The Path To Us: A Single Parent Romance

by Jennifer Van Wyk

  Shuffling against the hardwood floor brings my attention up to see Zoey walking toward me sleepily. I set my phone down and spread my arms and she picks up her pace, pouncing into my arms. Morning Zoey is one of my favorites. I inhale her sweet scent and run a hand over her hair, trying to tame the wild strays. She’s still holding her stuffed donkey and she pulls her legs to her chest so she’s curled up on my lap.

  “Morning, Squirt.”

  “Hi.”

  “Have a good sleep?”

  She nods against my chest and I give her a little squeeze, leaning back so that we’re both lounging comfortably on the couch.

  “Can I watch TV?”

  “What do you want to watch?”

  “Tom and Jewwy,” she says quietly and I sputter a laugh, knowing that came directly from Addy. She was always a nut for that cartoon and I’m not the least bit surprised she’s passed it down to her daughter.

  “Tom and Jerry, huh? Is it on?”

  She shrugs. “Mommy always finds it.”

  I’ll bet she does.

  Using the remote, I start searching through the channels until I come to a cartoon channel that looks like it shows only older cartoons and lucky for us, Tom and Jerry is starting in ten minutes.

  “Just gotta wait ten minutes. Want to grab some breakfast while we wait? Maybe Mommy won’t even care if you eat in here.”

  “Really?”

  “We’ll just tell her it was my idea.”

  “It was your idea,” she says, like the smarty pants she is.

  “How’d you get so smart?”

  “’Is ‘cause my daddy wooks for a school.”

  I don’t know what to say to respond to that so I give her a quick hug and make sure she’s comfortable while I go to the kitchen to get something ready for her — and make myself another cup of coffee while I’m there.

  Zoey hasn’t been eating that great since the morning after Chris died but she’ll eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches so that’s what I make her for breakfast along with a cup of diced pears.

  When I return, she’s grabbed a blanket out of a basket on the floor and looks like she’s ready for a cartoon marathon. I set down a small cup of milk on the end table and place her food on her lap.

  She grins at me and pats the space next to her.

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  I sit next to her and put my feet on the coffee table and take half of the sandwich she offers me. I’ll make her another one but her little hand flipping a peanut butter and jelly in my direction as her eyes stay glued to the television is too freaking adorable to ignore.

  I throw an arm over the back of the couch, coffee cup resting dangerously between my legs, as the two of us watch Tom relentlessly chase Jerry around a house. Zoey’s little giggle, even with a mouth stuffed full of sticky peanut butter and grape jelly, is the perfect way to start my day.

  Addy comes walking around the corner, looks at us, to the TV, and back to us. Her eyes soften and then her bottom lip pouts. “Well, this isn’t fair. I don’t wanna go to work, either!”

  Zoey doesn’t even acknowledge her, she’s too captivated by the shenanigans happening on the screen.

  “Sucks to be you,” I tease, making a big show of how excited I am to spend the day with Zoey doing whatever the heck we feel like.

  “Seriously.” She rolls her eyes and moves around the back of the couch, sliding a hand along my neck as she goes to her daughter. That simple touch shouldn’t do what it does to me, but my body never got the memo that Addy’s off limits. Addy leans over and kisses Zoey good morning. I can’t stop my eyes from following the length of her sexy as fuck legs. I’ve imagined them wrapped around my waist more times than I can count. Wrapped my hand around myself to the image I can conjure up so easily. Too easily.

  The light wash jeans she’s wearing fit her so perfectly and I have to fist my hands next to my thighs to stop myself from reaching out and cupping her ass. Her t-shirt is nothing extraordinary; a simple grass green that’s not too tight and not too loose. Damn, there’s something about the way that she always dresses that is such a turn-on for me. Which shouldn’t come as a surprise since she only needs to smile for me to get turned on — but the thing is, there’s nothing particularly sexy about her choice of clothing. Jeans, leggings, t-shirts, and hoodies. No short skirts, plunging necklines, or sky high heels. It’s more about the confidence she carries. Or maybe it’s just the fact that I find her more beautiful and sexier than anyone else in the world.

