Chapter 37
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
AMELIA
The town center buzzes around us, a vibrant pulse in summer evening light. I love the scent of fried dough and caramel corn that perfumes the air. Jason skips ahead, while Max walks beside me. It’s so sweet how he ensures his shoulder brushes mine, his presence a warm anchor in the lively crowd.
I watch Jason with his stuffed toy and a balloon, and that desire fills me up again. Before Max and Jason, I’d never really thought about it, but now, all I can think about is being a mom. I want to carry Max’s child, to hold a piece of him forever—a baby with his blue eyes, and his fierce heart.
Would I be a good mom?
Sara’s strict and structured, and I imagine that it is her rules that are shaping Jason into a quiet boy at home.
Maybe it is not necessarily a bad thing, but I do know that with me, he’s different—bubbly and free.
I know which version of him I definitely prefer.
His joy is like a light that fills me, but is this what is best for him?
Maybe her strictness makes her a great mom and he’ll grow up to be a responsible, serious citizen, and I’m too soft, too unstructured to produce a good citizen.
Yet seeing Jason so happy, so alive, makes me believe I could do it, could find the right balance and love a child the way I love him.
“Hey, Daddy!” Jason’s high and excited voice cuts through my thoughts. He bounds over. “Shall we get hot dogs?”
“Why not?” Max says indulgently, and we head to the hot dog stand.
Jason gets one, but I refuse. I’m still full of Peking duck and hoisin sauce rolls and chicken Chow Mein.
I watch Jason clutching his hot dog in his hand. He is about to take a bite when he stops and looks at me. “Do you want a bite?” He holds it out, his kind gray eyes enormous.
I can feel my heart melting as I crouch down to accept his magnanimous offer. “Thank you, little angel.” I take the smallest bite I possibly can. The bun is soft, the ketchup sweet, and the mustard tangy on my tongue. I chew, savoring the moment, and suddenly want one for myself as well.
"This is really good," I say.
"Daddy, do you want a taste too?"
"That’s very generous of you. Thank you, buddy?"
Max lowers himself and takes a bite. I don’t miss the fact that his lips are grazing the same spot mine did. Our eyes meet then, but I immediately look away before things get out of hand. Jason, oblivious to our secret, turns away and begins to wolf down his hot dog.
We are drawn to watch a street performer juggling flaming torches.
Max stands, offering his hand, and I take it.
His fingers lace with mine, warm, firm, and it is a secret touch hidden in the crowd.
His thumb brushes my knuckles, slow and sweet, and my throat tightens, tears pricking my eyes.
Everything is so perfect—his hand in mine, Jason’s laughter, the life we’re pretending to live.
At this point, I truly don’t know how I will stay even one day longer once Sara returns.
I don’t know if I will be able to pretend when she’s here that I’m happy she’s back and that I’m happy that she has the life that was supposed to be mine.
My lips tremble, fighting back the frustration, and Max notices.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice full of concern.
I nod and work up a smile for him, and we return our attention to the performance. Afterwards we continue walking, but this time around we each have a hold of Jason so he doesn’t get lost in the crowd.
Max, still watching me, asks again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I don’t hide the truth. “It’s the same issue,” I tell him. I don’t want any of this to end, but it’s going to, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m just torturing myself by making all these memories to remember and hold on to. I don’t know how I’m going to move on."
He stiffens and goes silent, and I immediately regret exposing my troubled thoughts to him.
“Ignore me,” I work up a smile. “I’m happy regardless. I’m just worried that maybe I’m too happy. If that makes any sense.”
He looks at me, his blue eyes sad, and I see the same ache, the same fear of losing this. “It does make sense,” he replies. “I completely understand how you feel.”
We continue to walk, wandering through the town center, the lights twinkling, the crowd a lively hum of voices and music. Jason tugs at my arm, his eyes begging.
“Do you want a turn at the ring-toss stand?”
I laugh at his transparent attempt at manipulation. “Yes, I think we should all have a go.”
Max hands him a couple of dollars, and we stand watching as he concentrates on his aim.
We’re a family, a perfect, fleeting picture I want to freeze forever.
The thought of Max’s child growing quietly in my belly surges again.
