Chapter 5
Megan
Sitting around Mason’s family’s long dinner table, it’s loud—like always.
Three little girls under three make enough commotion on their own, but add in the rest of us, and it’s a wonder anyone hears anything.
Karissa’s due next month—pretty sure with a boy, though they’re waiting to find out at birth.
Cody wanted to know, but I guess he lost that argument.
Mason sits beside me in uniform, still smelling faintly of aftershave and the outdoors. He worked early this morning into late morning—some emergency, I think. He hasn’t told me the details yet, and I haven’t had the chance to ask. I was here before him.
We join hands, and his dad, Leonard, leads prayer like always. My thumb brushes over the back of Mason’s hand, and I can’t help remembering the hook incident a week ago. I still can’t believe I fainted.
The food starts making its way around, and like always, chaos sets in.
Jesse and Ella juggle plates for both their girls, cutting food into toddler-sized bites.
Cody and Karissa do the same, their two-year-old squirming in her high chair.
Since they all sit on the same side of the table, everything jams up, pots and pans bottlenecking in the middle.
“One of these days we’ll rearrange the seating chart so we’re not racing each other,” Cody huffs, fighting with a spoon while Emma whines for green beans.
“It’s fine,” Maureen says calmly, passing rolls. “Take your time, no rush.”
“Well, some of us have been smelling that roast all day,” Leonard chimes in, his tone teasing, and Maureen swats him with her napkin.
“It won’t matter soon anyway,” Addison says, spooning gravy onto her potatoes. “We’ll all have kids scattered between us on both sides before long.”
The table goes quiet for half a second, then—
“Oh?” Maureen says.
Jesse presses, “Is that so?”
“Are you hinting at something?” Ella adds.
Addison laughs, shaking her head. “No! Not what I meant. I’m not pregnant.” She smirks at Wesley and nudges her elbow into his ribs. “Not yet, at least.”
“Good Lord, Addison, we’re eating,” Cody mutters, head shaking with disgust.
“I thought you were waiting until your one year?” Mason cuts in, brows raised.
That’s true. I remember her saying that not long after their wedding last July. Their anniversary’s not even two months away.
“We are. She’s just counting down the days,” Wesley explains as he takes a roll from the basket and passes it along to Addison. “No really. She has a stack of sticky notes literally counting down the days in our room,” he says, and that warrants a laugh out of everyone.
All the food finally finds a place on the table—bowls squeezed in between casserole dishes, rolls piled high, gravy ladled into one of Maureen’s vintage bowls. Plates are full, conversations overlap, and the hum of family fills every inch of the dining room.
I find myself watching Cora. She’s sitting beside Ella in her little booster seat now that she’s almost two and a half.
She’s gripping her fork in her whole fist, like she’s threatening the green beans instead of eating them.
She shoves a big bite into her mouth, her tiny jaw working hard but her lips sealed tight, determined.
Her light-blonde hair bounces with every chew.
“Where is the cake?” she asks the second she swallows.
Jesse and Ella crack up, and I can’t help but smile. It definitely sounds like something they bribed her with before coming over. Either that, or she saw Emma’s second birthday cake cooling on the counter in the kitchen.
“We’ll have that after we eat,” Jesse tells her. “Eat your meat.”
Cora doesn’t move her fork. Instead, she twists in her booster seat to look behind her at Hallie, who’s in the high chair just a few feet away, close enough to be part of the table but still technically in her own little world.
Hallie is happily smashing her own dinner into questionable patterns only she understands.
“Is Hallie eating the meat?” Cora demands.
Ella nods patiently. “Yup. You eat it too.”
Cora narrows her eyes like Hallie is a threat to her.
She looks from Hallie’s tray to her own plate, visibly doubting the whole system.
Kids are all the same, I swear. Even at seven.
I get the same thing in my classroom. “Miss Keller, did Charlie finish his worksheet? Because he’s coloring…
” And then I have to remind them to mind their own business in the nicest way possible. Ten times a day.
Time passes quickly in that comfortable, noisy rhythm.
Maureen disappears for a second and returns carrying the cake, candles flickering unevenly in the breeze from the open window.
Emma’s eyes widen.
Hallie immediately kicks her feet like she knows something exciting is happening.
And at the same time, everyone’s launching into “Happy Birthday” in an uncoordinated chorus—some low, some high, some way too loud.
Emma looks around the table with a borderline panicked expression, like she’s not sure if she should smile or cry. Cody leans in closer, gives her hand a gentle squeeze, and she relaxes instantly.
He’s a great dad. You’d never know Emma wasn’t his biological daughter. He treats her like she’s his whole world.
Hallie, who’s not even one yet, is now perched in Ella’s lap with her bottom lip already trembling. By the time the song hits the last line, her little pout gives way to a full cry, loud enough that half the table cracks up midserenade.
It’s loud and messy but perfect, all at the same time.
* * *
We’re all piled into the living room like usual.
Dukes of Hazzard hums in the background, drowned out by baby squeals and the buzz of conversation.
Addison’s got Cora and Emma in a circle on the rug, trying to teach them Duck, Duck, Goose.
Wesley’s already down there with them, sitting crisscross, a toddler on each side of him.
“We need another person! Mason, come on,” Addison calls, waving him over.
He just grunts, sinking deeper against the couch beside me. “Don’t feel like it.”
