45
“Holy crap on a cracker,” I mutter.
“Isn’t it awesome! Dad is MVP!” Mikey says as he pulls me out the back door.
“MVP! MVP!” the other boys chant.
I take in the amazing new swingset-fort-ninja-warrior-treehouse-I-don’t-even-know at the back of our yard. It’s much bigger than the old one and Adam added landscaping around it and even planted a few new trees? There are string lights and climbing walls, ropes…it looks like something out of a magazine.
I search the yard for Adam. I find him watching me off to the side, hands on hips, handsome as ever. Proud. Hot.
He winces, “Got carried away.”
I huff a laugh, “It’s incredible.”
“Yeah?” he asks, seeming a bit shy. It’s actually endearing the way he’s looking at his work. Which makes him even hotter.
No it’s not! He’s not hot or endearing! He’s a grumpy jerk!
I focus back on the play area. “The yard looks nice. You added the trees and I see you put the fence lights up too.”
“And dewe’s a wire pit mommy!” Mikey yells as he runs past.
“A what?” I turn, and sure enough. A fire pit has been installed just off the porch, in a perfect position to watch the kids on the swings. He’s added more low plants and solar powered lanterns, gravel and mulch, a circle of rustic, gorgeous Adirondack chairs…now it really looks like a magazine.
My eyes snap to Adam’s. He shrugs, “I had extra supplies.”
“Adam, what the heck?”
“I can take it down if you don’t like it.”
“Like it? It’s amazing. All of it,” I look around in awe. “All this yard just sitting here now it actually has some defined spaces, some functions. We should have done this years ago,” I ramble my thoughts out loud.
“I know I should have,” He says, and the tight quality of his voice makes me look over. He stares at me for a beat, his expression guarded. His eyes though…why is he looking at me like that?
We did talk about putting in a fire pit but that was what, five years ago? Does he even remember that conversation?
“Daddy got stuff for s’mores!”
“And pizza!” the boys yell from up inside the fort structure.
“They begged. You can veto, of course.”
My brows go up. A new backyard, a way for the boys to get their energy out, and I don’t have to think about what to fix for dinner? This is the best Friday night I’ve had in ages.
“Sounds good.”
“Can we eat now? Dad said he’s starving!” Eli begs.
I look at the man beside me. He doesn’t normally stay to eat if I’m here. We try to trade off meals and the boys—after a few tear filled dinners and breakfasts without whichever one of us was absent—have gotten used to it.
“Oh, uh, I’ve got plans buddy,” Adam says, not looking at me.
Plans.
With her.
The petite young thing who’s making him happier than he’s been in years.
In reaction to Adam’s answer, the boys start what is sure to be an end of the week, level eleven meltdown.
“Hey,” he goes into his dad-boss voice. “Knock it off and I might consider staying but we’re not going to make the whole team listen to a bunch of whining, right?”
“Right,” say the older two, begrudgingly.
“The team wants you to stay for dinner!” Mikey cries.
Adam looks from him to me. “The team wants me to stay for dinner.”
I raise my hands. “Sure, if you can cancel on your…plans.”
He pulls out his phone and sends a text, I assume, as we walk back into the house. One million feelings pump through my veins with each step. Jealousy. Sadness. Anger. Nervousness…when was the last time we all had a meal together?
But it turns out my anxiety is for nothing.
We eat pizza and fruit and salad and the boys tell us their “highlight reels.”
I admit it again to myself, Adam has always had great ideas with the boys. The highlight reels get them remembering positive things from their day and makes the dinner table conversation fun and happy. Even if he and I were irritated with each other, it’s always been easy to focus on the boys in the evenings, sincere smiles in place.
I get up to clear the plates and grab some night time medicine for Eli. He sneezed four times tonight and I’m not about to mess around with the green snots and then a call from the nurse and then play Pass The Cold Back and Forth for Three Weeks. But when I pull open the drawer I almost fall over. Because it opened. It’s been sticking for weeks.
“Daddy fixed the door!”
Jonathan corrects his littlest brother, “Drawer not door.”
My wide eyes find Adam as he brings his plate into the kitchen.
“Eli told me.”
“Oh,” is all I can say back.
“Also said you had a smell in here, that was the dishwasher drain. It needs clearing about twice a year.” He puts his dish in the sink and watches the frown form on my forehead. “I always just did it,” he adds, his voice soft.
I nod slowly, wondering about all the other things he did…and if now we’re hitting some annual choke point since the check engine light is on in my car, there’s a weird buzzing sound in the air conditioning vent by my bed, and there’s suddenly a huge puddle that happens in the side yard every time the sprinklers run.
“Th-thanks,” is all I say out loud.
“You know you can always call me for that stuff.” He says, his eyes playing tricks on me again. I don’t have time to reply before the boys start chanting about s’mores. Adam calls after them as they rush out the back door, “Wait, I’ve got to get the fire going first.”
I gather up the s’mores supplies Adam bought, including nice, new metal skewers. My eyebrows scrunch again, imagining him leaving the office early enough to go by the store for this stuff before having to pick up the boys.
I sigh.
More evidence of the new and improved Adam, I guess.
I take everything out back and can’t help but laugh as the boys work on their s’mores. The air is only just beginning to find its early fall chill, so they don’t even need jackets. They dance around the fire, eat way too much sugar, make a huge sticky mess of everything and basically have the time of their lives.
As the sky darkens, the boys’ eyelids get droopy. Adam picks up our youngest and I round up the older two to head inside. I wipe down faces and hands while Adam helps Mikey get into his PJs. I know it’s hard on him to miss some of the small day to day activities with our youngest. He’s only five and still so totally adorable.
