by Mia Ford
But it’s got to be better than what’s already happened to us.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jessica
The next morning, I wake up with a plan in mind. Today is Sunday, which is Grant’s scheduled visit, but I haven’t heard from him yet. Is he even coming?
It doesn’t matter if he’s decided not to. One way or another, I’m seeing him today, even if I have to take Owen around to his apartment and beg to be allowed in with our son.
I bounce out of bed. I still don’t have a solid plan beyond “make it up to Grant somehow,” but I’m not going to squander this one last chance. I can’t mess up this time. Everything is now out in the open. There are no more secrets. This is my last shot before Grant leaves my life forever.
I take my phone off charge and search in it until I find Grant’s number. Then I ring it and wait impatiently.
Surprisingly, though, Grant picks up in the second ring.
“Morning,” he yawns.
Maybe it’s just because he’s tired, but he sounds more open. Maybe he doesn’t realize I’m the one phoning him. Still, it feels like it’s a good omen for how today is going to go.
“Grant,” I greet. “You’re coming today.”
I don’t phrase it like a question, and I’m sure he notices. He goes very quiet at the other end. Then…
“Is that a demand?” he asks.
“You made a promise,” I say. I glance at the clock. Owen isn’t up yet, but he will be soon. “Sundays and Thursdays. So, you need to be here.”
Grant doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, suddenly, he chuckles. It’s a surprisingly light sound, and very unexpected.
“I’m outside your door,” he says, and then hangs up.
I stare at the phone, listening to the dial tone. Then I drop it on my bed and race to the front door, uncaring that I’m still in my pajamas. I hear Owen stirring as I pass his room, but I don’t slow down.
I throw open the door, and there he is. He’s fully dressed and he’s carrying a bag of some sort. I stare at him blankly. What do I even say to him? An apology is rising in my throat.
“Did you bring Owen another toy?” I ask instead.
“No,” Grant says, but his eyes shift away, revealing the lie. He huffs and opens the bag for me to peer inside. It’s a stuffed bear. “He likes teddies, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. A soft smile spreads across my face. It’s so sweet. “He does. Come in. Sorry, we’re not quite up yet.”
“I’m the one who’s earlier,” Grant counters. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” I assure him.
Silence falls between us. It’s somewhat awkward. I don’t know what to say now. I don’t understand Grant’s demeanor. He doesn’t look upset or angry. In fact, his expression is far more open and friendly than it was before I told him the truth.
I cough awkwardly.
“I should get dressed,” I say, shuffling my feet. “Do you want to get Owen up?”
I’m glad I asked when Grant’s expression lights up all of a sudden, pleased.
“Yeah, sounds good,” he says eagerly.
It’s funny to see the simple pleasure he finds in being able to wake his son up and get him ready for the day. Then sadness washes over me, my smile dropping as Grant makes his way to Owen’s room. Of course he’s happy to do something so simple and inane. He’s probably happy to do anything with his son.
Kyle was right. I really do have a lot of groveling to do.
I get dressed quickly, but I don’t go to Owen’s room after. I can hear him giggling and cheering, and I wonder if Grant has given him the teddy bear. Smiling slightly at the happy sounds, I make my way to the kitchen and start making some toast for breakfast.
Before long, Owen bounds into the kitchen. He’s clutching the brown bear tightly and he’s been dressed. His eyes sparkle at me.
“Mommy, Mommy, look!” he says proudly, holding up the bear. “Look what Daddy got me!”
“I see,” I say, making a show of inspecting the bear. “What a wonderful teddy. Does it have a name?”
Owen’s forehead scrunches up cutely as he thinks about this. Then his expression clears, as though he’s hit on the perfect idea.
“He’s Bear,” he says with a firm nod.
I force down a bubble of laughter. I doubt Owen will appreciate me laughing at him, even if he wouldn’t understand why. Behind him, Grant coughs suspiciously and looks away.
“That’s a wonderful name,” I say to Owen. “Why don’t you and Bear sit at the table? The toast is almost ready.”
Owen jumps away. I meet Grant’s eyes and have to turn away before I start laughing.
“Did you have breakfast?” I ask Grant.
“No,” he says behind me, reaching around me to turn the kettle on. I jump, not expecting him to be in the kitchen with me. “Do you want coffee?”
“Yes, please,” I say, shaking myself away from staring at him. What’s going on here? “There’s juice in the fridge for Owen.”
Unlike last time Grant and I were stuck, briefly, in the kitchen together, it isn’t awkward. We move around each other, making toast and drinks. It suddenly strikes me that this is what mornings should have been like.
Is he doing this to torture me? Give me a taste of what I could have had? No, that isn’t like Grant, he’s not that cruel. But I really don’t understand. After his reaction to everything on Thursday night, I didn’t even dream that the next time I saw Grant he would smile at me.
What happened between then and now?
“Grant…” I start.
“Coffee’s ready,” Grant announces at the same time, unintentionally drowning out my soft voice. “How’s the toast?”
I rouse myself. Now isn’t the time to ask, not while my little boy is waiting for his breakfast.”
