13. Tyler
TYLER
"Dad, are you even listening?" Julian's exasperated voice pierces my coffee-fueled daydream about Ginger's morning kiss, pulling me back to the breakfast table where my son was giving me a look I'd seen on Amy's face many times—the 'you're-being-incredibly-dense' look.
"Sorry, buddy," I apologize, setting down my coffee cup with a soft clink. "What were you saying?"
Julian rolls his eyes dramatically, slumping back in his chair. "I said, can Karl come stay with us in New York for spring break? Since you're taking me anyway because Mom's going to some wedding."
I blink, caught off guard by this request. "You want Karl to visit? In New York?"
"Duh," Julian says, demolishing another waffle quarter, maple syrup dripping onto his plate. "We already talked about it. He's never been to New York, and I told him we could go to the Museum of Natural History to see the dinosaurs and maybe a basketball game and Central Park and—"
"Slow down," I laugh, holding up a hand. "When did you plan all this?"
"Last night at movie night," Julian explains, as if it should have been obvious. "We made a whole list of stuff to do. Karl said his mom would say yes because she lets him do cool stuff now that they have money. So, can he?"
I swirl my coffee, buying time to process. Not because I oppose the idea—quite the opposite—but because of what it represents. Having Karl visit would mean actively merging our lives, even if temporarily.
"I'd have to discuss it with Ginger first," I hedge, stirring my coffee absently. "It's not up to me."
"Already discussed." Ginger's voice comes from behind me, and I turn to see her leaning against the doorframe, wearing one of my dress shirts over her leggings, looking tousled and beautiful in the morning light—a sight that caught me off guard with its casual intimacy.
"Karl ambushed me with the full proposal at 6:30 AM, complete with PowerPoint presentation."
"There was a PowerPoint?" I ask, impressed despite myself.
"Well, crayon drawings on resort stationery, but the spirit was PowerPoint," she clarifies, moving to pour herself coffee.
The rich aroma filled the kitchen as she adds a generous splash of cream—a habit I'd come to anticipate in our morning routine.
"I told him I'd think about it, but I was waiting to see if you'd been similarly lobbied. "
"Lobbied, ambushed, emotional hostage situation—call it what you will," I agree with a smile. "They're nothing if not coordinated in their manipulation tactics."
"So?" Julian presses, giddy with anticipation, his fork suspended halfway to his mouth. "Can he?"
I exchange a glance with Ginger, who gives a subtle nod, nonverbal communication already comfortable together.
"If it's okay with Ginger, then yes, Karl is welcome to visit during spring break," I concede. "But," I add as Julian's face lit up, "we'll need to work out all the details—flights, schedules, permission forms since I'm not his parent."
"Already on it," Julian declares, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. "Karl made a list of questions his mom would probably ask, and I wrote down all the answers. Like when spring break is, and where Karl would sleep, and what we'd eat, and stuff."
I take the paper, scanning the surprisingly thorough list with growing amusement. "I see you've covered 'emergency contact information' and 'allergic reactions plan.' Very comprehensive."
"We know moms worry about weird stuff," Julian says.
"Hey!" Ginger protests, joining us at the table, the chair scraping lightly against the floor. "It's not weird to worry about whether my son will survive in the care of you two disaster magnets."
"Says the woman who managed to ski into a closed cafeteria," I tease. "Twice."
"That was one time," she defends, pointing her fork at me accusingly. "The second time was a deliberate revisit to apologize for the first incident."
"Sure it was," I nod solemnly, winking at Julian who giggles, nearly choking on his orange juice.
Sunlight spills through the windows, casting golden squares across the breakfast table where Ginger sits in my wrinkled dress shirt, her hair still mussed from the nights extra-curriculars.
She reaches across to wipe a drop of syrup from Julian's chin with her thumb, an unconscious gesture that made my breath catch.
Julian doesn't even flinch—just continues demolishing his waffle while plotting adventures with Karl.
My coffee warmed my palms as I watch them, this tableau I hadn't known I was missing until now.
