Chapter 20
Brandon
Mom is wiping down the kitchen island when I return from my meeting with Cora. Teddy perks up when he hears the door open, then hops down from his stool and launches himself into my arms. His hands are covered in shaving cream.
Lifting him into the air, I spin him around, grinning as he smears the shaving cream all over my face.
My bright, beautiful son. For some, the paternal instinct is a little slower to kick in, but I’ve been in love with Teddy from the moment the nurse laid him in my arms. But somehow, my love for him continues to expand and evolve as I get to know who he is as a small person—with all of his unique qualities and quirks.
I have never felt more in my element as a father.
“Well? How did it go?” Mom asks, popping my blissful bubble.
I set Teddy down, but he jumps up and down, scratching at my jeans, demanding more. I act resigned as I hoist him back up into the air, but my heart is overflowing with joy.
“It went how you would expect it to go,” I reply cryptically, mindful about how I’m speaking about Cora around Teddy, even though he’s only three.
With the way things are looking, Cora and I may never be on the best of terms, but I’ll never be that parent—the one who bad-mouths the other in front of their child.
Mom comes over and wipes Teddy’s hands down with a tea towel. “So you didn’t change her mind.”
“Unfortunately, no.”
Cora knows my mom hosts my family’s Christmas gathering on Christmas Day, no exceptions.
Mom’s stubborn; she believes Christmas should be celebrated on Christmas Day, and that day happens to work out best for most of my siblings and their families—many of whom are traveling from out of state.
But I’ve never had Teddy on Christmas Day.
Not once. Some of my family members haven’t had the chance to meet Teddy yet.
Still, Cora insists on having Teddy on Christmas Day each year.
I’ve never had the courage to fight Cora on it, considering everything I’ve put her through.
But . . . I’ve grown weary of bending over backwards to keep the peace.
Successful co-parenting relationships are founded on mutual respect, humility, and compromise.
It’s all about the give and take. We’ll never do right by Teddy if Cora can’t learn to give every once in a while . . .
Disappointed, Mom shakes her head. “Oh, Brandon. What are you going to do? She can’t do this every year.”
She can, and she will. And there’s a small part of me that believes I deserve it. “I don’t know what you want me to do about it, Mom,” I sigh, exasperated. “I won’t get a lawyer involved. It would only make things worse.”
“You don’t know that. Maybe—”
I give her a stern look. “Mom. Please. Just drop it. This is my battle, not yours.”
She lifts her hands in surrender. “Dropping it. But it’s not your battle. It’s the Lord’s.”
“Thank you,” I say, throwing Teddy over my shoulder. He squeals as I spin around as fast as I can, attempting to make him dizzy. Cora would kill me if she knew I was getting him excited just before bed, but he sleeps better when we roughhouse.
When I plop him down onto the floor, I’m panting. I’ve let myself go since having Teddy. I pull my phone from my back pocket and shoot Jamie a text, asking him to meet me at the gym tomorrow morning.
Mom shrugs her coat on. “Who are you texting?”
“Just Jamie.” I pat Teddy’s head as he grabs at my shirt, desperate for more attention.
“How’s having Evie as an assistant?”
I swallow as I recall seeing Evie with Adam and his friends this evening. It turns out she wasn’t lying about it not being a date. I should be happy they were hanging out, considering they were praying over her, and Evie looked genuinely moved by the gesture. But . . .
I hate that she was there with Adam.
“It’s been . . . interesting.” To be within grasping distance of that fiery, defiant spark of hers but unable to draw near to the warmth of her flame without fear of getting burned . . . or burning her. It’s both wonderful and excruciating.
She grins. “I’m still praying for you two.”
“Thanks.” She winks, then bends to give Teddy a hug and a kiss goodbye. “Hey, Mom?”
She glances up from zipping up her coat. “Yes, sweetheart?”
“What do you think . . . about the idea of me asking Evie out on a date?” I’m surprised by my own question. I don’t think we’re supposed to be together. That’s what it feels like God has been speaking to me, at least.
But . . . I can’t deny that I want to be with her.
Badly. And I didn’t treat her fairly last time.
I never had the courage to take her out, to be seen with her in public—for fear of running into Jamie, more than anything else.
