“Me too.” And we eat in silence for a while.
Two WeeksLater
It’s been a week and a half of… us.
The days are starting early now, with coffee in bed and morning sex. I’m trying not to get used to it. But God help me, I am. We haven’t labeled this thing. We have no expectations. And while a girl can dream, the reality always creeps in.
I have to admit that I can see something in the way he brings me Sour Patch Kids from the gas station, just because he was thinking about me, the way his hand finds mine when no one’s watching. The way he acts like my kid’s crayon drawings belong to MoMA.
This no longer feels like teenage love; it feels like we have outgrown every bad thing that has ever happened to us, and now we can be a better version of ourselves.
But under all the good—because yeah, it’s good—there’s this thing I keep stuffing down. What happens when this month ends? He hasn’t brought it up, and neither have I. Maybe I’m just scared that the answer is precisely what I don’t want to hear. Because right now, when he looks at me, it makes sense, but at the end of this month, he might look at me differently, and I’m not ready for that.
I still wake up some mornings with that sharp, empty feeling. We started this because we were grieving Larna together. And while grief doesn’t pack its bags and leave overnight, the sad part of it is over. Now, we find ourselves talking about her peacefully, no tears, just happy thoughts. Everything feels a bit lighter these days.
I’m liking my life right now. I’m spending more time with my mom, Julia, my dad, and even Anne. They get to see their grandkids, and for the first time in a while, Tacoon feels like home again.
I went to my mom’s house to pick up the kids, and Julia is giving me the 411 on her latest date. I love how easy her love life is. I envy her, really. She’s been ‘dating’ this girl, even though she doesn’t believe in labels. I can see she really likes her. She’s happy. I’m happy.
A text comes up, and I find myself laughing at my cellphone. It’s been a while since I felt this way.
Ethan: Miss you. Withdrawal’s real. Can I come over?
Me: Just picked up the kids, and Matthew’s not feeling great. I’ll have a cozy night in with the boys. Rain check?
Fifteen minutes later, he shows up with soup, Gatorade, crackers, Legos, and a bottle of wine. We build some strange figure I can’t decipher yet, we play cards, and cuddle under blankets. The boys giggle at his dumb voices. My heart does this stupid thing where it skips a beat and then beats faster than ever. I might have a heart problem now that I think about it.
Maybe it’s the father figure in him, perhaps it’s the love he has for me, and for them. But watching him being so parental does something to my ovaries.
Later, as they fall asleep, his phone lights up. It’s her.
Hannah: Do you want the girls to fly out next week?
He shows me the screen. I nod. “The boys are going to David’s next week. If you want them to come, you’ll have space. I can help, but only if you want me to meet them.” I say. He exhales, eyes searching mine. “You’d really be okay with that?” Am I okay meeting their children? Absolutely not. I don’t know how I am going to feel, much less how she is going to feel bout this. About knowing I met her girls. But if I’m in his life, I guess this is bound to happen. “I’d love to.” If she agreed to this month and us being together, she must know. As a woman, I get it, but as a mother,I’m terrified.
He texts Hannah back. We settle on the couch, the kids asleep around us, our hands linked. Whatever this is, it’s becoming something real.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ETHAN
The phone buzzes justas I’m finishing my coffee.
Hannah
I stare at the screen longer than I should before picking up. “Hey.”
“Morning.” Her voice is calm, too calm. That tone she uses when she’s trying hard not to sound like she’s bracing for something. “So, I talked to Agnes,” she says. “She can’t bring the girls. She’s flying out tomorrow for a work trip.” I rub the back of my neck. “Okay… so what’s the plan?”
“I thought I’d bring them. I can fly in and out the same day.” My stomach tightens. The idea of having both Hannah and Olivia in the same place at the same time is not great. It can become messy quickly.
“Hannah, that’s a long-ass day. I won’t let you putyourself through that.” There’s a pause, “I figured you’d rather I didn’t show up at all.”
“This isn’t about us,” I say. “It’s about the girls.” And I mean it. “Bring them,” I add. “But don’t rush back. You can stay the night and take the morning flight the next day.”
Another beat. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll book it.” After we hang up, I text Olivia.
Me: Hey. Update. Hannah’s bringing the girls. She’ll stay the night and fly out the next morning. Just keeping you in the loop.