My chest tightens, and I found myself memorizing details: the way her sleeve rolled up past her wrist, the exact timbre of Julian's laugh, the dance of dust motes in the morning light.
I wanted to bottle this moment, preserve it against whatever uncertainties waited beyond these mountain walls.
"Where's Karl?" I ask, realizing he wasn't with us.
"Still sleeping," Ginger says, spreading jam on her toast. "Movie night included an unsanctioned candy smuggling operation, and he crashed from the sugar high around midnight."
Julian's eyes widen in alarm. "I didn't give him extra candy! We stuck to the deal! It was Tommy from Wisconsin who had a whole backpack full of chocolates and shared with everyone."
"Relax, narc," Ginger laugh, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "I'm not mad. Just explaining his absence."
Julian relax, returning to his waffles with renewed enthusiasm. "So, when can Karl visit? Spring break is in March."
I glance at my watch, the minute hand creeping toward nine-forty. "Don't you have snowboarding lessons in twenty minutes?"
"Oh no!" Julian's chair scrapes against the floor as he bolts upright.
His elbow catches his orange juice glass, sending it wobbling in a precarious dance.
He lunges to steady it, juice sloshing to the rim.
"I forgot! Karl was gonna come watch!" His eyes saucered with the particular panic of a child about to miss something important, sneakers already squeaking against the hardwood as he pivots toward his room.
"I'll wake him," Ginger offers, rising from her seat, brushing crumbs from her lap. "He'll be devastated if he misses your big trick on the half-pipe."
"It's not a half-pipe, Mom," Julian corrects, rolling his eyes. "It's a terrain park feature. Duh." The word 'Mom' seems to echo in the suddenly silent kitchen, like a stone dropped into still water.
Ginger's coffee cup stops halfway to her lips, trembling slightly.
A splash of coffee escapes, dotting the pristine white tablecloth—the kind of small disaster she would normally jump to clean.
But she doesn't move, doesn't even seem to breathe.
Her eyes meet mine over Julian's head, a mix of panic and something softer, more vulnerable.
Julian's expression shifts from exasperation to horror in slow motion, like watching a replay of a car crash you couldn't prevent. The color drains from his face until his freckles stand out like ink spots, then rushes back in a crimson tide.
The kitchen clock ticks away five endless seconds.
The waffle maker dings cheerfully, oblivious to the tension.
Outside, a snowplow beeps its morning rounds, the sound muffled by the thick window glass.
Inside, we are frozen in our own private tableau—a family portrait caught between what was and what could be.
"I—I mean—" Julian's voice cracks, crimson flooding his cheeks to the tips of his ears. His fingers twist the hem of his shirt into a tight spiral. "Sorry, I didn't—"
"It's okay," Ginger says softly, setting her cup down with a controlled click. She swallows once before meeting his eyes. "I'm not offended, Julian."
"I just—you're not—" his shoulders hunch inward as he darts a panicked glance my way, his eyes wide and pleading. His sneaker tap a frantic rhythm against the chair leg while his breakfast sits forgotten.
"Hey," I say gently, crossing to him in three steps. I crouch beside his chair, my arm settling around shoulders that feel smaller, more fragile. The scent of syrup and child-sweat filled my nostrils. "It was a slip. No one's upset."
Julian's gaze ping-pongs between us, his throat working as he swallows. His lower lip catches between his teeth. "But Ginger's not my mom." His voice drops to a whisper. "And my real mom would be mad if she heard me call someone else that."
Ginger pushes back her chair, the legs scraping against the floor.
She kneels beside Julian, her knees popping softly as she lowers herself to his eye level.
She doesn't touch him—just rests her palms on her thighs, her eyes meeting his.
"Julian," she says, her voice steady despite the pulse visibly fluttering at her throat, "I would never try to replace your mom, okay?
" She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her silver bracelet catching the light.
"Sometimes these things happen when people spend a lot of time together. It's really not a big deal."
"Really?" he asks uncertainly, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.
"Really," she confirmes. "Now go get ready for your lesson before we're all late."
Julian nods, still looking slightly uncomfortable as he hurried off to change. When he was gone, Ginger sinks back into her chair with a heavy sigh.
