Camping in Her Living Room

My fingers dug into the signed divorce papers on the coffee table. I gripped the thick stack of paper until my knuckles turned a stark white.

From downstairs, the heavy, savory scent of melted cheese drifted up, mingling with the muffled, conspiratorial giggles of a father and daughter.

Daddy, is Mommy really not going to eat? The cheese pull on this pizza is insane!

"Shh. Mommy's not hungry. We'll eat it all and leave her a slice of crust."

Right on cue, my stomach let out a traitorous, deafening growl. I ground my teeth together, snatched a throw pillow off the couch, and slammed it onto the hardwood floor.

That bastard had promised to pack his pride and get the hell out immediately. Instead, he pitched a massive backyard camping tent right in the middle of the living room, complete with a velvet air mattress!

Could he just take this damn divorce seriously for one second?!

Chapter 1

When Blair got home, her five-inch Louboutins clicked against the marble foyer like a rapid-fire machine gun. The front door slammed shut. The resulting gust of wind violently rattled the potted pothos on the shoe cabinet.

I was crouching on the floor tying Hazels shoelacesthe kid had just spilled her chocolate milkshake all over her sneakers. At the noise, we both snapped our heads up in perfect sync, eyes wide.

Hazel shrank back, clamping her chubby little hands over her mouth. Her eyes darted to me, telegraphing a clear message: Dad, the monster is home. Code red.

I winked at her, signaling her to hold the line.

Blair wore a sharp black tailored pantsuit today, her hair pulled back into a severe, flawless chignon. Her striking face was tight. Her eyes held no warmth. Her fingers were locked in a death grip around a heavy manila envelope.

She marched over to the coffee table and flicked her wrist. Smack. The envelope hit the wood, sliding two feet across the surface and nearly obliterating Hazels wooden block castle.

"Declan, sign it. My lawyer is already waiting."

She didnt raise her voice, but each word hit like a solid block of ice.

I dusted off my hands, taking my time as I stood up. I strolled over, picked up the envelope, and slid the papers out. Divorce Settlement Agreement. Heh.

The font size was massive, completely bolded. Just in case my vision was failing.

I flipped through a couple of pages. The clauses were meticulously detailedasset division, child custody, even specifying who got to keep the damn Roomba.

Blair crossed her arms over her chest, planting her feet. She was waiting for the explosion. Waiting for me to demand answers, or maybe fall to my knees and beg. Her chin tilted up slightly.

I knew that angle perfectly. It was the exact stance she used to chew out the Vice Presidents at her company.

I closed the documents, rolled them into a loose tube, and tapped them against my palm before looking up at her. "How about BBQ ribs for dinner? Hazels been begging for them all day."

Blairs face froze. Her eyebrows pulled together. She stared, the muscle in her jaw twitching.

"Declan!" Her voice spiked an octave. "Are you actually stupid or just playing dumb? I am divorcing you!"

"Those are the papers! Why the hell are you talking about ribs?"

Hazel flinched. She scrambled over and clamped onto my leg, burying her face into my jeans. Only her wide, round eyes peeked out to spy on her mother.

I reached down, rubbing the top of Hazels head a couple of times to steady her, and then I let out a low chuckle. "We still need to eat, divorce or no divorce. Can't exactly pack up a house on an empty stomach."

I tossed the papers back onto the coffee table and turned toward the kitchen. "Cool off for a minute. Its rush hour anyway, and the lawyers are closed for the day. We'll follow the protocoleat first, split the assets later."

Blairs chest heaved. I had to admit, the curve of her rapid breathing was still distracting. She closed the distance in three quick strides, blocking the kitchen entrance, and grabbed a fistful of my collar.

The crisp scent of cedar hit me. Her signature perfume. It smelled expensive, carrying a sharp bite.

"Wipe that smirk off your face!" The edges of her eyes were rimmed with red, but her glare was absolute murder. "What the hell were you doing in the driveway at noon today? Who was that woman?"

"You were grinning like a total idiot, offering to carry her boxes? Declan, I put food on the table, I put a roof over your head, and this is how you repay me?"

