Chapter 13 #2
It’s such a small thing. Ridiculously small. But no one’s ever just… done that. No commentary, no teasing edge, no reminder that I should’ve noticed myself. That it’s embarrassing for a grown up.
He just fixed it.
“Got it,” he says.
I don’t answer. I’m too busy staring at him, which is not ideal, because he’s close enough that all I can really focus on is his eyes. Ridiculously blue against the sun.
Colton seems to realize I haven’t moved or spoken, because he hesitates, hand dropping back to his side. “Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat as he takes a small step back. “If I—uh—overstepped.”
“All good,” I manage a little too quickly.
Livy, completely unbothered by any of this, takes another enthusiastic bite of her cone. Since she’s almost finished and I’m happy to change the topic, I ask:
“So, what now? Ferris wheel has a line.”
Colton glances at his watch. “We’ve still got a lot of time. Let’s go.”
“Wait,” Livy says, licking the sprinkles from her fingers. “Can we do the games? Daddy’s good at games.” Her eyes flick to me, like I’m the final boss level she has to defeat.
“Sure, need to add them to the template, but why not,” I joke and turn to Colton again. “It’s your call, though.”
He considers for a moment, then nods. “Games. But only two.”
As we walk over to the game hall, Colton’s hand lands briefly on my arm—a touch so fleeting I’d swear I imagined it if not for the tiny, static zap it leaves on my skin. “Thank you,” he says, quiet enough only I catch it. “I hate it when they crowd us.”
“No worries,” I say, pulling back before I lose it.
We head toward the midway, and as Livy skips ahead, Colton lingers behind, matching my pace. “You know,” he says. “She remembers more than she lets on.”
“Children always do,” I reply, refusing to look at him. Too pretty. This is work. And I’m in a relationship.
He sighs, and I sense a hundred things unsaid. “You’re good with her,” he says, which isn’t a compliment, just an observation.
“She’s easy to have fun with.”
By the time we reach the ring toss, Livy’s arms are fully operational and she’s ready for combat.
Colton kneels beside her, coaching in a mix of Russian and English, his hands showing her how to flick her wrist just right.
I watch, pretending to scroll through e-mails on my phone all the while I’m admiring them and trying not to imagine a life like this.
I bet those people passing by think I’m his wife and we’re a happy family.
I catch him looking at me twice—once when Livy wins a ring and wants to give it to me “for being the boss,” and once when she hugs his neck so brutally, he nearly tips over.
There’s a wariness in his expression, as if he’s waiting for me to lower the boom or call the whole thing off, but I don’t. Not today.
After the second game, I check my watch and tip my chin toward the Ferris wheel, and we head over there.
I just… like them. There’s something about being lifted up, suspended for a few quiet minutes, the world shrinking into something manageable beneath your feet.
Like everything is briefly put into perspective.
“Can I sit next to you?” Livy asks, already halfway attached to my side.
“Of course, Sweetie,” I say, and she immediately threads her fingers through mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
We fall into line.
I glance down at our intertwined hands, at the cheap little ring she insisted I wear earlier. It glints in the sunlight—plastic pretending to be something more. If you didn’t look too closely, you could almost mistake it for the real thing.
For a wedding ring.
I huff out a quiet breath.
It feels like the universe is playing some kind of joke on me.
Here—have a kid. Have a husband. Have the whole picture.
Except none of it is real. I remember rewatching Mary Poppins a few years ago.
They hop into pictures there and pretend the drawn life is real, and somehow, amidst this colorful place filled with strangers, I feel like Mary.
Stepping into a pretend world—a world I would love if I were honest with myself for once.
In this version of things where everything looks… simpler. Softer.
But then I think of Matthew. Of my apartment. Of him being there. Waiting. That angry look on his face. His snarls. His agonizing. His bad mood.
And something in me resists.
I don’t want to go back.
The realization lands heavier than it should.
I’m almost thirty. We’ve been together for years. Long enough that leaving feels less like a decision and more like tearing something out by the roots. Starting over at this point? It’s fucking terrifying.
And if I’m honest, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.
I just know that the longer I stand here, the less I think about home—about him—the easier it is to breathe and maybe for the first time I truly, honestly, admit that Matthew and I lost each other two years ago.
Since then, we’re co-existing. We’re used to living together and that’s all this relationship is about.
Livy tightens her grip around my hand and I’m back in reality.
It’s our turn to get on and the ride operator waves us forward with a bored flick of his wrist. Livy’s other hand locks on Colton’s and she pulls us into the gondola, that rocks softly as we climb in, the metal creaking beneath us.
The wheel jerks upward, and my stomach drops with the first rotation.
Below us, the carnival shrinks.
All those food stands become dollhouse furniture; people turn to ants. And I take a deep breath. It’s sad, but this is one of the best days I’ve had in a long, long time. At the apex, Livy presses her face against the safety bar and gasps.
Colton’s arm shoots around her waist, knuckles white against her shirt.
I find myself mirroring him, my hand hovering just behind Livy’s back, ready to catch her if needed, and Colton’s gaze meets mine.
We both grin. She’s buckled in. It’s all safe, but I suppose we’re both overprotective.
Our hands linger at her back, and I pretend not to notice when his fingertips brush against mine…