(Find previous chapters and a description of the project here.)

It is 5:12. She has been home for exactly 13 minutes. She stares at the message she has typed. It is waiting, ready to send. I’m home. Come over whenever. She has stared at the words for what seems like an hour. Logically, she knows that he must be feeling a swirl of emotions too. Why wouldn’t he? His life is about to change. But this departure from their regular routine makes her sweat. Her boys will ask questions, and she won’t lie to them. Brett will figure it out. He watches her closely.

               She hits send, and waits for the three dots before his reply to appear. She watches them fade in and out, anticipating his words. Give me about 20 mins. She sets the phone down and stares into nothing, clears her mind of all the worries running through it. Her vision becomes unfocused. She listens to the sound of her own heart in her ears, wondering if that’s what the baby inside her hears. She closes her eyes, taking short shallow breaths and blowing them away from her, long and slow. Her body relaxes, the tension flowing out of her shoulders and her face. She is tired. If she’s already this tired, how tired will she be with an infant in the house? She lets the thought pass without reacting to it. She focuses on her breathing. Short and shallow, long and slow.   

               “Mom?” Brett asks.

               She is startled back to her surroundings by his interruption. “What?” she asks, trying to keep the irritation from her tone.

               Brett eyes her warily, then sits down at the table across from her. “Something isn’t right,” he says. He looks as if he’s daring her to tell him a lie. That look he wears is all Alan.

               “What do you mean?” she asks, though she has a suspicion that he will see through her games.

               “You aren’t acting normal,” he explains. “You’re like…it’s like when dad first died,” her son says softly. “You’re here, but you’re not here.”

               He is observant for a ten year old. “I’m fine, Brett. I’m just a little worried at the moment.”

               “Why?” he asks.

               She thought this would be enough to satisfy him, but she can see he needs something more concrete. “Have you ever done something that you know you probably shouldn’t?” He nods imperceptibly. “Well, sometimes, adults do that too.”

               “What did you do?” he asks. His determination has worn away and now he looks concerned.

               She shakes her head, not having the words or the emotional energy to tell him. She’s already told one person today. She can’t do it again. “I’ll tell you when I have the right words.”

               This satisfies him. After Alan died, they spent a lot of time talking about their feelings, and lots of times that involved admitting they didn’t have the right words to express their anger and grief. Brett nods slightly. “When you have the right words, you can tell me.”

               She closes her eyes for a moment, feeling tears forming. She sometimes wishes that Brett did not act this grown. He only does because of what he’s endured. “Thanks, buddy,” she says. She opens her arms, and he is rising from the table, and coming around to where she sits, hugging her. She squeezes him tight against her body. He lays his head on her shoulder for a moment, then pulls away and looks into her eyes. “Can we get Dairy Queen for dinner?”

               She laughs at the impulsiveness of the request. “Sure, bud. Why don’t you go play outside for a bit?”

               “Can’t I play my game instead?” he asks.

               “No! No more screen time today. You had it for 2 hours this afternoon,” she fusses. “Plus, it’s nice outside. Go enjoy it.”

               He moves off without comment. She glances at the clock again. It is 5:27. She wonders if Give me 20 mins meant he’d be here in 20 minutes, or if he would leave his house in 20 minutes. She lets that thought roll right through her, before it can agitate her. She is not patient. She hates waiting.

               She moves to the sink and begins to place the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. There is a pan on the stove from yesterday’s dinner that she hasn’t washed. She moves it to the sink, turns on the water and add soap to the pan. She glances out the window. Brett and Finn bounce on the trampoline. She can hear their indistinct exclamations. She wonders, again, if she’ll have another boy. Alan would have wanted a girl, if they’d had a third.

               She wipes away the tears that are suddenly running down her face. The water has filled the pan and is spilling over the sides. She turns off the faucet. She scrubs the pan, letting the tears fall as they will. She rinses the pan and dries her hands, trying not to think about Alan.

               She moves through the kitchen to the living room, then into the foyer. She opens the front door, letting the afternoon sun stream into the house. She presses her face against the glass of the storm door, soaking in the rays of the sun. Her breath fogs the glass. She traces a finger through it, drawing an infinity symbol. She’s not sure what made her do that. She considers it. It’s like two rings joined together, like the rings on the banners the church uses for weddings. She bites her lip, then turns from the door. She moves to the couch.

               She hears the storm door open. “Hello?” Jesse calls as he enters.

               “Hey,” she says, standing and moving towards him. He is walking towards her determinedly and before she can say anything else, he has her in his arms and he is kissing her. She resists for a moment, somewhat shocked, before she melts against him. She wraps her arms around his neck and he pulls her closer to him, his hands on her hips. His mouth leaves hers and he touches her hair, plants a kiss on her neck before he whispers into her skin, “I love you, Rebecca.”

               It feels like the first time she has heard this from him, even though it’s not. She soars, the words carrying her spirits upwards. “Jesse,” she says softly, longingly. “I love you.” She clutches him tighter, the warmth of his breath on her neck making her sweat. “How do we make this work?”

               He has no reply. He kisses her again, almost desperately. She tries to still him, to disentangle herself from his hungry grasping. “Jesse,” she says, breaking from him with effort, “Jesse, the boys…” she attempts to explain.

               He pulls away from her, but cups her face with his palm. “Sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t seem sorry at all. She presses her forehead against his, closing her eyes. “I didn’t want to wait until Tuesday. It’s been long enough.”

