Chapter 41
Jack
Five Months
The oppressive Texas summer heat has started to recede as we approach the end of September and the entire town of Larkspur seems to sigh with relief. Even the house seems to have relaxed, creaking and groaning as the foundation shifts in the red clay soil found throughout most of north Texas.
I'd say fall is Abby's time to shine, but honestly she shines year round.
But she does seem to have a particular love for autumn colors, and anything with pumpkin or cinnamon.
She practically jumps for joy any time the air is even the slightest bit crisp, which is why I've been dragged to the walking path at Lake Larkspur with a sweet baby girl in corduroy overalls strapped to my chest.
"Dragged." Like I haven't spent the last year tripping over my feet to be anywhere she is.
"This is my favorite time of year," she says gleefully, her curls bouncing with the spring in her step. "You know, the two weeks of fall we get before all the leaves drop from the trees and the wind chill is twenty degrees."
"I don't like the cold," I grumble, walking with arms up since Erin has an iron grip on my thumbs while she kicks her feet happily. "Fall is just pre-winter, I'm already depressed about it."
"But Halloween, Jack, Halloween," she says emphatically, grabbing my shoulder and shaking me back and forth. "Thanksgiving. Christmas. The most wonderful time of the year. Ringing any bells?"
"I guess there are some redeeming qualities," I concede.
When we round the corner, we find two women, probably in their fifties or sixties, powerwalking toward us. I fall in step behind Abby, leaving room for the fitness pros to pass us. Instead of passing us though, they stop, gasping and fawning over Erin and her overalls.
"Isn't she darling?" one of the ladies gasps. "What's her name?"
"Erin," Abby says, smiling proudly. "She's the sweetest baby."
"I believe it," the other coos, reaching out to grasp her foot playfully. "Are you just the happiest girl?"
Erin giggles, kicking her feet in earnest and waving her hands, which are still wrapped tightly around my fingers.
"How old is she?"
"Five months," I answer automatically without thinking. She's not asking me, she's asking Abby.
"Such a fun age," she sighs. "She looks like she's a daddy's girl."
"Oh, I'm—"
"She absolutely adores him," Abby says before I can correct the woman. "Sometimes I'm almost mad at him for how much she favors him right now. I swear when he's around, I don't exist."
I stand in stunned silence, trying to process what's happening right now. She didn't clarify that I'm not dad. If anything, she's talking about me like I am.
Is it wrong that sometimes I really wish I could be?
"Don't worry mom," she tuts, patting Abby's cheek. "They yo-yo their whole lives. She'll be all about you by next week."
"I doubt it," she laughs, wrapping her arm through the crook of my elbow. "I can't say I blame her. He's pretty great. He's been a natural with her from day one, didn't miss a single beat. It's so fun to watch them together."
"What lucky girls," they say before wishing us a good day and resuming their furious walking pace.
We continue down the path, in a much more leisurely manner, a heavy, but not uncomfortable, silence between us.
"Sorry," she says nervously. "Sometimes it's easier to just go along with it. I don't really thrive on telling strangers, 'Oh, he's just a friend, her dad actually died before I even knew I was pregnant.' I'd rather just talk about her."
"It's okay," I say, the joy I felt deflating a bit. "You don't have to explain yourself to me, or to anyone."
"I meant it, though," she says. "You're so good with her. And she really does adore you. I wasn't kidding about being mad at you sometimes."
"Don't be mad at me," I say indignantly. "Be mad at her, I'm not doing anything."
"Did you really just tell me to be mad at a five month old?"
"You're right, I take it back. But you still shouldn't be mad at me."
"I'll be mad at anyone I want if my sweet angel girl likes them more than me," she grumbles.
"How many times do I have to tell you that she doesn't? You're her mom, she knows that. I'm just a family friend."
"Oh hush," she scoffs. "You're much more than that, and you know it."
"What am I then?"
"I don't know," she says, cocking her head and furrowing her brow in concentration. "I don't know if I have a word for it. You're just our Jack."
"And you're my pretty girls," I say, kissing the top of Erin's head. "If that's okay to say?" I question hopefully.
"Of course it is," she says, her cheeks turning pink. "That's what we are. At least, that's what it feels like."
"I'm glad to be your Jack," I say quietly. "It's the best thing I've ever been. And I always will be."
"Um, we should probably head back," she says, looking a little flustered. "Bottle, naptime, et cetera."
"Okay," I say simply, turning on my heel and heading back in the direction of the parking lot. We don't say another word, both of us clearly lost in thought.
But she doesn't ever drop my arm, either.