Page 34 of Flint

“We got to ride the horses again!” Brock explains as he races toward the little cubby where I keep snacks for them. He pulls out a banana then wrinkles his nose and tosses it back in, opting for a box of fruit snacks that he sweet-talked Grandma into buying at the grocery store.

“Not the big ones. Not yet. Flint says when we get big like him then we can ride them all day!” Branson adds and yanks the fruit snacks from his brother. “Gimme.”

“You can’t take your brother’s stuff. There’s a pack for you in the cube.” I make the decree in the court of sibling justice before the case can come before the bench.

Branson grumbles but offers no appeal. He hands it back to his brother before shoving his little arm into the cube and pulling out a fruit snack of his own.

“You guys have cool hats on,” Mira says and passes me back my phone.

Brock stops cramming the gummy snack into his mouth. His chest puffs out. “I got it from my dad!”

My heart skips a beat, and I exchange a look with Mira. “Can you watch them for a second?”

She nods, smirking at me. “Sure. We’ll hang here.”

“Boys, listen to your Aunt Mira,” I tell them as I shove my feet into my shoes and hurry out the door, my heart thundering in my chest.

I don’t have to search long to find Flint. He’s unloading chicken feed from a truck while a country song blares from his radio. He pauses when he sees me, a grin forming on his face.

I’m in no mood to appreciate how hot he looks hauling the heavy feed or be swayed by his beautiful smile. “What do you think you're doing? You can't just tell my kids that they can call you dad.”

He sets the feed back in the truck and turns to me, pulling off his thick work gloves, “What's wrong with that?”

“They were two when he left and you know what? They don’t remember him. But you? They’ll remember you, Flint! Have you even thought about what it will do to them if you’re not here in two years, if you lose interest because being a parent is the hardest fucking job in the world and not everyone is cut out to be one?” My voice has grown louder and more hysterical with every word. How can he not see the problem with this?

He takes me by the shoulders, his touch instantly grounding me and soothing me. “Have you ever considered what their lives will look like when I am still here in two years? I know he was the leaving kind, but I'm not him. I'm not gonna leave you. I'm not gonna leave them.”

I swallow around the lump in my throat. “You should have talked it over with me first.”

“Whether you like it or not, our lives are bound together now. We're having a baby. And what am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to love the baby and refuse to be a father figure to their half-siblings? I don't work that way. I won't work that way. I'm all in right here.”

“This is a lot,” I admit in a tiny whisper, feeling fragile in a way I haven’t for years. The problem with being a single mom who is larger than life is sometimes, you start to believe your own hype. You start thinking you really can’t depend on anyone else but what if…what if I’m wrong about that?

He doesn’t argue with me or try to convince me that he’s right. He nods, the knowing look in his eyes telling me that he’s seen beneath my surface today.

I take a deep breath, feeling raw and exposed. “We’ll talk about it later.”

I turn to go, but he calls my name softly. “You look beautiful today.”

“I threw up three times.”

“Still beautiful,” he says in a tone that makes me think he believes it.

“I’m trying really hard to be mad at you.”

He shrugs. “Be as mad as you need to be. I can take it.”

“I’m going back to the office now. I’ll see you for dinner.”

He tips his hat. “Looking forward to it, boss.”

I can barely focus during dinner. I just keep replaying my argument with Flint in my head and thinking about his question. Have you ever considered what their lives will look like when I am still here in two years?

The truth is, I haven’t once considered that something good could come from this, that we could build a pretty life together. I’ve been so focused on all of the pain that I never want to feel again. That I never want my children to feel.

After dinner, Flint plays with the boys in front of the fireplace. He must be exhausted from working on the farm all day, but it never shows. He helps them use their blocks to build a racetrack and launch cars across the room, laughing with them the entire time.

He reads their story at bedtime and tucks them in with tender care, staying with them until they’re fast asleep and dreaming of one day riding “the big horses”.