“Ugh, party pooper.” Addison rolls her eyes and pivots. “Jesse. Your turn.”
“This oughta be good,” Cody mutters with a grin.
Jesse sighs but lowers himself to the rug across from Wes. Both girls cheer, thrilled to have him join.
“Alright.” Addison claps. “Cross your legs.”
“I can’t cross my legs,” Jesse says, trying and failing to bend into place.
“Neither can I,” Wesley shrugs, legs perfectly folded and calm as ever. “But here I am.”
We all laugh as Jesse keeps fumbling, looking like he’s wrestling with himself. Addison flicks the brim of Wesley’s hat. “Don’t be a smart aleck. Jesse, just bend your knees.”
He grunts.
“Sit, Daddy!” Cora demands, clapping impatiently. Emma watches with big eyes, quiet and reserved, but it’s obvious she’s silently judging.
“Yeah, I’m trying, sweetheart.” Jesse groans. “Daddy’s legs don’t bend like yours.”
“Oh, Jess, c’mon. You’re not that stiff,” Ella calls from the couch, arms crossed but laughing.
“Yes I am, Ella,” Jesse fires back, his voice cracking as he tries to keep from toppling over.
Wesley, totally straight-faced, goes, “Once they go numb, it gets easier.”
That does it. We all break. Laughter fills the room as Jesse slumps further, finally giving up and sitting there with his legs half-bent while Wesley sits across from him looking perfectly comfortable. When their eyes meet, both crack up, cackling at how ridiculous they look.
I glance at Mason through the noise and warmth, and something in my chest tugs. He’s smiling, sure. Laughing even. But not really. It’s thin, forced. My hand slides to his shoulder.
“Hey.”
“Hmm?” He turns, eyes duller than they should be.
“You okay?”
“Tired.” He rubs his face and tips his head back against the couch.
I study him a second longer, but the chaos of Duck, Duck, Goose pulls my attention away when Addison chants for Emma to chase her. Poor Emma just stands frozen, finger tucked in her lip, little fist clutched in the hem of her dress, wide eyes fixed on Addison.
Emma looks over at Karissa and Cody instead.
The second Cody encourages her, she bursts into tears and bolts straight to him.
The room lets out a mix of laughter and soft awws as she throws herself into his arms, clinging to his neck like she’s been traumatized by the game.
Cody bites back a grin as he stands with her.
“It’s just a game, Em, it’s okay,” he says soothingly, carrying her out of the room while she buries her face against him. My heart swells at the sight, though I can’t shake the weight still pressing from Mason’s silence beside me.
We don’t stay much longer. Mason’s dragging, more than just tired. He worked nearly all night after being called in for something he hasn’t talked about yet. He doesn’t go in again until tomorrow’s day shift, but tonight he needs real rest.
By the time we pull into his driveway, I still feel it, the off-ness, the heaviness. He lets me through the door first, flipping on the kitchen and living room lights before toeing off his boots.
“I’m gonna change,” he mutters.
“Okay.”
I wait in the kitchen. It’s tidy, only a couple dishes in the sink, a pan drying on the counter. Normal. But he comes back out of the hallway like he’s carrying something heavier than exhaustion.
“You staying or going?” he asks, his tone flat. Too flat.
I stare at him. The way he asked…it’s cold. Not like him.
“You can lay on the couch with me,” he adds. “Or if you’re leaving, I’ll just go to bed.”
“Mase, what’s wrong?”
“Nothin’s wrong. I’m just tired. I didn’t plan on working last night. I’m—”
“I know that.” I step closer, my voice gentle but firm. “But you’re more than tired. I’ve seen you tired, Mason. You’re not like this with me.”
His eyes fall, shoulders sagging, hands braced on his hips. He exhales slowly, like he’s debating whether to let the words out.
“Did I do something?” I ask softly.
“No.” He shakes his head quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not you, Meg. Promise.”
He steps toward me, like he can end it there with a kiss and the brush of his hand at my waist, but I press my palm flat to his chest, stopping him.
“Mason.” My voice lowers, my teacher tone slipping out—steady but kind.
He almost smiles at it, but the weariness wins.
“Please?” I ask, my eyes searching his.
He circles the kitchen island, dragging both hands over his face. His shoulders rise and fall.
Finally, he exhales. “Last night was just…a lot. That’s all.”
My chest tightens. His jaw clenches, eyes fixed on the counter like if he looks at me he might break.
“Something serious?” I press softly.
“Yeah.” His voice cracks. He swallows hard, then forces the words out. “It was a kid, Meg, and that’s all I want to say.”
Tears burn in my eyes, and my stomach hurts.
He shakes his head. “And then—right after that—I had to go to something so…stupid. A noise complaint. I had to change my whole demeanor in the span of ten minutes before I got there. Pretend like everything was fine, it’s just another day.” His voice breaks. “And it wasn’t.”
My tears spill over, and an overwhelming ache pushes through me. I just hug him because I don’t know what words could possibly make this better.
I hold him tight, my tears soaking into his shirt while his fall hot against my temple.
And in this moment, standing in his kitchen with both of us breaking, I know this is part of the reality of loving him.
Of the life we’ll have together. While I pray it won’t be often that we find ourselves here, crying over the dark side of the world he walks into every day, I know one thing for certain.
I’ll always be here for him when it is.