Corbin
Jules will be here any minute. The lasagna will be done any minute, too. And if I don’t stop pacing, Tate is definitely going to call me out on it.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, reaching for my glass of red wine and taking a slow sip. “Just hoping the lasagna turns out okay.”
“I can’t wait to tell Mom we made the noodles from scratch!” Tate grins, fist-pumping the air.
I chuckle, ruffling his blond hair. “I think she’ll be very impressed, buddy.”
“She will be.” His voice drops to something almost reverent as he looks up at me, eyes wide with excitement. “I can’t believe she’s coming over for dinner. We’ll be together as a whole family.”
My chest tightens at his words. He says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like it’s the way things are supposed to be.
Because to him, maybe it is.
I stare down at his little face. The same blue eyes as mine, Jules’ nose and full cheeks. The perfect blend of us. The one thing we didn’t screw up. Even if we failed at everything else.
The doorbell rings, and Tate nearly jumps out of his skin.
“Dad! She’s here!”
He takes off before I can stop him, his excitement radiating through the house.
I take another sip of wine, bracing myself. This is going to be a long night. Especially since Jules and I haven’t really talked since Tate and I unknowingly crashed her first date.
Driving Tate to school Monday morning was painful. Awkward. I didn’t know what to say, or how to say it in a way that wouldn’t upset her.
I didn’t ask if that tattoo artist took her home. Or if they went back to her place. I don’t want to know.
Because no matter who it is, when Jules finally decides to give her heart to someone else, it’s going to break mine even more than I broke hers two years ago.
For once, I don’t know what to do with myself. Do I wait for her to come to me, or do I meet her in the entryway?
It’s a split-second decision, but I choose to go to her. I want her to feel welcome here. I want her to know that putting aside our differences—however big or small—for Tate means something to me. I want her to know that even when things are complicated, we can still show up for him. We can still be good parents.
“Hey,” I say as she hangs her coat on the rack.
Her curls tumble down her back as she glances at me, offering a tight, uneasy smile. “Hey.”
“Guess what we made?” Tate nearly vibrates with excitement. “You’ll never guess.”
Jules presses her lips together, playing along. “Smells like... sauce.”
“You’re close!” Tate bounces on his toes, eyes alight with joy. “Try again.”
“Spaghetti?” she guesses.
Tate shakes his head, giggling. “Nope.”
“Baked ziti?”
“So close!” Tate grins. “I’ll give you a hint.”
Jules kneels so they’re eye level. “Alright, what’s the hint?”
Tate looks to me for help, then squares his shoulders, proud. “Ra-caught.”
