He watches me the whole time, not staring, just paying attention in a way that feels intimate.
“Chris made those cupcakes,” he says, nodding toward them. “He insisted.”
“Why?”
“He said, and I quote, if you are taking her food, you should take her dessert too because no one is happy without frosting.”
I laugh. “Accurate.”
“He also told me not to screw this up. So if you hate the cupcakes, I take no responsibility.”
“I won't hate them.”
He smiles, and something in me loosens.
We finish eating, and somewhere in the middle of laughing about cupcake strategy, the conversation shifts in a way that feels easy and warm.
I ask what he and Maisie are doing tomorrow.
“She’s staying with my mom for the night,” he says. “I’ll pick her up in the morning.”
“That’s nice,” I say. “Do they hang out together a lot?”
“Pretty often,” he says. “Maisie loves it.”
There is something careful in the way he says that. It’s soft but weighted, it nudges a question out of me.
“Can I ask something?”
“Yeah.”
“Does Maisie’s mom live here?”
He doesn’t tense or shut down. He just breathes out slowly, like he’s used to the question but still chooses honesty.
“No,” he says. “She tried when Maisie was little. Parenting full-time was too much for her, she gets overwhelmed easily. Always has.”
There’s no anger there. Just truth.
“Does Maisie see her?” I ask.
“A few times a year,” he says. “She sends gifts, cards, and she does love Maisie. She just isn’t the steady parent type. Maisie knows that.”
“That sounds like a lot to carry,” I say quietly.
He shakes his head. “It was simple, Maisie needed someone who could show up. That was it.”
The way he says it settles deep.
He clears his throat, like he doesn’t want it to sound heavier than it was. “Anyway, that is the situation.”
“It does not make her a bad person,” I say.
“I know. She wasn’t meant for this kind of life. But because of that, I am careful about who I bring around Maisie. I don’t want her getting attached to someone who might leave.”
I feel that all the way through me.
“I understand,” I say softly.