Evie and I went from zero to one hundred practically overnight, so I never got to do all the things you’re supposed to do when you care about a woman—like treat her to a nice meal or hold her car door open.
I never got to hold her hand or kiss her goodnight on her doorstep.
I yearn to do all of those things now, to make up for the past.
Mom grins sadly, tilting her head. “Honey, you are so sweet.” I grimace. I shouldn’t have asked. “But I think it’s too soon.”
I nod, undeniably crestfallen. She steps closer and cups my cheek in her hand as Teddy runs circles around the kitchen island.
“Give it to God, sweetheart. Trust Him with your love life, just like you trust Him with everything else. In the meantime, just keep being patient with her and praying for her.”
“Right.” I catch Teddy on his next circuit and throw him up in the air. Not the answer I was hoping for, but still—undoubtedly the right one. I’m being impatient. Teddy throws his head back in laughter, and I pepper kisses on his chin. “Thanks for the reminder.”
She kisses my cheek. “I love you, son. And I know you love Evie. If it’s meant to be, God will work it out, okay?”
“I know.”
But what if it’s not meant to be?
***
As I’m tucking Teddy into bed for the night, I’m mentally drafting the text I plan to send to Evie.
I fine-tune the message while I’m brushing my teeth, stripping off my clothes, showering, taking out my contacts and replacing them with glasses.
I select the driest-sounding non-fiction book I can find—one that I know will make me drowsy—and climb into bed.
Only then do I open up a blank text.
After all that thinking, the best I could come up with was: How’d the date go, Spitfire?
It takes me fifteen minutes to work up the courage to hit send.
While I wait on a response that will probably never come, I pull the letter she wrote to me out from my bedside table.
I regret how I handled things with Cora this evening, and I’m feeling like a crappy dad.
Cora’s harsh words replay in my mind as I open Evie’s letter.
You chose not to marry me, Brandon. If you had, you’d have all the time in the world you wanted with Teddy.
But you didn’t, so he’s with me on Christmas Day.
Yes, I should have married Cora. Everyone told me so, and I thought long and hard about it.
I decided it was the right thing to do. I even went out and bought her a ring.
At the time, I reasoned that if we got married, Teddy would grow up in a home with both of his parents.
But, in the end, I never went through with asking for her hand.
I didn’t love her, and she didn’t love me.
Yes, Teddy might have grown up in an unbroken home if we’d gotten married, but not necessarily a happy home—one filled with genuine love and laughter.
And that’s what I want for my son. What I had.
Two parents who loved God, each other, and their house full of children.
At least, that’s what I want for him now.
But back then, within the deep, dark, selfish crevices of a heart that didn’t yet know the love of Jesus Christ, I couldn’t fathom committing my life to just one woman.
The idea of “settling down” was so far down on my list of priorities that it was almost laughable.
I liked having no skin in the game. Always had.
And if the woman I was “seeing” only wanted to be friends with benefits, well—even better.
And at the time, I wanted all the rewards of a relationship with a woman without any of the actual risks involved. What’s ironic is that I never considered the greatest risk of all—pregnancy. Bringing an innocent life into the world—and into a messy situation that lacked genuine love and devotion.
Was it selfish of me to choose not to marry Cora?
Yes. The whole world let me know that, especially my mom and my sister, Dana, who have both been Bible-believing Christians for a long time.
But, clearly, I’m prone to being selfish.
Sadly, I’ve made my bed, and now I must lie in it.
I deserve every insult, accusation, and unreasonable reaction Cora hurls my way, and that is precisely why I put up with all of it.
Evie wrote this letter to me shortly after Teddy was born, when she knew I was having a hard time adjusting to being a single dad. My thumbs caress the page as I reread the words that have encouraged me and given me hope in some of my darkest hours.
Evie has always had a way with words.
Brandon,
Things might be difficult for you right now, but look at what you’ve done!
You and Cora made a beautiful baby boy—one who holds your likeness, and, hopefully, one day, your kindness, compassion, intelligence, and strength.
Nothing else matters as long as he’s happy and healthy—and he is.
He’s utterly perfect, Brandon. Plus, he will only be this little once.
Cherish him, hold him close, and remember that you will sleep through the night again. One day. I promise.