Chapter 33 - Molly #2
‘They are great,’ I concede. ‘Daisy’s such a firecracker, and I hope she holds onto that—even though I also hope her impulse control improves at some point.’
‘She’s four. She’s not supposed to give a shit what anyone else thinks. That’s the thing I love most about her.’
‘You… love her?’ I ask.
He pulls his face away from my shoulder so he can look me in the eyes properly.
‘Yeah. I’m getting there. I’m definitely falling for your kids, Mol.
How could I not? They’re a part of you. But I’m also holding myself back, because, at the end of the day, they’re not my children.
And I don’t want to barge in and assume I have any right to be a part of their lives, so I have to protect myself, too.
And I don’t want them getting attached to me, either, if there’s no future for us. ’
My heart beats almost out of my chest at what Max is admitting.
I needed these words years ago, but now he’s saying them.
And it almost feels more special that he’s sitting here, asking to make a commitment to my two real, live children who are very much fully formed and in existence, rather than committing to a theoretical future baby.
Because every adult who makes the decision to be a parent does it on blind faith, really, with no fucking clue what they’re letting themselves in for. Am I right? No matter how life-changing, how exhilarating parenthood is, it’s also bloody exhausting.
Max has seen that with his own eyes. Only for a few weeks, mind you, and in a limited fashion, but he’s literally had the job of caring for young children kick him in the face. He’s already had the battle wounds.
‘What are you saying, exactly?’ I ask, because I can’t risk misinterpreting this conversation even the slightest bit.
‘I’m saying I’d like to have a shot at the four of us being, you know. A family.’ He meets my eyes cautiously, like he’s afraid I’ll laugh him out of town. There’s vulnerability on his face. In his words. In the way he’s saying those words.
I inhale sharply, because, honestly, I never expected this. I fantasised about it, yes, in some deep part of my soul that doesn’t care about the probability of its creations becoming fact, doesn’t care about how much it will hurt to let myself even entertain these fantasies.
But if Sadie, or Clara, or someone well-meaning had sat me down this morning, gun to my head, and asked me to guess at the likely outcome of this thing with Max, I would have curled my fists into tight little balls of pain, and clenched my jaw, and admitted that I saw him buggering off to Africa again.
That it was inevitable that he’d bow back out of our lives as graciously, charmingly, as he’d waltzed in.
That we’d be left heartbroken and bereft and all-too acutely feeling the void his absence left.
At absolute best, I’d have envisaged a heartbreaking conversation with Max where I begged him to give us some kind of shot. To stay and see where we could take this, to attempt some kind of compromise that involved him accepting my kids but just, you know, dating me for a while.
Instead, it seems like he wants to date my kids.
Court them.
I nestle my face into the crook of his neck, because it’s easier, somehow, to broach this conversation without making eye contact. Without us stripping ourselves quite so bare. My tears pool saltily on his collarbone.
‘I’m trying not to get my hopes up,’ I admit into his neck.
‘Because I don’t get it. Yeah, you’ve been amazing with the kids—a godsend, really.
And these past few weeks have been heaven for me.
But’—I stroke a palm over the light hair and warm skin and taut muscle of his chest—‘this is a massive one-eighty, sweetie. I mean, it’s all I’ve ever wanted from you.
And you told me you didn’t want it, and I believed you.
You felt so strongly you let me walk away, for God’s sake.
So how am I supposed to believe you’ve had such a massive change of heart? ’
‘I know.’ He covers my hand with his large one and grips it tightly.
‘That’s a totally fair question. I suppose it started with you, to be honest. I just—there was no way I could walk away from you a second time.
I knew that. It wasn’t even an option. So I had some tough questions to ask myself.
How can I be with Mol at this point in our lives?
Am I cut out to be a family man, after all?
‘And what I found, as I spent time with you, and with the kids, was that I really loved this version of you. I loved what you’d become, I loved seeing you as a mother, and I loved how right it felt, being at the cottage with you guys.
You may not realise this, but you’ve given them so much stability.
The three of you have a happy, lovely home, and the idea of walking away from that felt truly horrifying. ’
He pauses, and I wait.
‘I’m not giving you much of an answer, am I?
’ He laughs and squeezes my hand more tightly.
‘It’s hard to articulate, because it’s been more of a shift in how I feel than what I think.
When I’m with you, and Daze, and Tobes, I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be.
The idea of going back out to Malawi—it just seems so transient, that lifestyle.
So lonely. Yeah, on the surface I’m doing good, but I’m not truly committing to anyone.
Right now, the man I am today wants to commit to something properly. To you guys.’
‘You know, you’re making it sound suspiciously like a mid-life crisis,’ I say.
It’s harsh, but damn if this guy didn’t break both our hearts because he was so adamant he didn’t want kids.
I need to play devil’s advocate. Max is essentially auditioning for the most important job in the world here—the role of father-figure to the two most important people in my life—and there’s no way I’m letting him charm his way through the interview rounds too easily.
He’s blindsided me, and he owes me answers.
If he can’t handle that, he can’t handle stepping up to help me raise my children.
Yes, I’ve had a crappy year, and yes, I love Max.
Love having him by my side. In my bed. And definitely inside my body.
I also love the way he’s thrown himself into his childcare duties this past month—he’s blown me away.
And yet, I’m not desperate. I’m not broken.
I’m still strong enough to walk away from the man I love most in the world—have always loved most in the world—if he’s not the right fit for our little family.
If committing to him means asking my children to compromise on the happiness they deserve, then there’s no contest.
