I shake my head. “This wasn’t about me.” I lean back, my anxiety churning.
“No, but we’re doing it anyway.” Jason reaches forward, cupping the back of my neck, bringing my forehead to his. “Say you’re a good mom.”
I shake my head. The insecurity is burning a hole in my chest. “We’re more similar than we think, you and me,” I tell him instead.
“Sunshine,” Jason uses that name again, his eyes no longer wet with tears, but glistening with a new determination. “Say it. I did. It’s your turn.”
“I’m a good mom.” Like his first try, it’s half-hearted. I shake my head right away, knowing it’s not good enough. “I’m a good mom,” I repeat, this time, slowly believing in myself. Believing him. Believing the words I made him say was one thing, but saying them about myself? It’s hard. But I know it’s true.
My daughter is happy. She is healthy. I am doing everything in my power to keep it that way. I should be reinforcing the boundary I’ve worked so hard to build between us, yet here I am, ready to use a sledgehammer to knock it down. I’m sick of fighting whatever this is. I’m so sick of it, so sick of trying to keep myself from him. It’s making things harder in the long run. Why can’t I be a good mom and alsodo something for myself? Why can’t I be a good momandhave a partner?
The fear is still there. Presley had a father figure in her life, and he walked away without a second glance. What if it happens again? Will she be able to cope with it a second time? Can I open myself up to this and let the fear take a backseat? Can I risk both mine and my daughter’s hearts for this?
“Fuck yeah, you are,” Jason states, and he’s shifting, cupping my face in his hands.
“Daddy?” A small voice calls from the living room.
“Coming!” he calls, but doesn’t move. He holds me still, eyes locked on mine. Jase presses a long, lingering kiss to my lips, holding me close. Against my lips, he whispers, “I will make this up to you.”
I nod against his forehead, wishing I could stay in his arms longer. Jason grabs his tiara and his necklace from the counter and heads into the living room, sitting down next to the squealing girls.
27
JASON
Once the many games of “Princess Pretty”, or whatever it’s called, is through, I risk a glance at Fallon. She’s sitting on the couch behind us, chiming in and laughing at the girls as we play. I noticed her watching me a few times with a small smile on her face every time I earned another piece of jewelry. I wore each piece with pride. My phone says it’s nearly six o’clock, and Lennie has started to complain about being hungry.
“Should we get home and make supper?” I ask Lennie, and of course, she frowns.
“No, Daddy,” she pleads. “Can we please stay? I want to stay.”
I shake my head. “Sweetie, we should go, we don’t want to overstay our welcome.”
“Actually,” Fallon interjects from the couch. “I already ordered pizza. It should be here soon. I figured we could have a movie night.”
“Really?” I ask, honestly a little surprised. After I spilled everything about Talia, I figured maybe Fallonwould want some time by herself to process. It’s a lot. I know that.
“Yeah.” Her cheeks pinken. Her hair is dry now, and she’s braided it while we played, so it’s laying on one side of her neck. The same way it was when I fucked her in the wine cellar. “It should be here in about fifteen minutes.”
The girls cheer in excitement. “Alright girls, can you please clean up the game and go wash up for supper?”
They agree, and start pulling off the plastic jewelry. “Presley, make sure you hang up your dresses in your closet nicely,” Fallon directs.
I stand from the floor, stretching out my body, ignoring the ache in my back. Fallon heads into the kitchen, and I follow behind her like a lost puppy. She grabs paper plates from one of the cabinets, and a few glasses for her and I, and plastic cups for Lennie and Presley. She sets them on the counter, and I stand behind awkwardly.
“Can I help with anything?” I ask.
Fallon jumps, clutching her hand to her heart. Her chest heaves as she catches her breath, and I do my best not to notice the way her breasts rise and fall with each inhale. I fail.
“Sorry,” I state, waving at her. “I should have announced my presence or something.”
She chuckles. “It’s okay. Um, can you bring these to the kitchen table, and I’ll grab the juice and some fruit?”
“Sure,” I say, grabbing the plates and cups from her. I set them out on the table, and there’s a knock on the door. “I’ll get it,” I call, and head to the door. I grab the pizza boxes from the teenage kid and give him a cash tip from my wallet, and head back into the house, setting the boxes in the middle of the table.
“Come and eat,” I call, and footsteps rush down the hall as the two young girls clamor to get to the table.
We eat, the girls talking non-stop about our day, and what they want to do on their next play date. All the while, I’m stealing glances across the table at Fallon. She’s invested in the children’s’ conversations, offering interjections every so often. I note the hint of sadness in her eyes, and her avoidance of my gaze. Did I ruin this? Did I take something that hadn’t even had the chance to start and taint it with my past trauma? I didn't want a relationship, not with her, nor anyone, and yet, here I am, stressed about ruining the possibility of something with her.
