Deep grooves furrow my forehead. “I laugh all the time.”
“Not really. Not like you used to with Dad. But you did tonight. You were happy. Fallon made you happy.”
My instincts warn me to tread carefully. My feelings for Fallon are confusing, to say the least, and I haven’t yet gotten my footing when it comes to him. However, it doesn’t matter what I want. My children come first, and I won’t do anything, regardless of how much I want to, if it will negatively affect them.
“We told you the stories about how Fallon saved me. He was a really good friend. Not only to me, but to your father and Uncle Julien and Elijah.”
Christopher sits up, taking the quilt with him. His green eyes, so much like mine, sear into me.
“It’s okay if you want to be more than friends with him.”
I take a shallow breath. Pause. Try to form the right thing to say. He’s not a kid anymore, no matter how much I want to bubble wrap him in his childhood. He understands things. Sees more than he should. They all do.
“Chris—”
The blanket falls to the floor when he pops off the couch. What he says next tears open the gaping wound of guilt that never gets a chance to fully heal.
“I don’t want you to cry anymore. I want you to laugh, like you did tonight. Dad wanted that, too. He wanted you to be with Fallon.”
Wait. What?
Christopher walks out of the living room and into the kitchen, and I’m hot on his heels.
Not turning on the lights, he heads straight for the fridge, grabbing the package of deli turkey meat, Swiss cheese, and the bottle of spicy brown mustard.
“Want one?” he asks, setting everything down on the counter island, then grabbing the loaf of bread from the breadbox.
“Sure.”
Might as well eat now since I’ll be meeting Julien for our morning run in an hour.
I take a seat on one of the stools. They’ve been witness to countless breakfasts and late-night heart-to-hearts, like the one I’m about to force on my son.
“Why did you say that Ryder wanted me to be with Fallon?”
Christopher meticulously layers slices of turkey in neat folds over one slice of bread. His avoidance is as loud as the hum of the refrigerator.
I rap my knuckles against the quartz countertop to get his attention. He doesn’t look up. Instead, he places cheese over the turkey, adjusting each piece as if their precise placement is critical.
“I need to understand what you meant.”
His shoulders rise and fall in an exaggerated motion. “I’m just saying it’s okay for you to start dating.”
Gentling my tone, I reply, “I appreciate that, and I love you for wanting me to be happy, but it’s not up to you or anyone else to make that decision for me.”
He glances up. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have you and Charlotte and Marcus. I have Julien and his family. Daniel and Drew. Meredith. Aurora?—”
His gaze darkens with something unyielding. “You know that’s not what I meant,” he interjects, slapping the second piece of bread onto the sandwich and pressing it down flat with his hand.
He puts it on a paper towel and slides it to me, then starts assembling another sandwich.
“I’m not a kid anymore, so please don’t speak to me like one.” Finished making his, he takes a bite. “Do you like him?”
“Who? Fallon?”
He nods his head as he chews.
