CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE #3
I also don’t want Harper’s already sizable rock collection to get any larger. She already has enough rocks to fill a very nice driveway.
“What about this one?” Bryson deftly distracts Harper by holding up a boring gravel pebble.
Harper giggles. “That’s not pretty.”
She toddles ahead and crouches down again. She grabs a rock, studies it, and holds it out to Bryson. “This is a good rock.”
Bryson takes the rock, looking confused. It’s quartz with pink feldspar, making it a very pretty pink rock. “What makes this a good rock?”
“Quartz is pretty,” Harper says. With her baby pronunciation, it sounds like quats. She got a book about rocks for Christmas and has gotten pretty good at identifying the rocks she collects. She looks up at me. “What’s the pink?”
“Feldspar,” I remind her.
“Feldspa,” she repeats. “It’s pink. Good rock.”
Bryson nods like this is profound information. “You really are an expert.”
We spend the next half hour on the nature trail being schooled about rocks by Harper.
Bryson is patient, and he seems awed by everything she says and does.
He doesn’t stop smiling the entire time.
When we finally get back to the playground, Harper runs right to the swings, one of which is now free. I head that way to push her, but Mom beats me to the punch.
And I’m left alone at the edge of the playground with Bryson. Asher and my dad have both gone back to work.
“Thank you,” he says, his eyes glassy. “She’s amazing.”
“She is,” I say. “You’re really good with her. Have you been around young kids?”
“My niece. She’s five now.”
Bryson’s older sister moved to Colorado when we were still in high school. She married and had a kid, but I haven’t seen her since my wedding to Bryson.
“Did you live near her?”
He nods. “I moved in with her after I left here.” He chokes on that last word, but clears his throat.
“She gave me hell for leaving you and Harper, but I was young and stupid. I figured you had your family here to support you, and you’d be fine.
At least that’s what I told myself. Now, I can admit I was just fucking terrified. ”
“I was too. If I could have run away, I’m not sure I wouldn’t have.
” I was twenty-one. People all over the world have kids at twenty-one and younger, but Bryson and I hadn’t planned to get pregnant.
We hadn’t even talked about having kids someday.
I convinced myself I could be a mom, that I was ready, but deep down, I was freaking out.
Bryson had seemed so sure of everything. He’d claimed to be thrilled about the pregnancy and gave me all these reasons it was better to have a baby when we were younger.
But we had no money. Neither of our families had any money. Bryson had a good job, even back then, and I figured I could be happy as an animal control officer. It meant I’d have to put off my dream of veterinary school, but Bryson promised to help me achieve that goal.
We bought a house we couldn’t really afford and started planning for the baby. Just when I thought I had everything figured out, and the panic started to quiet, Bryson left.
“But you didn’t run,” he says. “You stayed, and you took the most amazing care of our baby. You’re an incredible mom, Amelia.”
My throat goes tight, and I look away. “You don’t know that.”
“Harper is happy and healthy and not afraid of anything. And I know you. You are the most loyal person in the world. I have no doubt that you’re an amazing mom. I always knew you would be.”
He’s an unreliable source, but I still take that compliment to heart because I need to hear it. I doubt myself and my parenting so often, and I rarely have anyone tell me I’m a good mom. I assume my family and friends think I am, they just don’t say it. It feels damn good to hear it.
“You should come over for dinner after we’re done here,” I say, still in the afterglow of the compliment and not thinking clearly.
“Really?” he asks.
He’s giving me an out, but he looks so damn happy, how can I say no? I find too that I actually want him to come to dinner. I want him to get to know Harper better and to see more of our lives together.
There’s a part of me that’s definitely afraid of him leaving again, but I’m no longer in love with him and, if he disappears this time, I will track him down. For child support, if nothing else.
The first time he left, I made a half-hearted effort to find him, but my heart was broken. I figured if he didn’t want to be with us, I didn’t want to force him.
But also, I have to admit, I’m starting to hope that he’s actually going to stick around this time. He is more mature, and he can’t fake the love for Harper I see in his eyes.
"Yes, really. I have no idea what we’re having for dinner, but—”
“I’ll order something,” he says. “Whatever you want. You still addicted to the sesame chicken from China Palace?”
“They closed.” I make a pouty face. “It was heartbreaking. But we found a new place. Harper’s favorite is still and has always been pizza.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Is she picky? Or just obsessive about her favorites like her mother?”
I laugh. “She is fully picky, like her father.”
His smile as he looks over at our daughter is so full of love and pride I can almost ignore the little voice in the back of my head warning this is all way too perfect and easy.