When I come back to the bedroom and find that he hasn’t texted me back, I wonder if I came on too strong.
Then, after closing the curtains, flipping on the lamp, and sliding into bed, I see a text from him.
Jake:Me, too.
Jake:Image
Jake:Is this too much?
I tap on it, and an image loads of him holding three stuffies — one pink, one blue, one green. For too long, I stare at the picture, zoom in on his face, bite my lip and try to keep from smiling too hard.
Finally, I text him back.
Lara:No, I think it’s perfect.
“Areyou sure Aster is going to be okay after swallowing so much lake water?” Jake whispers when I back out of the triplets’ room. Sometimes, when I put them to sleep, I feel like a bomb squad technician hoping I haven’t cut the wrong wire and one of them isn’t going to come crying to the door, asking why I left.
They had a blast at the lake today, swimming and jumping around, asking Jake to throw them into the water. Obviously, I know that he’s grown in the past five years, but watching him pick them up and throw them around so easily did something to my heart.
Once they turned four, it got harder and harder for me to pick them up one at a time, let alone how Jake did, with one on each arm, walking around in the water like it was nothing. It lit something up in my chest to know that there would be someone who could keep carrying my babies for me when I no longer could.
When I turn around and face Jake, it takes me a second to register what he’s asked and the concerned look on his face, and then I laugh. “Yeah, he’ll be just fine. Trust me, Aster has eaten worse.”
“Hmm,” Jake makes a noncommittal sound, and I practically see him making a mental note to Google whether Aster is going to get a parasite later. But Aster has been to the lake plenty of times, and after the first time the pediatrician told me that unless he presents with symptoms, it’s not worth worrying about every little thing that might hurt him.
We’re in my apartment, the lights turned low. When I went into the triplets’ bedroom, the sun was low in the sky. I’d asked Jake if he wanted to come in with me, but he said no, and I could tell he wasn’t comfortable, not sure if he belonged and if they would be comfortable with him there.
It broke my heart.
But now the sun is fully set, the street below dark and quiet, besides the occasionalmeowof a hungry cat asking for more food.
“I set a bowl out,” I say when I catch Jake looking over his shoulder and out into the road. They’re not even my cats, but I feel the need to defend myself and make sure he knows I’m not starving them.
He turns to face me, and he’s so cute that it makes my heart catch in my throat.
“It’s cute,” I say, running my hand through my wet hair and dropping down onto the couch beside him, pulling my knee up to face him.
“What’s cute?”
“Just… seeing you in this phase. Thinking they’re so fragile.”
Jake laughs, and I watch as his cheeks turn pink. “Lara, no, I’m not?—”
Leaning forward, I give into the urge and touch my fingers to his jaw, watching the words die in his throat at the connection. I drag my gaze over his face, lingering on each part — nose, cheeks, dimples, stubble.
His gaze drops down to my thighs, where the hem of my shorts sits on my legs, and I see him adjust in his seat. The thought of it — of him getting hard just looking at me — it makes my core heat, but there’s nothing we can do about it now.
“It’s cute,” I repeat, to keep myself from doing something I might regret. The last thing I need is for one of the triplets to walk out here while Jake and I are in the middle of making out. “I like seeing how much you care about them.”
“Of course, I care about them,” he says, his voice hoarse. I can feel the vibration of his words through the place where my fingertips rest against his stubble. “If I’m being honest, I loved them the moment I saw them in your parents’ backyard. Maybe even when you showed me the photos.”
I want to climb in his lap.
“I want to climb in your lap so bad right now,” I whisper, and his eyes go wide, gaze darting to the triplet’s bedroom door. “I won’t,” I clarify, biting my lip. “But I want to. I thought you should know.”
He shifts again, laughing under his breath, “Thanks for that.”
I pour each of us a glass of wine, and, like we have for the duration of our relationship, we fall into easy conversation. We talk about how Chrys had wanted to sit on the beach while Daffy and Aster were total water bugs. We talk about my parents and the whispered praises of Jake they’d given me after he left.
