THE GOOD ONES #2
I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but the last week has felt like a montage from one of those classic, nineties romcoms Mom used to watch with Dinah and me. And, most surprisingly, I love it.
Jordan makes breakfast each morning, shirtless and glorious, flipping eggs or pancakes or whatever he chooses—ya girl isn’t picky—and looking like something akin to a tattooed, Greek statue as he does so.
If I’m a red-headed Kate Hudson in this scenario, then Jordan is a glasses-wearing Matthew McConaughey and everything is most definitely alright, alright, alright.
We kiss. We dance. We laugh. We make plans for the weekend, for the house, for our future with Molly. He goes to work, dropping Molly off at school on his way in, and I work at the farm, prepping for the festival that everything has been leading up to, while envisioning what will come next.
All this unexpected bliss while “You Make My Dreams Come True” plays overhead.
Tonight, though, our soundtrack is a bit different.
It’s something whimsical and flirty, set to the tune of crickets and birds chirping as the sun goes down.
The carnival rides are in place for tomorrow, and Jordan, Molly, and I are finishing chores before settling in for the night.
I’ve been scattering scraps for the chickens and pigs, who now live in their own shelter outdoors, thanks to Jordan’s handiwork.
He and Molly walk through the pasture, rounding up the girls and Dwight, who are the stars of the show tomorrow.
They’ll be in a designated petting zoo for the kids to enjoy.
The newly trimmed rows of lavender are in full bloom and have set a breeze in the air that will be the scent of the summer, filling up the rooms of the house and hopefully drawing in a crowd of visitors to Purple Pastures.
I finish up everything that needs to be done in the barn, ensure the decorations and supplies are set and ready for tomorrow morning’s festivities, and make my way to the front in search of my favorite people.
They’re walking along the fence line close by, holding hands, and don’t even notice me.
I pause to snap a quick picture, texting it to Jordan because I know he’ll want it, then make it my phone’s background.
“Do you want to have your own kids one day?” I hear Molly ask from my vantage point around the corner of the house.
“Yeah,” Jordan answers. “I’d like to. Someday.”
“Oh.” Obviously dejected, she grows quiet. Before I wonder if Jordan will notice, he bends down and pauses their walk, holding both her hands.
“Hey,” he says, tipping her chin to look at him. “Why wouldn’t I want to fill this whole farm up with kids if it meant they’d all be as amazing and kind and cool as you, kiddo? You’re my pal, right? Nothing will ever change that.”
Molly’s relieved smile reaches her eyes. “Are you in love with my mom?”
Girlfriend loves love. Just like her aunt.
“Yes,” he answers. No explanation. No further questions. A resounding yes.
The way I love this man.
“And, are you gonna marry her?”
He blows out a breath and nods. “Yeah, kiddo. I’d like that, too. Would you? Want me to?” I love how Jordan doesn’t ever talk down to Molly. From the moment they met, he’s treated her like an equal and not a child he’s merely tolerating.
Thankfully, I’m not eavesdropping on anything I don’t know—at least on Jordan’s end of things. We broached the topic of marriage only this morning, when Jordan greeted me with freshly brewed coffee and something he called “breakfast brownies,” and I blurted out, “Do you want to marry me someday?”
I didn’t think it through, and don’t know if I’m ready right now, but I do know that life is bitterly short, and I don’t want to waste a minute not being a family when I know that’s what we both want.
We’ve gone from friends to strangers to friends again, and now so much more.
Now—today—I know I want to spend the rest of my life doing exactly what we’re doing tonight.
Together. And thankfully, after he set my coffee and brownies on the counter, Jordan confirmed that he wants the same thing, too.
“I’d love it.” Molly bites her lip. “I know you wouldn’t really be my dad, but it feels like you could be. Like, I dunno… like maybe you might want to be. And if you married Mom you would—”
My heart squeezes tight, and Jordan's knees hit the ground as he pulls my daughter into his arms. They’re kneeling in farm gunk and surely being eaten alive by summer mosquitoes—I know I am—but I don’t care about anything outside of this conversation.
“I do want to marry your mom one day. And I’d love nothing more than to give you lots of brothers and sisters and animals, and have all the adventures we could together.
But”—he pulls away, holding Molly in place—“none of those things have to happen for me to know that I love you, Molly. I love you, not because you’re Emory’s or James’, but because you’re you. My Little Red.”
She wraps her arms around his neck again.
“I love you, Ace.” When she plants a kiss on his cheek, I begin to walk towards the house, giving them their moment alone, but I hear Molly clear as day as I walk away, “Ya know my birthday is coming up? I’d like a little sister if it isn’t too much trouble. ”