Toby and Daisy will always win.
To Max’s credit, he doesn’t flinch. Instead, he gently nudges my head to get me to sit up straight and cups my jaw in his hand so he can look at me.
‘That’s a fair point. I know it makes me sound like I’ve been a total flake all this time, and now I fancy settling down and I’m taking the easy option.
’ He shakes his head, his eyes boring into mine. ‘That’s not it, Mol.’
‘You told me the planet was overpopulated enough, and it didn’t need more humans on it,’ I counter, tilting my chin up and out of his grasp in defiance.
He chuckles. ‘So I did. And I still believe that. It was a big part of why I didn’t want kids.
But they’re not deer, sweetheart. We can’t exactly cull them.
Toby and Daisy are a part of the human race, and having had the honour of spending time with them, I know they’ll grow up to do far more good than harm on this planet.
Especially if my brother has anything to do with it. ’
That earns him a little laugh from me. Angus is revered in the world of biodynamics for the incredible, transformational work he’s carrying out on the farm.
‘So what you’re saying is, I’ve given you a fait accompli.’
‘Exactly. So there’s no point in arguing that one.’
‘That was far from the only reason, though. Second.’ I hold up two fingers. ‘You thought the heartbreak and worry of having children wasn’t worth it.’
‘You really have my arguments memorised, don’t you?’ he says softly, and my eyes fill with tears again. Damn him.
‘You threw them at me every fucking time we had this discussion over, what, two years? Damn right I remember them,’ I say, my jaw stiff with the vain effort of holding the tears back.
He leans his forehead to mine. ‘Sweetheart. Don’t break my heart.
And yeah. You’re right, of course. Fuck, what I saw Jules and Rach go through with Harry was enough to scare me off having kids for life.
All those trips to the hospital? The ambulances, the sleepless nights they had just watching him breathe, for fuck’s sake?
I don’t know how anyone could willingly sign themselves up for that. It’s fucking terrifying.
‘I felt what we had was so amazing that I didn’t need more. Didn’t need to take a chance on making a baby and hoping he or she would be healthy. It felt like Russian roulette, to be honest.’
‘But now I’ve gone through the hard bit, and you’re happy with the risk if you wade in at this point?’ I ask. Even as the words come out, I know they’re overly harsh. Unfair. But I’m trying to assess how well Max has thought through all this, for his sake as much as for my children’s.
‘No, sweetheart. Quite the opposite. Because I have no illusions that the teenage years will be easy when they hit them. And honestly, I’ve already gone into spirals where your kids are concerned.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask. I’m not sure where he’s going with this.
‘I mean,’ he says carefully, ‘I’m already worried about the level of heartbreak I’m setting myself up for if I get any more involved in their lives.
Like, what if one of them gets run over by a car tomorrow?
What if… I dunno, what if Daisy develops a meth habit, or gets a nasty boyfriend, or Toby’s anxiety gets worse during puberty, and he ODs or hangs himself the shower?
What if one of them gets leukemia, or anorexia?
I mean, how the fuck are we supposed to bear it? So much could go wrong.’
I rear back, horrified. ‘Fucking hell, Max.’
‘I know, baby. I must sound like a psycho. But… do you never think like that?’
‘Of course I do,’ I tell him softly. ‘It’s the ultimate shitty conflict of parenthood.
You can’t love them that deeply and not find yourself obsessing over all the stuff that could go wrong.
God, even though neither of them was ever asthmatic like Harry, I used to stand over their cots and mutter there but for the grace of God go I, and wonder if they’d still be alive in the morning.
’ I rub my hand over my forehead. ‘It’s fucked up.
It’s so fucked up, but you just have to do your best and find a way to keep that terror under control. ’
And if I’m honest, Max felt that terror more strongly than me when we were fighting about this.
He’d lived through Jules and Rachel’s nightmares with Harry before we got together.
Harry’s asthma was far more under control by the time I met Max.
I think I was blasé, and looking back, that’s the best way to go into parenthood.
Because if you truly know the terror and heartbreak it entails, I’m not sure you’d ever be courageous enough to take the leap.
‘It’s fucking terrifying,’ he says. ‘But, obviously, it’s something I’ve thought about a lot, these past few weeks. Can I really sign up for this—am I capable of it?’
I wait.
‘I wasn’t brave enough to follow you off that cliff, first time around,’ he says, and I snort, because it’s a decent analogy. ‘But now you have them, I want to do this with you. I’m not going to let you go through all this alone, Mol. It should be me by your side. We should do it together.’
I stroke his face sadly, because it’s not enough. It’s not what I need to hear.
‘I told you, you can’t just do this for me. I’m not going to let you be some martyr who takes on the burden of parenthood because you’ve fallen for a single mum. It’s not fair on anyone.’
‘It’s not just that,’ he says. ‘Believe me, I’m pretty fucking terrified at the prospect of doing any of this, and I’m doubting myself.
But the main reason I want to make a go of it with you guys is…
they’re worth it. Honestly, Mol. They’re such fantastic little kids.
I want to do it, and I’m as surprised by that particular revelation as you are.
‘I want to be a part of Toby and Daisy’s lives, and play whatever part I can in steering them through life and being there when they need an adult who isn’t their mum, because they’re worth it.’ He shakes his head as if he’s bewildered by his own admission.
‘Do you hear me? They bring me so much joy. Not joy—purpose, I suppose. Those two are so fucking special that they’re worth every ounce of heartache I may have to suffer. Just like their mother.’