I did the mental math twice, surprised at the number I came up with. “How old is your dad?”
“He turned seventy-five last week,” Jace answered easily.
I stilled. That was older than my own father.
“How old is your mom?”
“Same age, she turns seventy-five later this year.”
My mouth fell open. She had to have been at least fifty years old when she had him. Was he adopted? My eyes bounced between Jace and the ceiling, staying quiet, not wanting to ask him a rude question.
“Go ahead and ask, you won’t offend me.”
I turned in my lounger to face him, mirroring his pose. “Are you adopted? Or was your mom really fifty years old when she had you?”
He smiled lazily, not looking offended by the question in the least.
“She was actually fifty-one.”
I shook my head slowly in amazement. “I don’t know your mom, but I think she just became my own personal hero. Did she and your dad get married late? Or did she have a hard time getting pregnant?”
Jace shifted his position, folding one leg under his body. “I don’t think so. I have an older brother and sister.”
“How much older?”
“My brother was fourteen when I was born, and my sister was ten.”
Smirking, I waggled my eyebrows. “Oh ho ho, you were an oops baby.”
“I was an oops baby,” Jace nodded. “Though my parents have never admitted that. I’ve never asked, either. Honestly, I try not to think about it.” He shuddered.
“I always wanted siblings. I pushed for two kids with my ex-husband so they could have one another. He finally agreed, which led to the indomitable Ryla’s existence here on earth. Looking back, having to convince my husband to have another child was a major red flag. You shouldn’t have to push your spouse into wanting kids with you.”
“May I ask what happened between . . . .”
“Me and their dad?” I asked softly. Besides Leah, I don’t think I’d told anyone else the story, preferring to keep things to myself. To my surprise, it continued to feel like a relief to share things about myself with Jace, rather than hold everything in, keeping all my secrets pent up inside myself.
“We were married for twelve years. I met him during medical school. He was a few years older than me and worked from home in IT. Looking back at that time in my life, meeting David, well, when you spend the formative years of your life living under judgment and expectation, anything by comparison feels like freedom. I hadn’t realized I’d moved from this cage,” I gestured to the house, “to a bigger one. I didn’t realize until after Ryla was born and he was gone most of the time running his yachting company that he’d been silently controlling me in the same way my father would. Not to the judge’s scale, but still. It was there.”
Jace’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Little things. Furrows of his brow or the silent treatment if I didn’t do things his way. If I’d say I was thinking of cutting my hair, he’d make a face. And I wanted to please him. He was the same with the kids. He had no idea how to handle Max’s anxiety, which started as separation anxiety in preschool. When I dropped him off for school, I’d have to pry his little fingers from my coat.” I paused, blinking against the moisture gathering in my eyes at the memory.
Gathering my composure, I shook my head and continued. “David was convinced it was a phase, arguing against evaluation as he felt it would label Max unfairly. When Max’s anxiety improved in the first grade, I thought David might be right. Over time, other anxious traits emerged that I ignored, never wanting to rock the boat with David. Max’s teachers never said anything about it because Max was smart and it didn’t affect his grades. It’s one of my biggest regrets to this day, not standing up for Max by pushing against David for an earlier evaluation. I mean, I know better! I’m a pediatrician, for Christ’s sake. I should have stood up for Max when he couldn’t stand up for himself. Maybe if I had, Max would have had the support in place that he needed during all the changes this past year.”
“How did your ex get a ong with Ryla?”
I snapped my head to Jace at his question. I’d been lost in thought as I spoke, almost feeling like I’d been talking out loud to myself.
Blinking, I replayed Jace’s question in my head and smirked. “Poorly. Ryla had a temper from birth and David had no idea how to handle her outbursts. He started the yachting company before she was two, in part, I think, because he wanted to get out of the house. In hindsight, it’s not surprising that he didn’t want to be a father anymore. I don’t know if he ever wanted to be one. But I was still floored when I read the line item in the divorce agreement where he requested relinquishment of all custody of the kids.”
Anger and bitterness bubbled up in me as the memory replayed in my head.
“I could never regret having Max and Ryla, but I’m angry with myself for choosing such a horrible father for them. And I’m angry at myself for being so deferent.”
“I can’t imagine you being deferent to anyone,” Jace mused.
I laughed humorously. “I was a different person then.”
