Chapter 32 Charli #2
The question opens something in me I haven't talked about with anyone except my parents. The pride and terror of building something from nothing, the satisfaction of helping families, and the constant worry about making ends meet.
"Terrifying and amazing," I say honestly. "Some days I wonder if I'm completely insane. Other days, I can't imagine doing anything else."
"You're impressive. Not that I'm surprised. You always have been a go-getter."
"I call it focused. I knew I needed flexibility with a little one. This checked all the boxes."
"How did you even know how to do all of this?"
Reeves leans back, processing, picking at the label on the beer with his thumb.
"I worked for a clinic in Biloxi for a year and learned the business side, how insurance works.
That was an eye-opener. Once I felt comfortable with that, working for myself was essentially the same as working for someone else, just with more paperwork.
I knew that would give me the freedom to make my own schedule. "
"You built a wonderful life that works around him."
"I built a life that works for both of us." I correct him gently. "That was the point."
The night air has cooled enough that a chill runs through me. Reeves walks in without a comment and comes back with his uniform shirt that he drapes over my legs.
The simple act makes my stomach tighten. It smells like him. Without being obvious, I inhale more deeply to feel closer to him.
"I'm really happy for you, Charli. You should be proud of what you've done."
"It's not glamorous. Some months I barely break even. But it's mine. And Benjy has never had to wonder if I'll be at his school play because of some meeting I can't move."
"You did it alone."
The words hang between us, heavy with everything we're not saying yet. About choices made. About pride and necessity becoming the same thing.
I got good at doing this alone. Good enough that I stopped thinking about anything else. I've hardly dated since we broke up, and even when I did, I was counting down until I could get back home to Benjy.
I also realize being good at being alone doesn't mean I have to keep choosing it.
The silence between us has weight but no pressure. Like we've found some balance that doesn't require words.
Reeves shifts in his chair, angling toward me. "You're stronger than you were before."
"I had to be." The words come out sharper than I mean them.
Deflect. Change the subject. This is getting too close to things that still hurt.
But he doesn't let it slide past. His eyes stay on mine, patient and serious.
"I'm sorry I wasn't here for you."
The admission sits between us. I appreciate that he recognizes it, but I don't hold any ill will toward him.
All these years, I figured he was maintaining the line he had always said, which was that he didn't want children. My letter said to him that I was choosing to have the baby, and he didn't have to be a part of it.
I thought his silence was his answer. And I was at peace with that.
I set my half-empty bottle on the table. The glass clinks against the wood.
"You don't have to apologize, Reeves. I made a decision knowing your position on having children. I never expected you to do anything differently."
"But I would have if I'd known. I get it. You worked your ass off to give him everything, and for that, I'm eternally grateful. I know I've already said so, but he's a lucky kid to have you for a mom."
"Thank you for saying that."
"I mean it."
"The good times make it all worth it. The scary ones make you question everything. But the good still outweighs it."
"Looking back, what would you say was the scariest or hardest time for you as a single mom?"
Jesus. He’s really trying to understand what this has been like for us.
I take a second, turning the question over before I answer. Reeves leans forward but doesn't speak, waiting for me.
"The first time he got really sick, I sat in the emergency room for four hours, holding him while he burned with fever and watching other families with two parents taking turns. I remember thinking, this is it. This is what alone actually looks like."
Every decision was mine. Every mistake. Every win.
"I wasn't sure I could do it. Not really. I just kept getting up every morning and doing the next thing because that's all I knew how to do."
The admission hangs in the air. Raw and unvarnished. I don't add anything else or try to explain or soften it.
Reeves doesn't try to fix it or apologize or make it about himself. He just nods once, like he's absorbing it.
"But you did. No surprise there."
The space between our chairs is suddenly smaller now. When I look up, his eyes are already there.
Reeves reaches across the space between us. His fingers find my arm just above my wrist. The pressure is light, barely there, his thumb tracing once across my skin.
His touch is warm and deliberate. He isn’t taking anything. He’s asking.
The contact spreads heat up my arm. My pulse picks up, not from nerves but from recognition, from wanting a man I haven’t let myself want in a long time.
His fingers stay gentle, still giving me space to pull away.
I turn my hand, palm up.
That’s my answer.