It’s fierce and it’s downright reckless, but I want to be a mom.
I want a child who is mine, one I don’t have to give back.
I push the thought down, focusing on Jason’s cheer as he wins a small plastic toy.
“I did it, Daddy. I did it!” he chirps. His hand waves the cheap plastic ring like a trophy, and his gray eyes sparkle with the rush of victory.
“Well done, buddy. Well done,” Max praises with pride.
His hand finds mine again, his fingers warm, lacing tightly. His eyes find mine. And it’s just us three, in a bubble of pure joy and love.
We linger at the market, letting Jason try his luck at a balloon-dart game, his focus intense as he aims. It’s too difficult for him to win anything. Max chuckles, low and warm, as he hands over another fistful of dollars to the vendor.
“Have another go, son.”
Finally, Jason gets it, and the pop of a balloon earns him a stuffed bear. He whoops and hugs it tightly.
“You’re spoiling him,” I tease, nudging his side.
He grins, boyish, his blue eyes catching the neon glow, making my pulse skip. “Well, I did promise him that tonight, he can have anything he wants. Besides, it's worth it to see him this happy,” he murmurs, his voice soft, his gaze flicking to Jason, then back to me.
The night feels alive, every moment pulsing with possibility, and I lean into it, letting the joy drown out the dread creeping at the edges.
We buy cotton candy, its pink fluff melting sweet on my tongue, and Jason giggles as it sticks to his nose.
Max puts his index finger on his son’s nose, his touch gentle, fatherly, a sight that twists my heart with love and longing.
The market starts to wind down, stalls are closing, the crowd thins, and Jason’s yawns grow heavier, his steps slowing, but I almost don’t want to leave. I wish we could stay here forever. The three of us. Happy.
Max scoops Jason up, his small body curling into his father’s chest, the stuffed bear dangling from his hand. “Time to head home, buddy.”
I nod, my throat tight.
We walk to the SUV, the cool night air brushing my bare arms. Max’s hand grazes my lower back as he opens the passenger door, a fleeting touch that sends a shiver through me. I slide in, the leather cool against my skin.
The drive home is quiet, Jason dozing in the backseat, his breathing, a gentle rhythm. Max’s hand rests on the console, inches from mine. I steal glances at him, his profile sharp in the dashboard’s glow, and his jaw tight with the same tension I feel.
The city lights fade as we pull into the driveway.
Max carries Jason inside, and I follow, carrying all Jason’s winnings.
We go up the stairs in silence and I stand at the doorway and watch as Max lays him down on his bed, pulling the superhero duvet over his small frame, the stuffed bear tucked beside him.
My heart aches at the tenderness in Max’s movements, the way he brushes a curl from Jason’s forehead.
He turns, catching my eye, and the air shifts, thick with unspoken need.
He turns off the bedside lamp and comes to me.
His hand finds mine, fingers lacing, and he pulls me gently down the hall, the sconces along the hallway cast warm pools of light.
The empty house is all ours, a haven for our stolen time.
We reach my room, and Max shuts the door and locks it, the click soft but final, sealing us in.
His eyes meet mine, and they burn with passion.
My breath catches. He steps closer, his hands framing my face, thumbs brushing my cheeks.
I lean into him, my heart pounding, every nerve alive with his nearness.
“God, you are so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice rough, low, breaking on my name, and his lips find mine, soft at first, a gentle press that deepens, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips, coaxing them open.
I melt into him, my hands sliding up his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle under his T-shirt, the steady thump of his heart.
The kiss is slow, reverent, a dance of warmth and sweetness, tasting of cotton candy.
My fingers curl into his biceps, pulling him closer, needing him to fill the ache that’s been growing all day.
His hands roam, slow, deliberate, tracing the curve of my waist, the flare of my hips…
his fingers slip under the hem of my sundress.
Cool air brushes my thighs, and he pulls my dress over my head.
The fabric lands on the floor, leaving me in my lacy panties and a bra.
His breath hitches, eyes darkening as they trace me, and I feel beautiful, wanted, under his gaze.
“Everything about you is perfect,” he whispers, voice thick with awe, and my cheeks flush, heat pooling between my legs.