“Did I say I told you so?” Krista asked.
“No, but you could.”
“Never,” Krista said, straightening. “Listen to me, Zoe. Don’t you dare sit around waiting for some man to decide whether or not they want you. You want a family? You want happiness? Then you go after it. On your own terms.”
Zoe swallowed, Krista’s words sinking deep, even as fresh tears blurred her vision. “Okay, well. About that…I may have reached out to an IVF clinic.”
“Wait, what?” Krista sat up straighter.
Zoe gave a shaky laugh. “I don’t even know if I’ll go through with it yet. I justneeded to take a step. You know what they said about my fertility, and how much I want to be a mom.”
“I think that’s a brilliant plan. You’ll be an excellent mom. I love that for you.”
Zoe let out a soft breath, a tear slipping free, but this one carried relief. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “I will be. I didn’t want it to be this way. But I have to take control of my own life, now.”
THIRTY
JACKSON
Saturday, March 22nd
The next morning, Jackson walked across the yard, heading to his parents’ kitchen for some fresh coffee. He’d run out and hadn’t been to the store in the last couple of days, and if he knew his mom, he knew she’d have a fresh pot waiting for any and all who stopped by.
Dew made the grass slick, glinting in the pale light. Bits of clippings stuck to the leather of his boots as he walked, the cool air sharp against his face. From the barn came the familiar chorus of Daisy and Tinsel, their low hums and impatient snorts echoing across the quiet yard. They were hungry, and if he didn’t get to them soon, they’d be chewing on the gate again.
Saturday mornings were always quiet this time of year—spring planting just beginning, no rush of customers the way fall brought with its hayrides, pumpkins, and Christmas trees. The quiet should’ve felt like a blessing, like it once did. Instead, it pressed in on him.
The kitchen smelled like frying bacon and the promise of fresh coffee. His mother was at the stove, her apron tied neatly around her waist, the cast-iron skillet hissing as she turned thestrips of bacon with a flick of her fork. A bowl of pancake batter rested on the counter, blueberries already rinsed and ready. An oldies station played softly in the background.
“I’m surprised to see you this morning,” Beth said. “After you left the wedding with Zoe, I thought you might’ve stayed at her place.”
“Didn’t want you worrying about me,” Jackson lied.
“I worried when you were overseas. I don’t worry when you’re with Zoe.” Beth gave him a pointed look. “Besides, a text would’ve sufficed.”
“I’ll keep that in mind next time.”
Beth looked over at him, opening her mouth as if to say something, then shutting it, then trying again. Finally, she said, “I can see the dark circles under your eyes, Jackson. You haven’t been sleeping. Do you want to talk about it?”
Jackson poured cream into his coffee, watching it swirl. “Do I ever want to talk about it?”
“No,” Beth said, calm as ever, “but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop asking.”
He shot her a level stare over the rim of his mug.
“You can glare all you want,” she continued, unfazed. “I’ve been seeing that look on your face since you were a little boy. I’ll keep asking because I’m your mom, and I care.”
“That’s just it,” Jackson muttered. “You have to.”
Beth turned down the skillet flame and set the fork aside. “No, I don’t. There are plenty of parents out there who don’t care, sad as that is. But I’m not one of them. Nobody has to do anything. I choose to show up for you. Every day. Not just you—your brother, your sister, too. As long as I’m breathing, you’ve got me in your corner.”
Jackson grumbled into his cup, “Probably you and no one else.”
Beth’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “Something happened with Zoe?”
He exhaled through his nose, shoulders sagging. “I guess you could say that. I just…I don’t want to hurt her. I care about her, Mom. I really do. That’s why I think I need to keep some distance. She feels things so deeply, cares so much, I don’t want my pain to hurt her.”
Beth wiped her hands on a dish towel, studying him. “Who are you to decide what’s best for her? Shouldn’t that be her choice?”
