“Yeah, I guess, but I’m cooking her meals and shuttling her back and forth to appointments, so you’d think I’d at least be able to hold the baby every now and then.” I quickly slapped my hand over my mouth as soon as I’d said it. “I’m sorry. All of this is making me ugly, and I don’t like it.”

Thad burst out laughing. “Oh my gosh, Mom. Give yourself a break. That’s the worst thing you have to say about all this? Please.” He waved his hand at me, and I couldn’t help but smile. “How about Abbi? What does she think about all this?” he asked.

“Things are always bumpy with her. You know that. She’s getting angry with me and siding with Kate more and more, but I think that would’ve happened no matter what the circumstances.”

“Do you want me to talk to her?”

“You’re so sweet, but no.” There wasn’t anything more to talk about with Abbi. She wasn’t the one who made the final decision about our living arrangements. That conversation had to be with Scott, and I was dreading it, because there was no way to have it without looking like the evil stepmother.

Scott was mowing the front yard when I got home, which wasn’t a good sign, since he only mowed when he was stressed. Usually he hated it, which was why we had a gardener. He stopped in his tracks as I came up the walk.

“How’s Thad?” he asked.

“Good. He’s swamped with work, but that’s pretty much how it’s going to be until he gets the promotion he wants,” I said. Even our small talk felt forced. It was going to be that way until we cleared the air. “Do you think you could turn that thing off so we could talk?”

“Sure,” he said, flicking off the switch and bringing the roaring to a stop. “What do you want to talk about?”

I did my best to sound loving and kind with my words. “Scott, Kate can’t keep living with us. You know that, right?”

“Why not?”

“She’s your . . . old wife? First wife? I don’t even know what to call her.” My heart sank. “You still think about her that way. And it’s okay. I understand why. But I can’t live in a situation where you have two wives, and that’s what it’d be like if we all lived together in the same house.”

“It’s not about her being my wife.” He let my hand go, his pleasant demeanor gone that quickly. “You always want to make it about her being my wife.”

“You’re the one who called her that, not me,” I snapped. There wasn’t any way to have this conversation without bringing up the night he called her his wife.