Chapter 2

Ah, mystery solved. She was glaring at the memory.

I racked my brain. Noon? Wasn't that when our neighbor, Maxine, was struggling with two heavy boxes of oranges in the driveway? I just gave her a hand.

As a thank you, she shoved two massive navel oranges into my arms. Sure, I was smilingwho wouldn't be thrilled about scoring free fruit?

Looking at Blair standing there, looking ready to rip my throat out, I suddenly felt the urge to mess with her. Explain? If explanations actually worked, we wouldn't need 911.

Besides, with her acting like a supreme court judge interrogating a felon, if I immediately dropped to my knees and cried innocence, I'd lose whatever shred of dignity I had left in this house. A mans got to hold his ground.

I gently peeled her fingers off my collar, smoothed out the fabric, and gave her my most innocent look. "Alright. Since you saw everything, I won't play dumb anymore."

Blair froze. Her eyes widened, moisture pooling in her lower lashes. She stared, her lips parted in disbelief.

"I'll sign the papers," I said, scooping Hazel up and planting a loud kiss on her chubby cheek. "But you keep the house, you keep the cars, and I get my daughter. Let's make this a clean break."

Without another word, I carried the kid toward the master bedroom.

Blair stayed rooted to the spot, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles popped. I heard her grind out a single sentence from between her teeth. "Declan, you bastard!"

Back in the bedroom, Hazel blinked her huge eyes and tugged on my earlobe. "Daddy, are we really leaving? I don't want to go."

"My Barbie hasn't even taken her bath yet." The little squirt's voice was soft, her lower lip pushing out.

I pressed my index finger to my lips. "Shh. Who said anything about leaving? Daddy's going to teach you a new game."

"It's called 'Extreme Indoor Survival'."

I threw open the closet doors and started blindly stuffing my faded tees, basketball shorts, along with Hazels pajamas and toys, into a hard-shell suitcase. I made sure to be as loud as humanly possible. I yanked the zipper shut, the teeth grinding together, then dragged the suitcase.

The wheels rattled across the hardwood, vibrating through the floorboards. Suitcase in one hand, Hazel's little hand in the other, I marched out of the bedroom like a conquering general.

Blair was still standing in the living room, her back to us, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows. Her silhouette stood rigid against the window. At the noise, her shoulders twitched, but she refused to turn around.

"If you walk out that door, don't ever come back," she threw the words over her shoulder, dripping with ice.

"You got it. Take care of yourself, Boss." I agreed, way too cheerfully.

Then, dragging the suitcase behind me, I took a sharp turn and stopped dead in my tracksright in front of the living room windows, about fifteen feet away from her.

Blair waited. And waited. When she didn't hear the front door open and click shut, she finally snapped her head around. And then she witnessed a scene that made her question reality.

I had flipped the suitcase open and dragged out the pop-up camping tent we'd bought last year and never used. With a loud whoosh, the tent sprang open, filling a third of the living room.

I expertly rolled out the moisture pad, then started stripping the couch of all its throw pillows and thick cashmere blankets, tossing them inside to create a massive, plush nest.

Hazel squealed. Clutching her teddy bear, she dove in and rolled across the blankets.

"Wow! Daddy, it's so huge! It's like a secret base!"

Chapter 3

Blair froze, staring at the setup. She pointed at the obnoxiously neon-green tent, her index finger actually trembling. "Declan what the hell are you doing?"

I popped my head out of the flap and flashed her a grin. "Separating. Doesn't the divorce agreement say 'irretrievable breakdown of the marriage, effective separation immediately'? I figured hotels are way too expensive. Our living room is massive and totally empty anyway."

"Let me crash here for a couple of days. I'll even split the utility bill."

The color drained from Blair's flawless face. Her chest heaved even faster. "You parasite!"

"Appreciate the compliment," I said, pulling my head back inside. "Zipping up now. Do not disturb."

Ziiip. I pulled the flap shut, blocking her from view.

Through the thin nylon fabric, I watched Blair stand frozen for a long, agonizing minute. Finally, she pivoted. Her heels stomped against the floorboards, shaking the house as she marched upstairs.