“You can tuck him in,” I whisper over the boys’ heads in the bathroom. Adam gives me a small, sad smile in return. I go through the night time routine with the older two. When I’m done, I look for Adam and find him out back at the fire pit.
He’s staring into the flames, stoking the embers with a skewer. His face is serious, twisted up. Probably thinking about the boys and how much it sucks that we have to tag in and out of our sons’ lives.
“Do I need to do anything specific to put it out?” I ask, interrupting him.
“Just give it a shot with the hose, stir, and shoot it again.”
“Okay,” I say, staring at his strong profile. In the low, flickering light with his long hair and trim beard over that firm jaw, the way he stands, bicep bulging as he works the fire, he could be twenty-two right now. That same serious, quiet boy. I look away.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” His voice is raspy.
“Sure,” I rasp back. He gestures to the new lawn chairs and we both sit.
“I was supposed to wait a while longer but I can’t.”
My heart starts to thump loudly in my ears. Wait for what? Is he getting serious with that girl! Already!
He swallows, taking his time.
Oh, God, if he’s about to tell me he’s already remarrying, please blow the trumpet right now. Or send a chariot of fire and beam me up Elijah style. Please!
“I know you’re dating now,” he says, his voice rough. He looks over at me with an intensity I haven’t seen in years. My pulse speeds up. Me dating. This is it. His perfect segue into how he’s dating too and has found the true love of his life.
“Yeah, I know you’re dating too,” I say quickly before he can go on. Maybe he won’t go on. His mouth opens, then shuts. “I saw you with her, at Backstreet Cafe a while back.”
He puts his hand to his mouth. I think I surprised him.
“That didn’t work out,” he says softly.
“Really? Because you seem, um, really happy. You guys were laughing. You’ve been, like, smiling in the mornings? Like your old self? Or maybe a new self? And then…” I gesture to his body.
He clears his throat and I don’t look to see if he’s fighting a grin or not. “Then what?”
“Look at you, Adam, it’s like your body has gone back in time. You probably just gave up ice cream or cut back by one beer a week and then bam,” I snap my fingers. “So freaking annoying.”
“Did a little more than that,” he chuckles.
“Well, it’s working,” I say, and not really as a compliment.
He lets out a small laugh. “Good, maybe that’ll help me.”
“Help you what?” I still can’t look at him.
He clears his throat. “I want to throw my hat in the ring.”
“Ring?” I finally look at him.
“I want another shot.”
“Shot at what?” I screech, totally confused out of my mind.
“At you.” He leans forward in his chair, closer to me. “Susan, I messed up. I know I did. I don’t deserve a second chance but, damn it,” he exhales, “I miss you. I miss you every day.” I close my eyes tight and put my head in my hands, trying to comprehend what exactly is happening right now. “I want us to date. I want to win you back. No contracts or obligations this time. Just me and you. I want to make it up to you, show you how much I love you. Make up for all the years I had my head up my ass.”
I run my hands down my face and they pause on my mouth that’s hanging open.
He gets out of his chair and kneels in front of me. “I’m not going to ask for your forgiveness, I'm going to earn it, okay? Will you give me a chance? Or, just, think about it?”
I cannot breathe.
I…
I try to think.
He was dating that girl.
It didn’t work out.
He found out I’m dating.
He probably heard that it’s Pearce. That I’m having the time of my life giggling and texting with a guy, giddy like a little tween. That I’m meeting him soon. That I’m finally starting to live again. To have fun. That I’m finding my confidence again.
After he rejected me.
Over and freaking over.
“W-WHAT?!” I say, almost yelling. He starts to say something, to reach for me, but I stand and take a few steps away. “Are you serious right now? You have rejected me again and again. I mean, forget the past few years, you never wanted me. Now I’m finding happiness and hitting my stride, finally, and you just can’t handle the thought of me with someone else? You don’t want me but don’t want anyone else to have me?”
“No, that’s—”
“That’s exactly what it is. And the answer is hellllll no, Adam. I’m happy for you that you’re out there dating and getting ripped and somehow figured out how to smile again, but it’s too freaking little waaayyyyy too freaking late, are you kidding me?”
“You’re wrong. Listen to me,” he takes a step toward me but I back up, so he freezes. “You’re wrong.”
“About what?”
He puts his hands on his hips, “All of it.”
“Bull.”
“I can explain. There’s so much I need to tell you that you don’t know, you don’t understand.”
I jerk my head back, “So tell me then. What?”
“Let me tell you over dinner.”
“No.”
“Lunch.”
“No, tell me now, Adam.”
“Have coffee with me.”
“Adam! Ugh! You don’t want to tell me? Fine,” I turn and walk to the house. “Then goodnight. You know your way o—”
“We didn’t have to get married!” He blurts after me. I turn around, squinting, sure I misheard. “Uncle Lance figured out a loophole.” His shoulders sag more and more with each word. “Canton Cards would’ve been fine. Maybe some bad press but not bad. You would’ve been fine but I…I wouldn’t have.”
My head tilts automatically as I try to understand. “W-what are you saying?”
“I’m saying, I always wanted you. So bad that I lied, Susan. I lied and trapped you. With me.”
Nothing but charged air swirls between us, both of us panting. I can see fear in his eyes, more than fear. Terror. And he’s hunched, like the weight of keeping this in all these years…
“You lied?”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry but I was so gone for you at that point I couldn’t imagine letting you go and you would’ve left me,” I shake my head and tears I didn’t know had formed start streaming down my cheeks. He pushes on. “Yes, you would’ve left my sorry ass in the dust, found someone nice. Some charming guy who can work a crowd and loves parties and wants to do a bunch of damn podcast interviews.”
“You lied,” I say again, sounding as dumbfounded as I feel.
“Yeah,” he says, running his hand down his face before adding, “and that’s not all I lied about.”