  “Mommy!” she huffs. “I’m busy!” Zoey protests as she shifts so she can see the TV. We laugh at Zoey’s little growl when Addy pauses the program and she lifts her hands in the air in surrender.

  “Sorry. Goodness. I just need your attention for a minute then you can go back to your show, okay?”

  “Okay, Mommy.”

  “I have to go into work for a little bit today. What would you say about hanging out with Uncle Beau while I’m gone?”

  “Yeah!” she cheers, shimmying a little, showing her excitement.

  Addy chuckles. “Sounds like a yes to me.”

  “Maybe we can go swimming at Daddy’s house!”

  Addy and I both freeze, staring at Zoey. I hadn’t thought she’d want to go back to Chris’s house. The idea of it turns my stomach, knowing that’s where he took his last breath. “I don’t think it’ll work today, Squirt. Maybe another time?”

  “Why not?”

  Luckily, just as I open my mouth to come up with some sort of lie, thunder booms outside. “That’s why.”

  “Ahh, man! Oh, well, we can do other fun stuff.”

  Nodding, I tell her, “We sure can. I’m sure Grandma and Papa want to see you, too.”

  “They do.” She agrees so quickly it pulls another laugh from my chest.

  Addy clears her throat and looks at me with an odd expression. It’s more than just the sadness that we’ve all been wearing like cloaks since Chris died. “Well, whatever you two do, I’m sure you’ll have a great time. And when I finish at the shop, I’ll meet up with you.”

  After saying goodbye, Addy leaves and Zoey and I curl up on the couch, lounging while the rain continues to fall. It’s a perfect morning. Cartoons, cuddling with Zoey, and snacking on Goldfish crackers. It’s a morning I know Chris would have loved, and for that I feel like shit. I’m enjoying this time when it should be him.

  Zoey’s tiny little body begins to slump next to me and her breathing evens out. She’s only been awake for a few hours but I know she’s exhausted. Between not sleeping well and the trauma she experienced losing her dad, her body is worn out. I shoot my mom a quick text to let her know we won’t be coming over for a while so I don’t get a phone call that wakes her up then do the same with Addy.

  Addy: I’m glad she’s sleeping. I don’t want her getting more run down than she already is. You okay staying with her?

  Me: Of course. Just do your thing. I’ve got her.

  Addy: Thank you. See you soon.

  I lean my head back against the back of the couch and relish in the feel of Zoey in my arms and think for the millionth time what it would be like if she would have called me that night instead of Chris. Would we have had a child together instead? Of course, I wouldn’t do a thing to change the fact that Zoey’s here, but the thought of having a baby with Addy stirs something deep inside of me that I have been doing my best to push down for years now.

  I’ve never had the courage to ask her why she went to Chris instead of me that night. Maybe she was looking for exactly what Chris was willing to give her and she thought I wouldn’t have.

  She’d be wrong, though. I wouldn’t have been able to resist her.

  I’m so fucked up in the head.

  My male instincts tell me to take her and show her what we could be like together while every bit of brotherly love I have for Chris tells me to back off. She was his. Never mine. Not in that way. I may have loved her first, but in the end, she was and always would be my broth
er’s.

  And that means I have to learn how to live a life without her as anything more than my friend and mother to my niece.

  Chapter Eight

  Addy

  It’s been almost a month since we buried Christopher. It was a day that ranked right down there with the day I buried my mother. I don’t know how Zoey or I would have survived if Beau hadn’t been strong. Guilt sits heavy on my heart knowing that he needed us to be there for him just as much as we needed him, but no matter how often I asked him how we could help, he swore we were doing exactly what he needed from us.

