Page 116 of Anything But Lonely
As he does, she piles all of his hair into her hand. “Daddy and I aren’t married, but we do like to spend time together like your mom and Daniel do,” she explains, somehow knowing exactly the right answer for my son.
Crew is only four, almost five, but he notices everything. He always has.
He knows Emerson is here even after he’s gone to bed. He knows when she comes over, when her shoes are by the door, when her voice carries through the house.
To him, she’s just part of the rhythm of our days now—someone who eats dinner at our table, helps him find his missing socks, lets him pick the movie if he says “please” enough times.
And somehow, in the simple way only a kid can, he knows I like her. Not the way he understands liking the curly kind of French fries and superheroes.
But that’s where Crew’s understanding ends. He knows that Mommy married Daniel and that means Daniel is part of our family. He knows Emerson comes over and that she makes Daddy happy.
It makes sense that he would ask if we’re getting married.
But here I am, trying to get a full breath at the revelation that I’m getting my second chance at a happy ending, with Emerson of all people—and I don’t want to fuck it up.
Their conversation transitions to how kernels turn into popcorn, and I finally feel my lungs fill with air. I finish setting up the living room exactly how the two asked me to, and I try to get my thoughts settled.
I should’ve known falling in love with Emerson was inevitable.
But her falling in love with me? That’s a whole other story.
It doesn’t take long for Crew to fall asleep. After downing half the bowl of popcorn, he got comfortable between Emerson and me and passed out before the movie was even halfway over. Pepper even made her way out of whatever hiding space she was in and found her usual spot at Emerson’s feet.
“I can’t believe you said Twilight wasn’t age-appropriate, but this weird animation where a panda does kung fu is perfectly acceptable,” Emerson whispers as she leans forward to grab the popcorn bowl still in Crew’s arms.
“You are not going to convince my son that Twilight is a good movie like you convinced him dessert is a non-negotiable,” I whisper back.
“Pepper,” Emerson says, poking the cat with her toe, “please tell your dad that not only is Twilight the best movie franchise ever made,” she says, talking to the cat, but it comes out muffled over the popcorn she piles into her mouth, “but dessert is a non-negotiable.”
I roll my eyes but decide to play her game. “Pepper,” I say to the cat that barely tolerates me yet refuses to leave my house, “please tell your nanny that she’s wrong not once but twice.”
Emerson narrows her eyes at me. “Pepper can’t talk.”
My jaw drops. “But you—” I raise my hands in surrender.
She shrugs her shoulders, shoving another handful of popcorn in her mouth. “You know the saying: play stupid games, I win.”
“That’s not the saying.”
“Oh, sorry,” she mocks, handing the popcorn bowl to me, apparently now done with it. “I forgot I’m with the idiom police.”
Crew stirs between us, and we both go silent. He lets out a sigh before settling back on his side, his hands tucked against his chest.
I look at her, the glow from the television flickering across her face. She’s still smiling a little, still relaxed, and for a second I let myself believe I could say it.
I’ve been carrying the words around for weeks.
They sit on the tip of my tongue every time she laughs at something stupid I say. Every time she walks into this house like she belongs here. Every time she reaches for Crew’s hand. Every time her lips meet mine.
I love you.
Three words.
Three words that should be easy.
Except they’re not.
Because once I say them, they’re not mine anymore. They’re hers to hold, or hers to give back. And I don’t know if she’s ready for them. I don’t know if I’m ready to hear anything other than exactly what I want.
