Page 63 of Love Expert

“My son fell in love.”

Stunned, she stops in her tracks and blinks. Blinks. Blinks. “What?”

“My son. He fell in love, Maggie. With you.”

“He—”

“He hasn’t latched onto a woman the way he’s latched onto you in… ever. And I get that it’s not your responsibility. I get that none of this is your problem, but I also know you’re so fucking perfect and sweet and kind, your heart would shatter if you hurt his feelings and didn’t even know it. So this is me telling you.” I search her beautiful eyes, the golden orbs with flecks as pretty as a rainbow in the summer. “He wakes up every single day begging me to let him run next door. He goes to sleep every single night, but not before asking if you’d think he was weird for opening his window and shouting goodnight.”

She chokes out a soft, silly laugh.

“He brags to all his friends about the pretty lady next door, and he selfishly eats his lunch treats without a single care for his friends who just want a taste. My son loves you, Maggie. And he’s old enough to read a room, which means he sees how often you and I bicker. He’s terrified I’mgonna piss you off so much that, eventually, you’ll pack your bags and leave.” I press a hand to my heart. Right where it fucking hurts. “He doesn’t give a damn about me. He lovesyou.”

“That’s not true.” She closes the space between us and lays her hand on top of mine. She stares up at me with eyes of empathy. Sweetness. Kindness. None of which I’ve shown her in return. “Why on earth would you say he doesn’t care about you? You’re his father. You’re his everything.”

“Why would I say it?” I scoff. “Babe, he told me! He looked me in the eye and threw down: if it’s between you or me, I’m on my ass. There’s no question about it.”

“No, that’s?—”

“He talks to Aria about you.”

Her breath catches in her throat. I hate myself for the tears that make her eyes shine. But it’s true. All of it. Every single word.

“We visit her at the cemetery at least once a week. He didn’t even know her. He doesn’t remember her. But I make sure to visit every single week, so even if they didn’t have a relationship while she was alive, he has this relationship now. He tells her about his day, about his friends, about his grievances. He gets homework? He complains to her about it. I’m a big ol’ meanie for making him brush his teeth for two whole minutes: he bitches to her about it. Molly pestering him at the gym: he tells Aria. She’s not a mom to him the way you and I had moms, Maggie. She’s a Dear Diary. A check-in where he gets to talk about anything he wants and never worry about judgment.”

“Billy—”

“So now he tells her about you. Except, he knows you knew each other back in elementary school, so it’s not ‘hey mom, let me tell you about this chick next door.’ It’s ‘hey, you remember Maggie from the nineteen-hundreds, right? She sat with me in the garden last week and taught me how to tie my shoelaces, since Dad is always too busy for me.’”

“I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped.” Her voice crackles. Her chin wobbles. “I would never intentionally cast you in a bad light. He asked for help, but?—”

“It’s ‘Maggie cooks the best donuts, Mom. She doesn’t give any to Dad, cos he’s a jerk to her, but she sneaks them across for me. I hide them under my bed in the container, then I take just one to school each day. I learned how to ration because of those donuts. They’re so freakin’ good.’”

“I did this,” she whimpers. “I made you out to be a monster to your own son. Sneaking snacks across, telling him he doesn’t have to share withyou, because you didn’t earn them.” She draws a shuddering breath. “I’m so sorry, Billy. I didn’t mean to?—”

“It’s ‘Maggie hugs me, Mom. She hugs me so tight, and even though Dad hugs me too, it’s a different kind of hug’. And then he leans closer to her headstone, whispering, because he doesn’t want me to hear, it’s ‘I really like Maggie’s hugs. They feel special. Is that how moms hug?’”

She breaks, big fat tears bursting from her eyes and onto her cheeks. These aren’t the tears of a woman I’ve hurt, which is really fuckin’ nice for a change. They’re the tears of a woman whose heart grew to love another. “He’s so precious. So pure and sweet.”

“Yeah.” Except for the part where he might stab me with an icicle this winter and pray the courts place him with the nice lady next door. “That means we’ve got a problem, Magnolia. A really big problem. Every time you and I argue, he worries you’re gonna up and leave. Every time I hurt your feelings, he sprints out of bed the next morning and runs to his window, terrified he’ll see a U-Haul parked in your driveway.”

“I would never leave.” She wipes tears from her cheek. “I’ll tell him. I’m not going anywhere, so maybe I could?—”

I fist her jaw and startle her into silence. “He’s also me, Magnolia.”

“He…” She rests her hands on my biceps for balance, her eyes flickering between mine. “What?”

“Every time we argue, I wake up the next morning, sick to my stomach that there might be a U-Haul in your driveway. Every time I’m mean to you, I worry you’ll give up on me completely, because I’m not worth the effort of tenth, eleventh, twelfth chances.” I draw her closer, lifting her by the jaw until she pushes onto her toes. “Every time I get angry at you, the anger is about me, not you. And every time I speak to you, I say all the wrong things.”

“Is this…” Her lips jut forward in a pout. “Is this all the wrong stuff?”

“No. This is finally the right stuff. Maybe it’s because I had a beer. Maybe it’s because you had a beer, too. Or maybe it’s because my son told me if I fuck this up, he’s gonna fuckmeup. But I’m finally saying the words I mean to say, and what I mean to say is…”

“Is…?” She curls into my hand. “Is what?”

“I want you so fucking much, it feels like my blood is on fire in all the worst ways. I want to kiss you, but only if you want to kiss me back, and I want to taste you, but I want you to be there with me for all the right reasons. I don’t want to date those other women, and it’s not because you set them up, or because I’ve sworn off love. It’s not because I wannamindlessly fuck someone,anyone. I just don’t want them, because they’re not you.”

My phone buzzes wildly out of control in my back pocket. But that’s okay, because my heart does the same thing, especially when a soft whimper rolls along her throat.