I hear a scratching noise. I wonder if we are mirror images of one another on opposite sides of the door. The skin of my palms begins to tingle as if JD were pressing his hands flat with mine. I curl my fingertips against the smooth wood in response.
“I want to hold you, sunshine. Please open the door so I can hold you.”
Even though I deny JD’s request, his tender words wrap around me in a loving embrace as if he was physically holding me.
“Not yet, JD.”
“We’re going to talk about this,” he says.
“I know.”
I hear him sigh. “I’ll keep the food warm. Take however long you need, but please don’t leave. Stay for dinner.” He sighs again. “Stay for us.”
By us, does he mean him and me, or him and Connor?
I hear his footsteps receding down the hall and Connor asking when I’ll be back. As much as I want to run as fast as I can out the front door, I won’t. Too many adults let me down when I was growing up. I will not do that to Connor. I won’t be another grown up who disappoints a kid.
I splash some cold water on my face in JD’s bathroom and wipe away the smears of mascara until I don’t have raccoon eyes anymore. I notice a bottle of JD’s cologne on the counter and take the top off. Holding it to my nose, I inhale deeply. It’s similar to what he used to wear in high school. I’ve missed the way JD smells. I’ve missed so many things about him. I cap the bottle and put it back on the round tray on the counter and stare at myself in the mirror.
You still love him, stupid. That’s why this is so hard.
I have to remind myself that my love for him wasn’t good enough five years ago. Why would it be good enough now?
Chapter 47
Aurora stays for dinner, but I can tell how stilted and uncomfortable she is, and it’s killing me.
“That was really good,” she says, finishing her last bite of meatball.
“You sound surprised.”
“Pleasantly surprised,” she says to Connor, who is slurping up a sauce-laden noodle. “Your dad used to burn water.”
He smears sauce across his cheek when he wipes his mouth. I’ll need to work on his table manners.
“You can’t burn water. It’s wet,” he replies, licking sauce off his fingers.
“Connor, manners, please,” I have to remind him, but Aurora doesn’t seem to mind the messy child sitting next to her.
She takes her napkin and dabs at his face. He has missed out on having a mother figure in his life and seeing how he eats up all the smiles and attention from Aurora makes me realize that I’m not the only one who needs her in their life. My son needs her as well.
“Much better,” she tells him once his face is food-free. “‘Burning water’ is a figure of speech.”
“What’s that?”
“When you say one thing but mean another. Like, if I said you had ants in your pants, it would mean that you wiggle around too much.” She tickles his side, making him do just that.
“Daddy always says I run around like my pants are on fire. Is that a fig your peach?”
Aurora and I burst out laughing. “Figure of speech, not fig your peach,” she corrects him with a grin.
Connor jumps down from his chair and jumps up into Aurora’s lap and kisses her on the cheek. Her laughter dies as suddenly as it began, but her arms wrap around him and hold him tight.
“Hey bud. It’s past your bedtime. I let you stay up late because we had a guest.”
“Daddy, I’m not tired. I want to show Rora my toys.”
“Not tonight, but next time,” I tell him, hoping there will be a next time. “Can you go brush your teeth and put on your PJs?”
