“Emma, open the goddamn door,” he says, looking at his feet as he stands at Emma’s door, hands on his hips.
“Go away!” Emma calls through the door, her voice full of frustration and tears. It breaks something in me, and in a few steps, I have a hand on Jesse’s shoulder, tugging him to face me. He jolts with shock as he looks down at me, forehead furrowing.
“What are you?—”
“You gotta go,” I say, putting a hand to his back and pushing him away from her door, but he doesn’t move, the giant lug.
“What the?—?”
“I said, you have to go.” I tip my head toward the front door, and he looks at me in utter frustration and exasperation, but I don’t have the time or energy to deal with him and his ego.
“This isn’t the time for your games. Hal, seriously.”
“I know, which is why you have to go.”
“Hallie—”
I sigh, grabbing his wrist and tugging him away from the door, where a scared eleven-year-old girl is most definitely listening to this conversation, and dragging him toward the kitchen.
“Hallie, what?—”
“Jesse, you’re a great dad. The best, really, but you are not what she needs right now.” He opens his mouth to argue, but I break the news to him. “She called me.” That silences him, and I take a deep breath before spitting the news out. “She got her period,” I say low, and in a moment it’s all written over his face in heartbreaking detail.
Confusion, followed by understanding.
Understanding morphing into hurt.
Hurt moving into pain.
Pain turning into acceptance.
His eyes shimmer with tears right before he closes them and whispers a low, quiet, “Fuck.”
A single word saying so much.
Fuck, my baby is growing up.
Fuck, she didn’t tell me, or maybefuck, she didn’t feel comfortable enough to tell me.
Fuck, I’m ill-equipped to handle things.
Without thinking, I reach up, resting a hand on his cheek, and his eyes open again, hazel eyes I’ve seen so many times over my entire life, but somehow, in this moment, they look brand new. Open, unshielded. Terrified and trusting and confused.
My Jesse.
In another world, this would be my Jesse.
“I’ve got it,” I whisper.
“She called you,” is all he says, and I nod.
“She called me, and I’ve got her. She’s scared and going through a lot right now. Go. Go to Madden’s, work, hang with your dad, go to The Mill, go distract yourself. Honestly, I don’t care what you do, so long as you’re not here. Nat’s on standby to bring me anything I need. I’ve got it.”
“Nat? Not Wren?”
I smile at him, letting my thumb move over his high cheekbone as I watch him wistfully, his light scruff scratching at my thumb.
“I love Wren to pieces, but if she wanted Wren, she’d call Wren. If she’s up for it, we can have a girls’ day with Aunt Wren tomorrow, but right now, I’m not bringing anyone she hasn’t explicitly invited here, and if I call Wren, she’ll be well-meaning, but she’ll want to stay.” A look of understanding passes over his face, followed quickly by appreciation.