Slam! The master bedroom door nearly took its frame with it.

Hazel clutched her teddy bear, blinking her huge eyes. "Daddy, is Mommy mad?"

"She's fine," I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened Uber Eats. "Mommy's just practicing her lung capacity. Let's order the highest-calorie takeout we can find."

8:00 PM.

Upstairs was dead silent. Not a single peep.

I knew Blair's temper. The angrier she got, the harder she starved herself. Right now, she was probably lying rigid in bed, doom-scrolling on her phone with her stomach screaming, stubbornly clinging to her pride.

I killed the main living room lights, leaving only a warm, amber camping lantern glowing inside the tent. The aesthetic was immaculate. The coffee table was absolutely loaded with the delivery I'd just hauled in.

A carton of sizzling, greasy Buffalo wings, sitting right next to a tub of thick blue cheese dressing; a golden, mouth-watering butter-garlic lobster roll; and two venti caramel Frappuccinos, topped with double whipped cream. The smell alone could drag an angel down from heaven.

The rich, heavy aroma caught the draft from the AC vents and drifted straight upstairs.

Hazel gripped a massive chunk of the buttery lobster roll in her little fist, her mouth completely coated in grease. "Daddy, this is so good!"

"Right?" I purposely cranked up my volume. "Eat up. Mommy isn't having any anyway. She said she needs to watch her figure, so we're doing her a huge favor."

Hazel played right along, her high-pitched voice carrying through the quiet house. "Poor Mommy. She doesn't get to eat any of this yummy lobster."

I pricked my ears, tracking the noise upstairs. Sure enough, less than two minutes later, a door clicked open. Soft, hesitant footsteps padded across the floorboards and stopped dead at the top of the stairs.

I peeked through the mesh lining of the tent.

Blair had changed into a pair of silk pajamas. She stood gripping the second-floor railing, pretending to admire the view of the blank wall, but her eyes were laser-focused on the coffee table. I saw the sharp bob of her throat as she swallowed hard.

I pretended not to notice. I picked up a wing dripping with buffalo sauce, dunked it heavily into the blue cheese dressing, and took a massive bite, letting out a deep sigh of satisfaction. "Mmmthis tangy, spicy sauce is absolutely insane!"

Hazel hoisted her massive cup. "Daddy, look at all this whipped cream!"

A cold scoff echoed from the second floor. "Garbage calories."

Blair spat the two words like poison. Her voice was a little raspyshe was definitely dehydrated.

Chapter 4

I popped my head out of the tent, hoisting the unopened, ice-cold grapefruit tea toward the second-floor landing. "Slumming it with the commoners, Boss? Want a sip? It's sugar-free. Zero guilt."

Blairs eyes locked onto the condensation-covered cup for a full three seconds before she jerked her head away. "Pass. Don't think a drink is going to buy me off."

She spun around to head back to her room, took two steps, and stopped. Her back still facing me, she ordered, "Don't let Hazel eat too much spicy food tonight. It'll wreck her stomach."

"You got it!" I grinned.

The second her door clicked shut, I grabbed my phone and shot her a text.

[ Left a box of garlic parmesan fries and the grapefruit tea right outside the tent flap. If a certain stray cat gets hungry later, she can sneak down and grab it. I swear I won't open my eyes. ]

I hit send, set the takeout bag right outside the zipper, zipped myself back in, and went back to reading Hazel her bedtime story.

About half an hour later, I heard the faintest padding of footsteps outside. Like a thief in the night. Then came the unmistakable crinkle of a paper takeout bag.

I shoved my face into the camping pillow, biting my lip to hold back a laugh. The air mattress shook with my silent chuckles. The woman talked a big game, but her stomach was undeniably honest.

Early the next morning, I was in the living room cleaning up the aftermath of last night's junk food massacre when the doorbell rang. I shuffled to the front door in my basketball shorts, my hair a total rat's nest.

I swung the door open and was immediately ambushed by a dangerously enthusiastic face. "Well, good morning, Declan! You're home!"

