“Come on, big boy! I was just looking at how pretty the water is.”
“Ocean!”
“Lake, but abiiiiglake. Almost an ocean,” I say, hoping my smarty pants son won’t call me on my exaggeration. You never know with him. I finally bend to unstrap him from his car seat, still talking cheerfully. “The town has a park, too. A library with storytime. And we finally have a house with a yard. A place to plant flowers. Tomatoes.” I know I’m repeating myself and listing a lot of small stuff, but I’m selling it big.
I hope I’m not making ittoobig.
What if it’s not like people say? What if it’s not something I can manage—this whole single mom in a cute small town thing? It works great in rom-coms, but...
“We can go? Now?” Zack tugs my hand and looks enraptured by the little waves he can see.
Now. Just be in the present. Now, with your son, in this beautiful place. Look, people are smiling at him. Waving a little.
“We can go now. We can go a lot.”
“Every day?” Zack doesn’t do anything by halves, does he?
“A lot.” I stand firm on that part, but my voice holds a chuckle. Zack’s enthusiasm is catching. “Wanna run there?”
Zack looks like I handed him the moon. He hugs my leg hard, and then runs, my hand in his, my squishy mom-bod thighs with red seat lines on them from the long drive easily keeping up with him.
Zack is squealing nonstop, and his little legs falter when he pauses in his delighted running every few seconds to do a little hop or kick of pure joy.
My heart might burst, just watching him.
I wonder why in the world I ever, even for a second, let Eli make me doubt myself, doubt that parenthood was worthwhile.
“Is it the best day?” Zack suddenly demands, bright blue eyes peering up from under messy blonde curls. Sometimes he asks that, and I don’t know why. I tell him there are lots of best days.
“Well. We got to run. Take a long drive. Read a big stack of noisy books. See a new place. An almost ocean. And new sights.” I check out the lifeguard at the water’s edge, an aqua blue hunk that would make myBaywatchposters of old weep with jealousy.
You know, if it wasn’t for the mass of writhing, pointing tentacles holding him up and directing beachgoers.
My list is enough to earn Zack’s decision. “The best day, Mama! It’s the best day!”
“Okay, baby boy. Whatever you say!” I scoop him up in my arms when we hit the shore and run with him towards the water.
Chapter Two: Mercer
It’s the worst day.
Well, no, it isn’t, it’s just... An annoying day.
The beach is full of couples and families. Love is in the air. That whole “come for the harmony, stay for the happy ending” thing the town talks about is really starting to make sense, but I’m not sure I’ll be sticking around for it.
Even though that’s what my cousin told me I should try to do.
“Sir! Sir, can you get your son away from the water? Thanks!” I call to one of the human dads on the beach, who is so busy ogling his partner’s bikini-clad body that he’d almost let their little guy abandon his sandcastle in favor of attempting to swim.
Humans. So frustrating.
I know, I know, the Great Revelation has made human and monster relations smooth for the most part. A lot of monsters rejoice over the fact that we’re largely accepted, even though there are still pockets of prejudice in the world, just like there are against literally every other group of people.
But humans frustrate me so much when they have these blessings, these beautiful families, these healthy kids—and they’re so casual about it.
They take it for granted.
Don’t treasure it and protect it. I’m not even talking about letting your kid wander off near the water’s edge (although that’s enough to give me an ulcer), I’m talking about how some men and women just tear through partners like they’re on a personal quest to see how many hearts they can break.