"Well, that was rough,” she murmurs, running a hand through her hair.
"Are you okay?" I ask, studying her face for signs of distress.
"Me? I'm fine," she assures me, though her finger trace the rim of her coffee cup in tight, nervous circles. She glances toward the hallway where Julian had disappeared. "I'm more worried about Julian. Did you see how his shoulders hunched? Like he was bracing for impact."
"It's not surprising," I say, reaching across the table.
Her fingers feel cold when I take them in mine, her silver rings pressing into my palm.
"He's spent more time with you in the past three weeks than he has with Amy in the past three months.
" I rub my thumb over her knuckles. "Amy missed his last two parent-teacher conferences to go to spa weekends.
She forgot his birthday until Facebook reminded her.
" The bitterness I try to keep from Julian seeps into my voice.
"Even when we were married, she'd schedule hair appointments during his T-ball games. "
"Still," Ginger frowns, her gaze fixes on our joined hands. Her thumb traces absent circles on my skin, around and around. "I don't want to complicate things for him. Or for you." A vertical line appears between her eyebrows, deepening as she chews the inside of her cheek.
"Life is complicated," I say, leaning forward until she meet my eyes.
The kitchen smells of coffee and maple syrup and the faint citrus of her shampoo.
"Especially family life." A laugh escapes from the boys' room—Karl must be awake now.
"But I think what just happened is actually a good sign.
" I squeeze her fingers. "Three weeks ago, Julian wouldn't even make eye contact with you.
Now he's comfortable enough that his guard slipped. That's progress, not a problem."
She squeezes my hand, a small smile playing at her lips. "When did you get so insightful about child psychology?"
"I read a lot of parenting books after the divorce," I admit. "Trying to figure out how to handle everything on my own. Most of it was useless, but some stuck."
"Well, for what it's worth, I think you're doing an amazing job with him," she says sincerely. "Julian is a wonderful kid—smart, kind, thoughtful. That doesn't happen by accident."
"Thank you," I say, my voice rougher than I intend. I clear my throat, but the tightness remains. "That means a lot, especially from you."
"Why especially from me?" She tilts her head, sunlight catching the auburn highlights in her hair.
"Because you see us clearly," I say, meeting her gaze.
"The first day we met, you called me on my BS about the coffee machine.
You laughed when I told you about my failed attempt at making Julian's Halloween costume.
" I trace a coffee ring on the table. "You don't see the billionaire with the corner office and the Forbes mention.
You don't see Julian as the poor little rich kid.
" My voice softens. "You see his dinosaur obsession and his fear of thunderstorms. You notice when I'm putting on my business face instead of being real. "
Her expression softens. "That's the only way worth seeing anyone."
I lean across the table to kiss her, a gentle press of lips that conveys what words can't quite capture—gratitude, affection, the growing certainty that what we'd found here was worth pursuing beyond these mountain walls.
"I should go wake Karl," she says when we part, though she makes no move to stand. "Before Julian bursts in and finds us making out like teenagers."
"Probably," I agree, reluctant to end the moment. "Though I wouldn't mind a few more minutes alone with you first."
Her smile turns mischievous. "Mr. Reed, are you suggesting we neglect our parental duties for selfish romantic purposes?"
"Absolutely," I confirm, pulling her onto my lap in one smooth motion that makes her laugh in surprise. "The kids can wait five minutes."
"Five minutes?" she teases, settling against me. "Ambitious."
"I'm an overachiever," I murmur against her neck, delighting in the small shiver that runs through her.
"DAD! I CAN'T FIND MY BLUE GLOVES!" Julian's voice shatters the moment, echoing from his bedroom.
Ginger laughs, pressing her forehead against mine. "Ah, parenthood. The ultimate mood killer."
"Rain check?" I suggest, loosening my hold on her.
"Definitely," she promise, stealing one more quick kiss before sliding off my lap. "To be continued tonight."
"I'll hold you to that," I call as she leaves to wake Karl, earning a backward glance that promises interesting developments later.