“Coming right up,” I say,
Owen stuffs himself full of toast while Grant and I eat more sedately. I remember being worried about sitting down at the table with Grant alone the other day, feeling grateful that Allison was there to act as a buffer. But, now that it is just the three of us, I can’t help but wonder what I was ever worried about.
This is lovely.
“Done!” Owen says through a mouthful of food.
“Owen,” I scold. “Swallow first. Don’t be rude.”
Owen chews the toast in his mouth as best as he can before finally swallowing it. He grins at me and then turns to Grant.
“I want a road!” he announces.
Grant stares at him, confused. Then his expression clears.
“Ah,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Sounds great, Owen. If you can ask me properly.”
Owen looks suitably abashed.
“Please?” he tries.
Grant chuckles. I didn’t really think much of it while he was on the phone, but it’s a deep, pleasant sound, like a warm hug after coming in from the cold.
“Sure,” he says.
It’s all the confirmation Owen needs before he’s racing off. Grant and I grin.
“Go play,” I tell Grant. “I’ll be out in a minute. I better see a damn awesome road.”
“I’ve got some bridge plans in the works,” Grant grins.
I can’t help but laugh. I wonder who is having more fun with the blocks; Grant or Owen.
It doesn’t take me long to clean up after breakfast, but I linger for a few moments longer, making another cup of coffee. I can hear Owen shrieking with laughter, and I want to give him a few extra minutes alone with his father. They both deserve it, after all.
When I have my coffee, I wander into the small living room and lean against the doorway. Neither of them notice me, and I use that to my advantage for now, observing them.
They’re good together. Grant is kind but firm and he isn’t afraid to get on his hands and knees to play with Owen. Owen has already fallen in love with the man, though I don’t doubt the bribery has helped. Grant is going to be a good father.
&nbs
p; I just wish I had seen it before now. I don’t know how Grant will ever forgive me for messing up so badly.
And yet…
I eye Grant. True to his word, he’s currently building a bridge out of the blocks while Owen stares in wonder at the structure. I still haven’t figured out what’s going on with him.
In my pocket, my phone vibrates. I take it out, already knowing that it’s Allison.
“Grant there?”
Nosy damn woman, I think fondly. I type a message back quickly.
“Yeah. He’s weird, though. Don’t know what’s going on.”
There’s a pause, and then I get another message.
“Kyle said he phoned him yesterday, and he seemed strange then.”
I suddenly imagine Allison sitting on the couch, Kyle watching the message come through behind her. I never asked Allison to keep secrets from Kyle, and it doesn’t surprise me that she’s asking him for advice after what I just said. I’m strangely not as upset with Kyle knowing my business as I could be.
I shake my head.
‘Sorry, I didn’t notice if he was acting strange,’ I sent.
There’s no other reply, so I slip my phone back into my pocket. I had half hoped that I could ask Kyle or another of Grant’s friends what was up with him, but, if Kyle didn’t know, then no one would. So what was going on? It’s starting to frustrate me now.
“Mommy!”
Owen’s voice jerks me out of my thoughts, and I smile at the little boy as he waves frantically at me.
“It’s a racing track!” he exclaims.
It’s nothing more than a track of blocks pushed together, but I smile anyway. The most impressive feature is the bridge Grant has built, using several blocks and DVD cases to keep it propped up. I think I even see the thin paperback romance novel I was reading in there.
“Looks great,” I say with a light laugh. “Now what?”
“We race on it,” Grant points out, as though I’m being deliberately obtuse. “Hurry up.”
I blink. “What?”
“Daddy says Mommy has to race too!” Owen exclaims.
I stare at Grant. He looks up at me and gives me a small quirk of the lips.
“It’ll be fun,” he offers.
Not only is he being surprisingly welcoming, but he’s now set up a game that requires me to participate. I step over the block road carefully and crouch down beside Grant.
“You don’t have to do this,” I murmur. “This is your day with Owen.”
He gives me another half-smile. “Well, I’m in your apartment, and Owen insisted.” He holds up a small yellow car, the one Owen always gives me. “Here.”
“Grant…” I try; it doesn’t feel right to interfere with Grant’s day with Owen.
Grant’s eyes flash and then he smirks,
“Afraid of losing to the two of us?” he asks.
I blink. He did not just say that.
“Give me that,” I say, narrowing my eyes and snatching the yellow car off Grant. Where do we start?”
“Here,” Grant says, unable to quite hide a triumphant smile.
I huff. “Prepare to lose, boys.”
In the end, there is no winner. The entire race falls apart when Owen, enthusiastic in the game, knocks over the carefully-built bridge. After that, it’s anarchy. Grant drives his car over the couch, Owen is hopping his from brick to brick, and I’m trying to sneakily turn the television on with my car. It’s hilarious to think that there are two adults in the room right now.
“Come on,” Grant encourages me, swiping the remote from under my car, and I pout. “Play properly.”