It was Maxine from next door. Mid-forties, the ultimate neighborhood busybody, with a voice louder than a megaphone. She was holding a platter piled high with freshly baked blueberry muffins.

"I really wanted to thank you for yesterday noon! Those two crates of oranges weighed a ton. If you hadn't helped me carry them to my porch, I would've thrown my back out for sure."

Maxine talked a mile a minute, craning her neck to peek past me into the house. "Oh? What's going on in here? Why do you have a tent pitched in the living room?"

"Indoor camping? You young folks really know how to have fun!"

I opened my mouth to reply, but the soft thud of footsteps echoed from the staircase. Blair was coming down.

She had swapped the rigid power suits for a flowing white sundress today. Her hair was down, softening her sharp features significantly, though her complexion still looked a little pale. She froze when she spotted Maxine.

"Oh, Blair! You're home too!" Maxine waved cheerfully. "Come here, come here. I just pulled these muffins out of the oven. Totally organic and healthy!"

"I really owed Declan for yesterday. He helped me carry those heavy boxes. The poor guy was sweating bullets; I felt so guilty."

Blairs footsteps completely derailed. She stopped dead. She looked at Maxine, then shifted her gaze to me, a flash of absolute bewilderment crossing her eyes.

"Carry boxes?" she repeated, the words slipping out automatically.

"Yeah!" Maxine slapped her thigh. "Right down by the community mailboxes! I ordered two massive boxes of navel oranges and was struggling to lift them when Declan walked by."

"Gosh, Blair, you've got a great husband here. Helpful, always smiling. Any woman would be lucky to have him!"

Maxines unfiltered mouth was the ultimate wingman. I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms, and gave Blair a slow, loaded smirk.

Blood rushed to Blair's face, a hot flush creeping from her neck to the tips of her ears. She was clearly remembering her unhinged explosion yesterday. And her furious demand: Who was that woman?

Turns out, her mysterious, seductive homewrecker was Maxine, the fifty-year-old neighborhood baker.

Chapter 5

The air went still. Maxine's gaze darted between us, and she quickly stepped back. "Anyway, eat 'em while they're hot! Just remembered I left the stove on. Gotta go!"

The door clicked shut.

That left just me, Blair, and a plate of steaming blueberry muffins in the living room. I let out a low whistle, grabbed a muffin, and took a massive bite.

"Damn, these are good. Didn't someone say yesterday I was grinning like an idiot at another woman? Turns out you were jealous of Maxine."

Blair stood rooted to the spot, her fingers twisting the fabric of her sundress. Her eyes darted everywhere but at me. Her lips parted, then pressed into a thin, stubborn line.

Finally, she choked out, "Muffins have way too many carbs. I'm passing." She spun around, ready to bolt.

"Hold up." I called out.

Her back stiffened, and she stopped dead.

"Misunderstanding cleared. Time to shred those divorce papers?" I asked.

Blair whipped her head around, her jaw tight. "Who said the misunderstanding is cleared? Your your attitude is terrible! You trashed the living room! This isn't over!"

With that, she practically fled upstairs, her slippers slapping frantically against the stairs.

I chewed on the muffin, watching her panicked retreat, thoroughly enjoying myself. Nice try. Blushing like a tomato but still talking tough.

This game was getting seriously entertaining. Blair talked a big game, but her body couldn't hide the truth.

She skipped the office this weekend, staying upstairs behind a closed door. Meanwhile, Hazel and I kept our "camping trip" going strong in the living room. We propped an iPad up inside the tent, blasting cartoons and laughing until our sides hurt.

At noon, I baked a massive, rich pan of mac and cheese. Sharp cheddar, crushed bacon bits, and a golden, crispy crust of buttered breadcrumbs. The heavy, savory scent of melted cheese and crispy bacon instantly flooded the entire house.

I purposely didn't call Blair down.

Hazel was practically inhaling the pasta, her mouth coated in cheese, when she suddenly dropped her fork. She leaned in close, whispering like a secret agent. "Daddy, when I went to the bathroom just now, I saw Mommy."

"Yeah? What was she up to?" I wiped Hazels face with a napkin.

