“I’m a mom. My life isn’t about dating for fun.”
“You’re a mom, so you can’t have fun?” I’m trying my best to track with her.
“I can have fun. I just have to consider my boys.”
“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?” I search her eyes. “I’m confused.”
“Yes. I thought so. But then I realized. They need more. Ican’t …” Her voice drifts off. She looks like she might even cry.
I must be missing something. “You want responsible? I’m responsible. Let me prove it to you. We don’t have to have fun.”
I almost chuckle. I don’t know what’s wrong with fun. She seemed to like when we were having fun. We’ve laughed until we shed tears, gasping for air between bouts of laughter. We’ve let loose. I know she enjoyed all of that. What changed?
“I know you’re responsible, EJ. It’s more than that.” Her lips pinch and her brows draw in even more.
“Is this about the boys?”
She nods and a tear slips out of her eye, trailing down her cheek. “They’re not an afterthought.”
“An afterthought? Where did you get the idea that they’re an afterthought?”
“You said so yourself.They’re a totally separate situation.It’s not about the boys.”
Before I can correct her, she’s unleashing her thoughts through the tears she’s obviously trying to contain. “And I get it, EJ. You barely know my boys. I was crazy thinking you’d want to date me and take them on eventually. And I don’t mean take them on. No one should take another person on. They’re amazing—my life. My twins are my life. And I can’t ask a man to understand that or want them. That’s too much. Why would you? So …”
She pauses and I jump in, cutting her off. “Angie, no.”
Her brow twists in confusion. “No?”
“No. You’re right, I don’t know the boys very well. But I do know them. And they’re a lot of fun. But they’re also clever, curious, active. They aren’t an afterthought. Not in the way you’re thinking. When I said the boys are separate, I meant they are a part of your life we need to handle with care—separate from the connection we’re already developing. They matter deeply. And my hope is to become a very big part of their life—if you want that eventually.”
Her mouth pops open into a small circle. “Oh.”
“You still look skeptical,” I tell her.
“I don’t know what I am. All day at the festival, people kept approaching the kettle corn booth saying things about you and the boys. Asking me if you were ready to be a father and if I was asking too much of you.”
“Who said that?”
“It’s not important,” she says, as if she can tell I’d drive by their house tonight to set the record straight.
“You’re right,” I agree. “It’s not important. What matters is us. Not the busybodies of this town.”
“I love this town.”
“I do too. The gossip mill, not so much.”
She laughs lightly.
“Give me a chance, Angie. I’ll show you I’m serious.”
“I want you to prove them wrong,” she says. “And I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“I don’t blame you a bit,” I tell her. “If I were you, I would have pulled back too.”
And I don’t hold it against Angie for withdrawing from me. I’m not a parent. I can’t imagine what it must feel like trying to date while you’re working full time and raising two adorable, rambunctious boys.
“So, this thing starts tomorrow,” I tell her.