  Beau went back home a week after the funeral but promised he wouldn’t be away for long. Zoey was having a hard time letting him out of her sight but he didn’t seem to mind. Beau didn’t want to be apart from her, either. Before he left, he said he needed to make an official change because he’d been living away long enough. I didn’t want to tell him I agreed because I didn’t want to appear needy or clingy. But I’m ready to have him here. Where he belongs.

  Beau told me he has a plan to make that change happen but first he needed to speak with his boss and get a few things sorted. Zoey hasn’t slept in her own bed since Beau came over the night Christopher died. In fact, Beau slept at my house while he was here, though he did move to the spare bed. He would lay with Zoey until she fell asleep then kiss her on the head before going to the other room. She also hasn’t gone a day without asking for either of them. I know it was hard for both Zoey and Beau when he had to go back to work, and her crying while clinging to his leg didn’t make it any easier.

  I don’t blame her, though.

  I didn’t want him to leave either.

  He promised it wouldn’t be for long and if there’s one thing I know about Beau, it’s that he never makes a promise he doesn’t intend to keep. With the exception of one time. When I told him I was pregnant, he promised he’d be by my side through every moment. What he didn’t take into account, though, was how hard it would be for both of us that his brother was the one who’d gotten me pregnant.

  Of course, it bothered me in a different way than it did him. While I spent months feeling guilty that I wished it would be Beau’s baby I was pregnant with, he was angry that his brother had, in his mind, taken advantage of me in my drunken state.

  I wouldn’t change a thing now, of course. However, I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve wished for the same connection with Beau as I had with Chris.

  Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I close my eyes, not being able to look into my own eyes. The guilt I once felt comes back like a sledgehammer to my chest. That bond I had with Chris will be with me forever, but it’s broken. And I hate myself for once wishing it had been with Beau. There was not a soul on this earth who Chris loved more than Zoey and the thought of him not having that kind of love before he died… I can’t even think about it.

  I shake my head as tears burn the back of my eyes and my throat. I want to cry all the time thinking of how unfair it is that Chris left this earth too soon and that Zoey misses him so fiercely but still has moments of confusion as to why he’s never coming back. I want to cry that Beau is sad and missing his brother. His parents and Max, the same. And I want to cry for myself, because I’m selfish and struggling and hate that I’m now truly a single parent.

  “Shake it off, Addy,” I whisper angrily to myself. I splash water on my face and pat it dry with a towel then hang it up on the rack. The rack that Chris hung for me because I mentioned not liking the one that was here before it and I wanted something with more storage. So not only did he hang the rack, he built the wooden cupboard that the rack is attached to. He stained it to appear weathered because he knew I liked that trend.

  Another wave of sadness hits as I find myself walking through the house, noticing all the areas that Chris had his hand in. Zoey’s bed that he put together, our kitchen table that we sat around and shared meals at because the two of us were determined to give Zoey family meals with the both of us. The living room furniture that he hauled home from the furniture outlet store I bought it from on clearance because I couldn’t afford anything else.

  Even before Zoey came into our lives, it was the same. He was always there to offer a helping hand whether it was changing the oil in my car or mowing my lawn. I never asked him to do those things. He just saw those chores as something that needed to be done and did them. I thought it was because he felt bad that Beau wasn’t here but then I learned it was more than that. Chris’s feelings for me might not have been returned, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t love him in my own way.

  Grateful that Zoey is spending the afternoon with Chris’s parents, I decide it’s time to go to his house. Zoey has clothes and toys in her bedroom there and I want to make sure the fridge is cleaned out. Max and Beau had already taken care of draining and taking down the pool, getting his utilities and bills switched, and whatever else needed to be done but there are things I need to do myself as well.

  I don’t bother applying any makeup or even making myself look presentable. I know the second I walk into his house I’ll be a tearful mess anyway. Might as well be comfortable and not worrying about whether or not my mascara is running down my face. I slip on a pair of running shorts and a turquoise tee along with my favorite pair of flip-flops and tie my long hair up into a messy bun, fill up a bottle of water, and head out.

