"Yeah but what about when he got older?" I press. "Did you ever consider finding someone else? Finding love again?"
"Your father was a full-time job well beyond the time he should have been," she says stiffly. "I had no room in my mindfor anything but worry. But by the time things finally broke for good between us, I'd found a new love."
"Who?" I ask, wracking my brain for any memory of a man being around when I was little. "I don't remember you dating anyone, ever."
"I'm talking about you," she says, poking my forearm affectionately. "You were the new love in my life, and nothing else mattered after that. I had a good job, and a nice house, andyou.I didn't need anything else."
Do not cry.
"Was it really enough, though?" I ask. "You didn't sign up for another round of parenting, that wasn't supposed to fall to you. You're really telling me you didn't have other plans? Other dreams you never got around to?"
"Okay, it's my turn to ask you something," she says, her tone serious, but her eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Oh, boy," I say, bracing for impact. "What?"
"Are you telling me that when you look at that little girl, you're thinking of other plans? Other dreams for your life? You're telling me they wouldn't be enough for you?"
The truth hits me with the force of a freight train. No, I don't have other plans. I don't have any dreams that don't include Abby and Erin. Whether I knew it then or not, that baby girl has been more than enough for me from the moment I first held her in my arms.
"She's not mine, though," I say softly. "Neither of them are."
"I think we both know that's not true," she says gently.
I nod. After the conversation we had on Christmas night, wrapped up together in the glow of the tree, I don't really believe that anymore. I think they're mine as much as I am theirs. No other dream could possibly compare to that.
We sit in comfortable silence for an hour or two, save for a few Jeopardy answers yelled at the TV here and there. Whenthe reruns switch over to the evening news, I stand up to leave, stretching my stiff limbs. No matter how much I stay in shape, I'm never a match for that hard wooden chair.
I don't know how the hell Granny does it.
"I love you, Granny," I say, wrapping her in a goodbye hug. "More than anything, you know that right?"
"I know, Jack," she says, rubbing circles on my back the way she has since I was little. "That's all you know how to do—love. Anyone fortunate enough to be on the receiving end of it is the luckiest person in the world."
"I don't know," I say with a watery chuckle, wiping my eyes. "I feel pretty damn lucky myself."
"Two things can be true at once," she says, patting my cheek. "You'll keep me updated, yes?"
"Yes, ma'am," I promise, opening the front door. "You'll be the first to know."
She blows me a kiss as I get into my Jeep, waiting until I've pulled out of the driveway to step back inside.
I don't care what she says, I'm the luckiest damn man in the world. Lucky to have been raised by such a strong woman. Lucky to have friends who've stuck by me my whole life. Lucky to be surrounded by so many people who set the standard so high.
Lucky to love a fierce, witty, goddamnstunningwoman and her Little One.
Lucky to be loved back.
I know she loves me. No doubt in my mind. I don't need to hear it one second before she's ready to have that conversation. I think my life truly started when my best friend fell in love. The day a sweet blonde girl came into our lives and brought a fiery redhead right along with her.
I'll spend the rest of my life loving her. Loving them both. I'm not going anywhere—I'm happy to wait as long as it takes for herto be ready for this. The waiting feels like nothing compared to a lifetime with her.
She's not ready to have the conversation yet, and that's fine. I'm ready enough for the both of us. But I think before that happens, there's someone else I want to have a conversation with first.
***
"That should do it," I say slowly, setting the TV back on top of the newly-constructed credenza.
I take a step back, praying that the product of the last few hours of work doesn't collapse into a pile of kindling under the weight of the television. When it holds steady, I let out a satisfactory huff and wipe my forehead with my shirt sleeve.
