He sighed wistfully. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
I reached behind me and grabbed his chin between my fingers. “Always such a brat.”
FORTY-THREE
MARA
FEBRUARY
I was hopinghe’d forget.
We had a rager of a party at the trampoline park, surrounded by Aspen’s best friends from school, Jack, Harper, Jace, and Hazel, and some of my cousins who came to town and brought their kids. Jack was even cordial with all the dads fangirling him and didn’t deny Aspen’s request for him to get in the ball pit along with him.
A real stab to the heart.
Jack had made up for our fight in Denver, all on the promise that I not talk about love and just let us be what we were. It took a few days for my body to get the message and for my flare-up to clear. It’s never completely emotion-driven, but it plays a big part.
Not only was he being a supportive partner, but he was incredible with my kids. With all the kids, of course, but seeing him treat mine as his own could bring me to tears in an instant.
So here, on Aspen’s birthday, I thought being with his friends and with a loving father figure would be enough.
It wasn’t.
On the way home, Aspen piped in from the backseat.
“When is Daddy calling?”
I cleared my throat and shot Jack a sidelong glance. “I think he wants to talk closer to bedtime tonight.”
And though he whined an “aww,” he seemed to accept that answer. Jack placed a hand on my knee, looking at Aspen in the rearview mirror. “What if we have your cousins over to play this afternoon after we have a little rest?”
Aspen gasped. “Really?”
“I’ll have to ask their mom, but I think that sounds fine,” I said, pulling out my phone to text my cousin.
I looked over at Jack, mouthing a “thank you.” He drew my hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it.
“Daddy, do you love Mara?” Jace chimed in.
Jack’s hand tensed in mine. “Of course,” he said through a crackly voice.
“You have to be in love to get married,” Aspen added. “And you have to not be in love to get divorced. My daddy stopped loving Mommy.”
“Daddy, you don’t love Mommy?” Harper asked Jack, her voice scared.
Jack grimaced. “I respect Mommy, honey. But I don’t love her like you do someone you marry.”
We were pulling up to a red light, and the kids pushed on. “So you love my mommy?” Aspen went on.
Rather than making Jack answer the question, I leaned across the console to kiss him.
“Oh, hi,” he rasped as he turned to find me way closer to him. We puckered up for the kiss, but it didn’t last long.
“Green light!” Jace called.
I knew Jack was trying, and that I just needed to accept that I might never hear “I love you” from him.
And if I ever did hear it, it might be a miracle.