"Mommy was hiding in her room, sneaking the animal crackers I hid in my nightstand!" Hazels face lit up with the thrill of busting her. "She was eating them so fast, like a little hamster! She got crumbs all over her sheets!"

I couldn't hold it back and burst out laughing. I pictured the great, untouchable Blairthe boss who only drank her black coffee out of custom Herms mugshiding under her covers, furiously gnawing on animal crackers. It was almost too cute.

"Did she catch you spying?" I asked.

"Yep!" Hazel nodded vigorously. "Her face turned super red! She even threatened me. She said if I told you, she'd cut my allowance."

"So why'd you snitch?"

"Because your cooking is better!" Hazel totally buttered me up. "Plus, you won't cut my allowance, and you buy me toys."

That's my girl. Blood of my blood.

Just as she said that, footsteps echoed from the stairs again. Blair was coming down.

This time, she had changed into a set of tight Lululemon workout gear, clearly heading out. She marched past the dining table, staring straight ahead, though her eyes flicked toward the pan of mac and cheese. I saw the distinct bob of her throat as she swallowed hard.

"I'm going for a run," she threw out stiffly.

I glanced out the window at the blazing midday sun. It was pushing ninety degrees out there. A run? She was practically begging for heatstroke.

Chapter 6

"Take this." I grabbed an ice-cold sports drink from the table and tossed it perfectly in her direction.

Blair caught it on reflex, freezing for a second. The condensation dripped onto her skin, making her fingers twitch.

"Don't get the wrong idea," I said, tossing a piece of crispy bacon into my mouth. "I just don't want you passing out on the pavement. People might think I'm abusing my wife. We might be separating, but we still have to keep up appearances, right?"

Blair tightened her grip on the bottle. She stared at my completely unapologetic smirk. The frost in her eyes seemed to thaw just a fraction. She didn't say thank you, but she didn't throw the drink back at my head, either.

"Tonight no more heavy grease." She dropped the cryptic order and marched out the front door.

I stared at the closed door, the corners of my mouth pulling up into a massive grin. Did that mean she was planning to eat at home tonight?

Well played, Boss. That was one hell of a subtle white flag. If that was the case, Id keep it light for dinner. Maybe a creamy shrimp risotto, roasted asparagus, and a crisp cucumber salad.

I had her completely figured out.

2:30 AM.

The living room was dead silent, save for the low, steady hum of the refrigerator compressor.

I lay flat on my back inside the tent. The velvet air mattress was definitely comfortable, but it was getting a little stuffy inside the nylon walls.

Hazel was sleeping like a log, one of her little legs thrown completely across my stomach. She was smacking her lips. Probably dreaming about those hot wings. I gently lifted her leg off me and rolled over.

Suddenly, a microscopic sound echoed from the staircase. Creeeak. The distinct groan of a floorboard buckling under weight.

My eyes snapped open. I held my breath. At this hour, it was either a burglar or the great Blair pulling an all-nighter.

I didn't move a muscle. I just peeked through the black mosquito mesh of the tent, tracking the pale moonlight filtering through the windows.

A dark silhouette crept down the stairs. The lights were completely off. She moved excruciatingly slow, pausing after every step. She was barefoot, her toes gripping the hardwood.

She didn't make a single sound, moving like an elegant black cat. Her target was crystal clear: the kitchen.

I watched her pad past the tent. She purposely stopped, leaned down, and pressed her face right up against the mesh to peer inside.

I instantly shut my eyes, forced my breathing into a heavy, even rhythm, and let out a soft, fake snore. She straightened up. I heard the quiet exhale of her relief before her footsteps picked up speed.

She slipped into the kitchen.

What followed was a series of noises that made me bite my lip to keep from laughing. The suction pop of the fridge door being yanked open. The sharp clink of glass jars hitting each other. The frantic crinkle of plastic packaging being ripped apart.

I counted down in my head. Three. Two. One.

Hisscrack.

The sharp crack of an aluminum tab popping. Pressurized carbonation hissed. My stash of ice-cold Coke, hidden in the back of the crisper drawer, was breached.

Blair was the kind of woman who checked the pH levels on her bottled water. And tonight, she was crushing a can of full-sugar soda.

