Page 53 of Good For Me

“I know nothing about children,” she finally blurts out. “I was never that girl, you know? The playing-with-dolls, picking-out-baby-names kind of girl.”

I nod. “Can’t say I was that kind of boy either.”

A laugh bursts from her and just like that the tension between us dissipates. “Seriously, though,” she continues, rubbing her temples. “Kids were not part of my life plan.”

“Not ever? Or just not until you finished taking over the world, or whatever it is you work your ass off for?”

She holds out her hands. “I don’t know. That’s the thing—I literally never thought about it. It wasn’t like I was thinking, okay, get the good job, then get married, then eventually start cranking the little crotch goblins out.”

I snort-laugh so loudly several heads swivel in our direction. “You paint a very romantic picture of motherhood.”

“That’s the point!” she says, somewhat wildly, and smacks her palms against the laminate table. “I am so not the motherly type.”

“Is there really a motherly type, though? I mean, there are lots of different kinds of moms out there.” I think about the women in our family and how different they all are. “My Aunt Karen is like, a world class photographer. She’s constantly jetting around on different photo shoots, meeting all these famous people, world leaders and—”

“Wait, KarenSimpson?” Jas asks, her eyes widening as I nod. “Karen Simpson is your aunt?”

“Well, not by blood, but yeah. Her husband is my dad’s best friend.”

Jas looks bowled over. “Karen Simpson isamazing. She’s like, the Annie Leibovitz of our time.”

I grin, making a mental note to pass that on. Karen loves hearing shit like that, as much as she tries to play it cool. “I didn’t know you were into photography.”

She gives a little shrug. “I took a few electives in college.”

I’m struck by a familiar feeling, the same one I used to get whenever I saw her at her uncle’s bar. The same one that became almost unbearable the night we spent together. I want to know this woman. I want her to tell me everything about herself, her life, her dreams, her past. I want to be trusted with every one of her secrets.

“Anyhow,” I say, fighting to keep from blurting all that out and scaring her away. “Karen has this really cool, jet-set kind of life. But she also has two kids. She’s a great mom. I’ve never once seen her like, bake cookies or anything like that. But that’s not what’s important.”

A flash of sadness crosses Jasmine’s face. “I have so little reference for what’s important,” she says softly. “I didn’t exactly have a maternal influence in my life. Mom gone, no aunts. My Grandma June died when I was three. So I have no idea what a mom is really supposed to look like, beyond what I’ve seen on TV.”

“Then you should come over to my parents’ house sometime,” I tell her. “You can meet my aunts. Every one of them is totally different. They all have careers. They all have their own interests. And every one of them is completely revered by their kids.”

“What’s your mom like?”

“The best,” I say immediately. “I think she would like you.”

Jasmine’s cheeks pink up a little. “Why do you say that?”

“She likes strong people.”

Jas makes a face. “I’m not—”

“You are,” I say firmly. “You definitely are.”

She sighs. “You think she’ll like me so much once she realizes I’m ruining her precious son’s future?”

“Don’t say that,” I snap, even as I feel a swelling of nerves at the thought of telling my parents. “Nothing is ruined. And none of this is your fault.”

Her shoulders slump, hands coming up to cover her face. “It feels ruined,” she whispers through her fingers. “River, what the hell are we going to do?”

I lose the battle to keep from touching her. I don’t want to overwhelm her, but I physically cannot just sit here while she’s upset like this. So I slide out of my seat and go around to her side to sit next to her. I wrap an arm around her shoulders, surprised—and embarrassingly pleased—when she leans into me.

“We’re going to take as much time as we need to think,” I tell her. “And talk. And we’re going to make decisions together.”

“I don’t know if I can raise a baby,” she says, the pain in her voice gutting me.

I give her the same words Rose gave me earlier, hoping like hell they’re true. “Does anyone really know if they can do it? I think it’s the kind of thing you just have to figure out as you go.”