I step straight into the water, intending to relieve my mom of babysitting duties. The sun’s beaming down on us from the highest point in the sky, baking the deck and already starting to sting the tops of my shoulders. As the cool water creeps up around my waist, I let out a near-silent little sigh, skimming my hands across the surface.
“Dad! Dad! Watch this!” Max shouts, scrambling out of the pool only to cannonball right back in, soaking everyone in a ten-foot radius.
Mom shrieks. Babs howls with laughter. And a pair of older women nearby are looking at us with raised eyebrows. I can’t help but blush, blinking pool water out of my eyelashes.
“Max!” I call, trying for stern but landing somewhere between exhausted and mortified.
Beckett’s already in the water, intercepting our wild child mid-splash. “Hey, buddy,” he says with natural authority. “That was awesome. But look around—what do you see?”
His tone is even, measured. The kind of tone Max actually listens to.
Something I’ve struggled with lately. I’m either the snuggly mom or the stressed-out one. Never the in-between.
“Funny hats,” Max says, pointing at Babs. “Granny Babs and her funny hat!”
He giggles, pure charm—just like his father.
Beckett raises his brows, unaffected. “Do you think Granny Babs wanted water on her hat? Or those people wanted water in their drinks?”
Max frowns, thinking it over. “I mean, it’s a pool, Dad. People get wet by a pool.”
Beckett glances at me, and for a split second, the look is familiar—one we’ve shared a thousand times while tag-teaming our little avengers. The look that says Max is not entirely wrong, but we can’t encourage him either.
“People get wetina pool,” Beckett says gently. “If they’re sitting beside it, they’re probably hoping to stay dry.”
Max narrows his eyes. “So, they just wanna… look at the pool? That’s stup?—”
My son catches my warning look and cuts himself off.
“Exactly,” Beckett says, hiding a grin. “They just want to look at the pool.”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself.
Mom meets my eyes from where she’s now sitting at the edge, dangling her feet in the water, and we share a knowing look. Kids see the world so simply. We’re the ones who complicate it.
Blakey paddles over, water dripping from his blonde curls. He’s too old now to cling the way he used to, but when I loop an arm around his waist, he doesn’t pull away.
“Those lessons are paying off! You’re a better swimmer than me now,” I tell him.
He looks up, eyes so much like his father’s it physically hurts. “Everyone’s a better swimmer than you, Mom.”
I gasp, hand to my chest. “Take that back!”
He just grins, a tiny dimple flashing in his cheek.
He’s not wrong, though. I’ve never liked the deep end. While Luna learned to surf during our summers at Gran’s, I socialized on the sand, where things were predictable.
I’d thought my marriage was like that—my life—but look where that got me.
“Can we go down the slide today?” Blakey asks.
“Can we go on it now, Mom? Please, pretty please?” Max slides out of Beckett’s arms and starts bouncing in the water.
But my mom, who’d been looking at her phone, was getting to her feet. “Rooms are ready!”
My phone, tucked in its waterproof case, hasn’t buzzed, but I glance down anyway. Nothing yet.
“Come on boys, let’s get settled in.” My mom is waving the twins over.
