry’s. And they’d all been young and stupid.
As an adult, her friend had zero tolerance for the bullshit her ex heaped upon her regularly.
“What’s that fuckhead’s problem this time?”
“There are kids around,” Kara admonished. “He wants to lower support—again. Or else he’ll have to start taking Zach for more than what he usually does.”
“Which is how often? I feel like he’s always with you,” Reagan said. “Which is great, because he’s a good kid, but that has to be exhausting.”
“It is, but the alternative is horrifying.” Kara reached into her purse and dug out a receipt and jotted down a note to write a blog about being a single parent dealing with allergies. The lack of break was wearing. It was a good one for her readers. She stuffed the reminder back in her bag. “Anyway, I’ve got to figure this out, because Zach would definitely suffer if he were with his dad often. The guy isn’t a winner in anyone’s book. I’m sure he’d come back swearing like a sailor or telling me how horrible I am.”
“When was the last time your ex saw Zach?”
“Zach was about three. His dad picked him up for lunch, then brought him back an hour later disgusted that he couldn’t eat anything and demanded to know why I’d done ‘nothing’ about his allergies yet. Like there’s some sort of pill I could give him to take all the allergies and intolerances away, and I was just too lazy to bother.”
“Fuckhead,” Reagan breathed. “I’m sorry, but she’s right. He’s a fuckhead.”
That made Kara snort out a laugh, then laugh harder because the sound was so awful. Loud enough that a table by the window shot her the evil eye for disturbing their afternoon guava-infused beverages. “So now that I will be paying for my attorney—again—to beat my ex into a pretzel—again—this will be my last time out for a while.” She toasted them with her protein smoothie and took another sip. “Such is life.”
“Okay, don’t yell at me,” Marianne said.
“I am having déjà vu,” Reagan murmured. “We know, you hate the smoothie.”
“Not that.” Wadding up her napkin, she tossed it at Reagan, who batted it away.
“If I weren’t wearing my cute shoes, I’d kick you.”
“All your shoes are cute.” Kara looked under the table to catch a glimpse of today’s footwear. Black and white polka dotted heels with a little bow on the back. “Yup. Cute.”
“Back to me,” Marianne said, clearing her throat. “You should ask Graham.”
“For shoes? I doubt we’re the same size.”
“Why am I friends with her?” Marianne asked Reagan. Reagan shrugged. “Ask Graham for help with the custody issue. He’s cheaper than a real lawyer.”
“He is a real lawyer.”
“Not what I meant.” Marianne waved that away. “He might not be able to do a lot, but he can give you a ton of free advice, so you aren’t wasting hours with your own attorney. You can get in, tell them what you want, and get out. Less billable hours that way.”
Kara chewed on the straw a bit. A disgusting habit, but she couldn’t quite stop herself. It was better than chewing her bottom lip raw. “I couldn’t do that.”
“Because he’s so ugly and smelly and spending a lot of time with him might make you vomit.”