Chapter XIII #2
I like this idea—of course I like this idea—and I know Reid has the best intentions in proposing it. But I’m not confident that Emme will feel the same. She tries to take her disappointment in stride, but from the way she’s shutting down, I know she’s struggling to bounce back.
And even if she says she likes him, Reid is not going to take the edge off her dad bailing on her.
“Em?” I ask her as gently as I can, not wanting my own feelings to interfere.
Emme drops her spoon in her bowl. “I don’t know. I don’t think I want to go anymore.”
When she finally looks at me, there’s a pleading in her eyes—she wants me to take her out of this situation. I’ve pushed her too far.
“That’s OK,” I say. Then, to Reid, “We’ll let you and Gracie have your time together tomorrow. We’ve taken up way too much of it already.”
His single parent’s sixth sense activated, Reid nods, then looks at his watch and reminds Gracie that they’re getting up early tomorrow to hit the Met when it opens, before the crowds flood in.
The mood is notably subdued as we clean up, but Emme, allergic to dead air, makes a heroic effort at small talk.
Before they leave, Emme shows Gracie to the bathroom, leaving Reid and me alone in the kitchen. I head over to the sink to soak the soup pot. He comes up behind me and pulls my hair over one shoulder, grazing a light kiss over my neck.
“I think I pushed a boundary there,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
The sensation of him behind me, the insistence of his touch, the gentleness with which he handles me . . . it’s suddenly too overwhelming, heightening the warring desires within me. I want him, but I worry that the wanting threatens the fragile equilibrium I’ve established for my life, for Emme’s.
I step to the side, subtly extricating myself from his hold, though it pains me to leave his orbit. Gracefully, he takes another step in the other direction, creating more space between us.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “This stuff with her dad . . . it’s complicated.
For me and for her. She puts him on a pedestal, but then he turns around and does things like this.
It’s hard for her to square who he is in her head with who he is.
” I shake my head, becoming more and more agitated.
“I’ve been trying to protect Emme, but I’m worried that it’s done more harm than good.
I don’t want her to be delusional about people, believing the best in everyone, then being burned when they show their true colors. ”
Reid is quiet for a beat. “I’m really trying not to have opinions about your ex right now.”
There’s something . . . not quite distant in his voice, but hard. Assertive. Clearly, he’s been sitting on these feelings, calculating whether to share them or keep stewing.
“But you do,” I say.
“Of course I do. The guy consistently disappoints his kid, and you’re the one who has to clean up the mess.” He shakes his head, then leans against the island, closer to me. “I’m sorry. I might be overstepping here. Again. I just . . . our girls have been through some tough stuff.”
I feel my stress levels ratcheting up in response to the way he says this, so plainly, the pressure valve in me threatening to break.
And then it does, before I can recalibrate it.
“Reid, I can’t do this. Play house with you.
” It comes out angrier than I’d expected.
“We’re the parents, and this kind of thing—we’re making their lives harder.
” As soon as the words escape my mouth, I wish I could stuff them back in.
I hadn’t meant for them to sound like an assault on Reid’s own judgments.
But from the way his expression collapses and his arms fold protectively over his chest, I know he feels the sting.
“I’m sorry,” I say, scrambling to salvage what I can. “That came out worse than I meant it. I just meant . . .”
“No, Lil. I think you meant exactly what you said.” Reid’s voice is quiet now, but there’s steel underneath it. He straightens, putting more distance between us. “Maybe it’s for the best that things aren’t going to work out tomorrow.”
The tenderness from moments before has evaporated, replaced by something raw, edged with hurt.
“OK,” I manage, my heart collapsing in on itself. “But . . . I do want to see you again. Both of you. If you want to.”
Reid’s eyes find mine again, and I notice the barest flicker of something in them—wistfulness, maybe, or at least the possibility of it.
“Do you?” Reid’s tone is even, like there is no wrong answer. “I need you to be honest with me here. Not careful, not protective—just honest.”
I realize how unfamiliar this is. With James, I was never punished for obfuscation and rewarded for honesty. I was just . . . left alone. Now Reid’s challenge hangs in the air, waiting for me to take it and run—or to back down from it.
“I want to see you again,” I say. The words feel insufficient. But they’re real.
Reid studies my face for a long moment, and I can see him taking in my statement, weighing whether it’s enough to surmount what just happened here.
Before he has a chance to respond, Emme and Gracie come bustling back into the kitchen, their laughter breaking up the tension that just hung between us.
We all move toward the foyer, and Emme gives Gracie a hug goodbye, then surprises me by offering one to Reid too.
Then Reid turns to me, hesitating, and the pause that follows splits the air like a current.
In that pause, I imagine that his arms might circle me, his mouth might find mine, and all his hurt might be erased, and so might mine.
And in that fantasy, I’d be done for, absolutely done for; my bones turned to stardust, gathering in that perfect spot between his neck and his collarbone, where his skin smells like yesterday and tomorrow.
But Reid doesn’t do that. He can’t. Instead, he grazes a hand down my arm, too quickly for the girls to conceive of it as anything of consequence.
He says something about tomorrow, tossed like a promise he wishes he could keep, but the truth is that I don’t know if I’ll see him again.
I refuse to feel guilty about that—for prioritizing self-preservation, and for keeping Emme safe—but I can’t ignore the sadness that shrouds me as I close the door behind them.