I glance at him. I know Grant was a foster kid, and that he sometimes seemed to bounce from one bad family to the next. Did he ever get to play with cars and blocks like this? I have a feeling the answer to that is “no”, and I’m glad he’s getting the chance to do it now, with his own son. His face is open and he’s bursting with laughter as the three of us play. He looks happier than I’ve seen him yet, his skin smoothing out as he chortles, and the bags under his eyes seeming less pronounced.
What I have to say to him can wait until later, I decide. Right now, I can’t bear the thought of interrupting this happiness.
By the time Owen’s bedtime rolls around, I’m exhausted, and even Grant looks a little out of breath. He slumps into a chair at my table.
“I shouldn’t be glad that Owen is asleep,” he says solemnly. Then he grimaces. “But I am.”
“He can be a handful sometimes,” I laugh. “You should have seen him on Friday after all that sugar we fed him. Not one of my wiser moments.”
“Or mine,” Grant says ruefully.
“Coffee?” I ask hopefully.
“No,” Grant says with a small smile. “I have work in the morning. I should get home soon.”
“Right,” I say, disappointed. Things went so well that I almost forgot that he didn’t live with us. “Just, before you go…”
I look away. I don’t want to bring down the mood, especially with how happy all three of us have been today, but I still have things that need to be said.
“Thanks for coming around,” I say sincerely. “Part of me wasn’t sure you would.”
“Could you blame me?” Grant asks, eyebrow raised.
“Not really,” I confess. I glance at him. “And I am sorry.”
“You said,” Grant replies. “I…” He hesitates. “I don’t forgive you. Not right now. But maybe, in the future…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says quietly.
“Why did you come here?” I ask him.
He hesitates.
“I did some thinking,” he says after a moment. “You know, it wasn’t just your fault everything went wrong. I had a hand in it, too.
“Yeah, but my hand won the pot,” I say glumly.
He snorts. “Not that that’s a great prize.”
I smile slightly at him.
“What comes next then?” I ask him.
“Now, we just keep going,” he tells me. “And I know what to do first.” He suddenly looks at me. “There’s a spy movie on down at the movie theater. Want to go?”
I wasn’t sure I’d heard quite right. Surely I’m missing something, here.
“Owen isn’t too good with the theater,” I say.
His lips twitch.
“I’m not inviting Owen,” he says. “We can ask Allison or Hazel to babysit for us. I was thinking we could have dinner first, then see the movie.” He pauses. “If you want to.”
I’m still having trouble understanding.
“Are you asking me on a date?” I ask stupidly.
He coughs to cover up the laugh that wants to escape him.
“Yes,” he says. “I’m asking you on a date. Do you want to go?”
I really have to be dreaming. But, if it’s a dream, I don’t want to wake up.
“Yeah.” My voice trembles with excitement. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”
I don’t know why this is happening. But I’m not going to question it, though, not with things finally going our way.
Hopefully it will stay like that.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Grant
Part of me thinks that I must be utterly insane. How could I even think that this is a good idea? It’s just going to happen again, and then where will I be?
But, over the last few days, I’ve put an awful lot of thought into everything. Why did something like this happen? At the end of the day, it came down to the fact that Jessica and I didn’t know each other nearly as well as we should have.
We’d been together just over a two and a half years when Jessica found those documents. It’s morbidly funny to realize that she and I have been apart now, longer than we were ever together. I know we loved each other truly.
But I also know that neither of us put everything we had into the relationship. She was too quiet and shy, hesitant to speak her mind for fear that I would shoot her down, which led to her building som
ething awful up in her mind until she just couldn’t handle it anymore. I was too suspicious and angry at the world, used to holding things close to my chest so that no one hurt me anymore.
We were young or bitter or quiet, and we just didn’t know each other as well as we should have. How could I have expected Jessica to know that I wasn’t a murderer when I was so cagey about my past? Or how could she have expected me to think positively about the fact that she was so obviously keeping secrets when she was too nervous to tell me what was on her mind? In the end, our silence ruined our relationship.
Would it do it again? We’re older now and both more world-weary. I’ve lived through three years of obsessively wondering what went wrong, and it’s already occurred to me, before this, that I didn’t trust Jessica with parts of myself that I should have. She has had to raise a child alone and face the world that blindsided her with secrets she wasn’t ready to hear.
Maybe it is insane.
But, then, maybe it’s the chance the both of us need to start over and find something new.
In front of me, Jessica’s face is light with shock and joy. She hadn’t expected the question. I’ve been wrestling with myself about whether to ask it all day. But my decision was made earlier, as I watched the way she laughed and crawled around the floor. Her hair was flying around her face, and her already ripped jeans were becoming more so at the knees and she had never looked more beautiful.
And I had thought, as I looked at her and Owen and remembered sitting down to breakfast with them, I can have this. This family is something that I could be part of.
For the first time, it’s something that I want to be part of.
“Alright,” I say to her. “I have the day shift on Tuesday, so I’ll be finished around four or five. How does that sound?”
“Perfect,” she assures me.
I’m surprised that she hasn’t yet asked me why. I’ve seen her watching me all day, trying to puzzle out my behavior. Or maybe she just doesn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth when something is finally going right for us. She’s cautiously optimistic and it’s nice to see the smile blooming over her face.