And somewhere along the way—without a dramatic moment or clear decision—I had begun to realize something far more unsettling.
I was falling in love with her.
I told myself to snap out of it, but the truth was impossible to ignore. This was what falling in love felt like, and the realization was terrifying.
Even more terrifying was knowing I had already crossed that line without realizing it.
Ignoring it was no longer an option.
She was the first woman who had ever ignited something like this in me. No one else had come close. Every time I was near her, a rush of euphoria washed over me. My mouth went dry. My stomach fluttered. Standing close to her without touching her felt almost unbearable, like restraint itself required effort.
Nyah Rodriguez! Why does loving you have to be so damned complicated?
I served dinner, put Nyah’s portion in the fridge, and carried the bowls to the table.
“Caleb,” Lucas said, “what’s serendip… saerradippous…”
“Serendipitous?”
“Yeah.” He tried the egg. His face softened. “This is good.”
“It’s like a coincidence,” I said, “except a happy one.”
“Like how Mama didn’t have anyone,” he said, “but then she met you?”
My chest tightened hard. The thought of them—ofus—settling into something permanent pressed down on me, like a concrete slab.
“A bit like that,” I said. “You’re doing a good job of eating your greens.” I watched as Lucas demolished his dinner.
“I like chicken Caesar salad,” he said proudly. “If you and Mama start dating and move in,” he went on casually, “you could live here, and we could have chicken Caesar salad all the time.”
I choked. Actually choked.
I coughed, grabbed my water, and took a long swallow, buying myself a few seconds to get my voice under control. God help me, theimage his words conjured was immediate and vivid—Nyah in the kitchen in bare feet and Lucas at the table doing homework. This was exactly what I wanted.
“Lucas,” I said carefully, “listen…”
“Yeah?”
“Your mom and I…” I paused.
Words mattered here. Every word could tilt something fragile in the wrong direction.
“Usually,” I continued slowly, “moms and dads fall in love before they have kids to look after. So when it happens the other way around?—”
“When they have kids first?” Lucas asked.
“When one of them already has kids,” I clarified, instinctively distancing myself, even as it hurt. “It kind of makes it… complicated.”
“Complicated?” he asked.
“Because,” I said, choosing each word carefully, “when someone already has a kid, and they meet someone new—like your mom with anybody she liked—if she decided to get married, it wouldn’t just be her decision. It would be a decision for you, too. And the guy,” I went on, my chest constricting, “he has to be absolutely sure. Because kids get hurt if adults make bad decisions.”
“Like if they get divorced?” Lucas asked.
“That’s right.”
“One of my friends from camp,” he said, “his mom is divorced. He’s got two bedrooms. They’re both full of toys.”
