“Am I allowed to be holding the truth stick?”
She grins. “Oh boy.”
“When I got drafted, I thought I’d do the baseball thing and then there would be time for a wife and kids later, like when I was thirty. I’ve watched guys on my team try to juggle both and it’s looked impossible. There was always drama with the WAGs and when you get traded, it’s hard on families.” I take a breath. “Now I’m getting this second chapter to play ball, I’m thirty-five, and I don’t know that I want to have a newborn in a few years. You can call me selfish but I don’t want to get up in the middle of the night with a screaming, colicky baby. And I most certainly don’t want to be sitting at junior’s high school graduation amongst a bunch of Gen Z parents when I’m ninety years old.”
“You’d be closer to fifty-five than ninety,” she corrects me, “but I get what you’re saying.”
“Do you want more kids?” I’m hesitant to know and potentially burst this perfect bubble we’ve been existing in.
She thinks about it for a second, as if the answer isn’t on the tip of her tongue. “When I was twenty-eight and Elliott had passed a year earlier, I was so sad I’d never have another child. Growing up, I’d wanted at least two, like Belle and me. But I’m far enough removed from it that I’m okay letting Emma grow up and move on with her own life while I’m still young and fun and able to see the world after she’s moved out.”
“Do you think she’d be sad if we didn’t give her a sibling?”
“No way. The longer she’s been alive, the more I’ve realized she’s only-child energy. I love my daughter but . . .”
“She’d eat the baby,” I say matter-of-fact.
Nola wastes no time agreeing. “Pretty much. She loves being the center of my attention and it is too late to dethrone her.”
“You’re okay with that? Changing how you’d pictured your life?”I clarify.
She checks me with her hip. “Are you?”
“I think my life has turned out way better than I’d pictured it when I was eighteen.”
“Mine too.”
26
MAXFORD
We pull into the Bremerton Ferry Terminal and people line up to disembark. We’d left my Land Cruiser at a parking lot near Pier 50 in Seattle, instead of driving it onto the Ferry, so I pull up the Uber app on my phone. “Where to now?”
She grabs my hand and leads us off, stopping only when we get to a little deli on the boardwalk. We order lunch to go and when I ask where we are going to eat, she tosses a smile over her shoulder. “On the ferry.”
I scratch my head. “You had us go an hour on the ferry for two sandwiches and some potato salad?”
“Maxford,” she says my name as if I’m being ridiculous. “Do you have any idea what you’re about to eat?”
“A turkey and avocado on sourdough.”
“From Louie’s.”
“From Louie’s.” I repeat, still clueless.
“Yes!” she exclaims, like I finally get it.
“Will it be the best sandwich of my life?” I ask.
“Absolutely not. It’s perfectly adequate. But I don’t want towait around a couple of hours for the next ferry back, when the whole point of this outing was for the ferry ride itself. I love the views and there’s no way you’re able to say you reside in Seattle until you’ve ridden it. You’re welcome.”
“I’m so confused.”I’m holding our food as we queue for the next ferry from Bremerton to Seattle, which will begin boarding in a few minutes. There’s already a line of walk-ons and the drive-on traffic is backed down the road. Her logic is wild—a two-hour ferry ride just because?
“You’re about to witness a sacred thing,Husband. Approaching the Seattle skyline from the water on a sunny day is comparable to nothing else.” She’s so somber it comes out in a whisper.
All I can think about is her calling me husband and howthat’scomparable to nothing else. It’s the cherry on top of the best surprise weekend. She catches the way I can’t hide the grin on my face and says, “What?”
I clear my throat. “I can’t wait to see it.”