I stealthily slid my phone out from under my pillow, dropped the screen brightness to zero, and opened iMessage. I tapped on her contact. Her profile picture was a sterile, icy shot of a snow-capped mountain. Classic.

My thumbs flew across the keyboard. I hit send.

[ Take it easy on that. It'll kill your sperm count. Oh wait, my bad. It'll just go straight to your thighs. ]

A violent fit of hacking coughs instantly erupted from the kitchen. That was immediately followed by the frantic slam of a can hitting the counter and the loud crash of something getting knocked over.

I shoved my phone back under the pillow, yanked the blanket completely over my head, and curled into a tight ball.

Chapter 7

A few seconds later, frantic footsteps stomped right up to the tent.

"Declan!" Blair hissed. Her voice was kept low, but it dripped with absolute fury. "Stop faking! Get out here!"

I kept snoring. I cranked up the volume, adding a steady, rhythmic whistle just to rub it in.

She kicked the edge of the air mattress. The thick velvet yielded softly, completely absorbing the impact.

"Fine. Have it your way." I could hear her teeth grinding together. "You're going to pay for that."

Her footsteps slapped against the floorboards, retreating back upstairs.

The next morning, I unzipped the tent to find the half-empty can of Coke sitting dead center on the coffee table. Trapped beneath the aluminum was a crisp hundred-dollar bill.

Two words were scrawled across Benjamin Franklin's face in bright crimson lipstick: Hush Money.

I picked up the bill and snapped it between my fingers. That sharp crack of paper wasn't paying for the soda. It was a gag order. The Boss was always the Boss.

Even stealing a late-night sugar fix was executed with the domineering swagger of a billionaire paying off her boy toy.

Monday morning.

Normally, Blair would be at the corporate high-rise, enforcing attendance and chewing out her department heads. She stayed home.

She wore a sharply tailored white blazer, sitting ramrod straight at the head of the long dining table. A sleek MacBook was propped open in front of her, a wireless earbud tucked into her ear. Her expression was deadly serious. She looked like she was negotiating a multi-million-dollar hostile takeover.

When I woke up, Hazel was still dead to the world.

I scrubbed my hands through my messy hair. My throat felt like sandpaper. I needed ice water, immediately.

I was wearing a full-body T-Rex onesie. It was aggressively neon green, complete with a row of plush spikes down the spine and a massive, stuffed tail hanging off my ass that swung wildly with every step. Hazel had begged me to buy it for her birthday last year.

Half-asleep, I yanked the zipper down and crawled out of the tent. Dragging my giant green tail, I let out a jaw-cracking yawn, casually scratched my rear end, and shambled toward the kitchen.

Passing behind Blair's chair, I dragged my feet, unaware of the screen. I actually stopped, leaned down, and peered over her shoulder at the glowing screen.

"Who is that? That combover is criminal," I mumbled. I casually reached over, grabbed a chunk of honeydew from her fruit bowl, and popped it into my mouth.

The air in the room went still. Blair's voice cut off.

She slowly, mechanically turned her head to look at me. She stared unblinking. The muscles in her neck pulled taut.

I chewed the honeydew, blinking stupidly. Then my eyes refocused on the laptop screen. It was a nine-panel Zoom grid. Nine different corporate executives in sharp suits were staring back at me, their jaws practically hitting their keyboards.

Especially the guy with the criminal combover. His wire-rimmed glasses had slid entirely down to the tip of his nose.

"B-Boss?" a hesitant, trembling voice echoed from the laptop speakers. "Was that is that the company's new mascot design?"

I looked down at my neon green fuzz, then twisted to glance at the massive tail hanging off my back.

"Oh, nope." I swallowed the melon and waved a plush claw directly at the webcam. "I'm her pet T-Rex. Name's Declan. Carry on, everyone. This honeydew is fantastic."

With that, I yanked the dinosaur hood over my head, completely hiding my face. Dragging my heavy tail, I stomped away using an incredibly exaggerated, highly theatrical T-Rex waddle, fleeing the crime scene as fast as humanly possible