  It doesn’t take me more than ten minutes to get to Chris’s house but it takes me another fifteen to muster up the courage to get out of my car, grab the empty laundry baskets out of my back seat I brought with me to carry Zoey’s things, and climb the front steps of his porch.

  After unlocking the door with my key, I take a deep breath of fresh air and twist the knob, pushing open the mahogany wood entry door and stepping inside. I shut the door behind me with a gentle push. The quiet click sounds like a shot gun in the stillness of the air around me.

  Another deep breath, this time it’s not fresh air I’m inhaling. It’s the plug-ins Chris always kept refilled that smell like fresh cotton. Looking around, I bite my lip before taking a step forward. Then another.

  Zoey was conceived in this house.

  She might have lived primarily in my home the first year when Chris would stay in the guest bedroom as often as possible so he was there to help, but this was also her home.

  I glance at the couch and swallow against the pain. He held me as I cried over the news of my mother’s illness and when I looked up into his eyes, they held so much… everything, I couldn’t resist leaning up to kiss him. He responded instantly, without a single moment of hesitation. Both of us knew what we were doing. He asked if I was positive and I assured him I was.

  Thank goodness that night happened. Not only do I have Zoey. But my mother got the chance to meet her granddaughter and Chris… well…

  I peek into Chris’s bedroom but quickly shut the door, not quite ready to go in there yet. It was the room where Chris took his last breath. Knowing he was alone when he passed away almost brings me to my knees.

  Opening the door to Zoey’s bedroom, I smile at her unmade bed. For as organized and neat as Chris was, he hated making the bed and never made Zoey’s or had her make it herself. Zoey definitely picked up on that trait. She thinks making her bed is the worst kind of punishment.

  I clean out her closet first then move to the small dresser. It doesn’t take me long to gather her belongings, but I do take the time to strip her bed and pile up the sheets into one of the baskets so I can wash them when I get back home. After bringing the clothes to my car, I go back inside and pack whatever toys and books I can find.

  I make another trip to my car and then go back inside to clean out the fridge and do a walk through the house and make sure everything is as it should be. I open one of the windows in the living room to let some fresh air in and get to work cleaning the fridge and pantry. Music streams through a satellite radio app on my phone and I get lost in the process, not allowing my mind to think about the job I’m doing and
why I’m doing it.

  “My Truck” plays through the speaker of my phone and I hum along, shimmying my hips as I separate the food that’s gone bad and the things that can be kept. I cannot get enough of the beat to this song… even if the lyrics don’t apply to me in any way. Plus, Sam Hunt’s voice is pretty much everything that is good in this world.

  Just as I’m spinning around to toss some moldy cheese into the trash bag, a deep chuckle hits my ears and Beau’s smiling face greets me. I squeal and jump, placing a hand against my chest. He’s leaning a shoulder against the wall opposite me as calm and casual as can be. Meanwhile, my heart is about to leap right out of my chest.

  “What the hell, Beau?” I shriek, moving to my phone to turn off the music.

  His grin broadens to one of my favorite smiles of his. “Don’t mind me. I was enjoying the hell out of your performance.”

  With a well-practiced eye roll, I complete my task and cross my arms over my chest.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Came to check on a few things. Actually had the same idea as you. I was reloading the drink fridge at work and it hit me that Chris’s fridge hadn’t been touched for over a month and I almost threw up thinking about the possibilities of what I would find.”

  Now it’s my turn to smile. “Yeah, there was some lettuce that had liquefied. It was freaking nasty.”

  He cringes. “I bet. How far along are you?”

  “About done. I’ve been here for about three hours now.”

  He nods. “Thanks for doing this. I can’t believe Mom hadn’t thought of it.”

  I know my eyes soften when I say, “She’s had enough other things on her mind.”

  “True. Let me help you finish up. Zoey at my parents’ house?”

  “Yeah, she is. They asked if she could spend the night.”