               She sinks into him. As his arms come around her tighter, she sighs with contentment, with relief, with fear. She can endure whatever fallout will come her way. She is much more afraid of what will happen to him. “I hate hiding,” she admits. This is not the first time she has said this.

               “We’re not going to hide anymore,” he says. “I don’t care what anyone thinks.”

               She presses her lips together. “You’re not afraid of the consequences?”

               She hears his soft chuckle. “There are already consequences no matter what we do.”

               She lifts her head, staring into his eyes. They are a soft brown, and one of them has a slash of green. “Are you sure about this?” she asks, dancing around the question she really wants to ask him.

               He nods, then leans forward, kissing her again.

               “Mom?” Finn asks.

Suddenly, his hands and his lips are gone, and she is whirling towards her son, who stands in the threshold of the dining room with his brother. The boys both look confused. She acts as if they’ve seen nothing out of the ordinary. “Are you hungry? Should we go to Dairy Queen now?” she asks.

               “Were you kissing?!” Finn asks, sounding almost offended.

               She stares at Finn, her mouth unable to form the word ‘yes.’ The answer is lodged in her throat, choking her.

               Unsurprisingly, Brett comes to her rescue. “I’d like to go to Dairy Queen now,” he says.

               She spins around, looking at Jesse with what she hopes is an inviting smile. “Come with us,” she says.

               Jesse nods. She can see he is flustered. “I’d love to,” he says. He looks past her to the boys. “I’ll buy the ice cream.”

               They pile into the car. They drive in near silence, Jesse riding in the passenger seat and the boys staring out their separate windows. They pull into the restaurant parking lot and she picks a spot near the door. She orders a chicken strip basket and eats the French fries first. The boys scarf down hotdogs, and afterwards Jesse takes them to the counter to buy their dessert. When they return, he slides a Reese’s Pieces blizzard across the table towards her. She is running her last bite of chicken around the sides of the tub of gravy, but pauses to smile to at him. He sits next to her, and she feels his hand on her knee.

               The boys chatter on the way home, but she is silent. She looks at the clock as they pull into the driveway. It is 6:43. There is still at least two hours of daylight left. The boys run into the house, leaving her and Jesse standing in the driveway. She reaches for his hand. “We can sit outside for a bit, if you want,” she suggests.

               They walk around the back of the house, and settle themselves on the patio furniture. She leans her head on his shoulder. They are quiet. She watches a bird dive from a tree to the grass, then watches it hop around the yard, pecking at the dirt. Jesse clears his throat but doesn’t speak.

               “I told Anna about you,” she says. She expects him to protest, but he says nothing. “I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.”

               “I understand,” he says warmly. “I’ve wanted to tell people too.”

               “She says we should just get married,” she says, almost laughing. Jesse doesn’t laugh. She lifts her head from his shoulder, considers him. “What are you thinking about?”

               “I’d have to get you a ring,” he says.

               “I have a ring,” she answers. “I don’t need another one.”

               “You’d want to wear your old wedding bands?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

               She considers it. How would she feel seeing Alan’s ring on Jesse’s hand? “It doesn’t bother me,” she decides aloud. “Would it bother you?”

               He shrugs. “We’d have to do it quickly,” he says, his eyes sliding downwards towards her belly.

               She already feels enormous, but she thinks it must be the French fries. “Anna said her sister could help.”

               “What else did you talk to Anna about?” he asks, smiling at her.

               “The baby,” she explains, not wanting to hide anything from him.

               Jesse’s eyes don’t leave hers. She feels the pull of him, even though this feels like a betrayal. This is another decision that will alienate her. If they marry, it won’t solve any of their problems. It honestly could make them worse.

“Is that what you want?” he asks slowly.

               “Yes,” she whispers. “I don’t want to do this alone.” She can’t keep her hand from sliding across her stomach. She has the urge to unbutton her jeans. Everything feels too tight.

He nods slowly. “Who do you want at this wedding?”

               She chews her lip, thinking. “Family,” she answers. “Anna. Maybe Martha.”

               Jesse raises an eyebrow again. “Martha?”

               She winces. She is only friends with Martha because she has always been friends with Martha. “I can’t not invite her.”

               He nods. “Your family, my family, Anna, and Martha,” he says. “That should be enough.”

               “You don’t want to invite your friends?” she asks.

               He smiles warmly. He seems glad to have been offered this. “I’ll invite David but I’m not sure he’ll come.”

               David is Jesse’s best friend, but he lives in Vermont. “Maybe he will,” she says. “I don’t know how soon Anna’s sister can plan…”

               “Next weekend,” he interrupts her.

               “Next weekend?” she squeaks. “You meant, this coming weekend? 6 days from now?”

               “Why not?” he asks.

               She has no good reason why not. It seems as good a day as any. She is already beginning to show. She can’t decide if this route is more scandalous than not getting married. “Okay then. Saturday. 4 o’clock. Here at the house.” He nods and she is relieved and terrified by his calm. She is a whirlpool of emotions, but he is a glass-smooth sea. “I’ll order a cake tomorrow, I guess” she says, as she nestles her head back against his shoulder.

               They are quiet. The evening is warm. She closes her eyes for a moment, enjoying the stillness.

               “Rebecca,” Jesse says, interrupting the emptiness. “You were never going to be alone.” He pauses. “You know that, right?”

               She bites her lip, wanting to reply, but not having the words. “I know,” she offers. He presses a kiss against her temple, and she leans into him, emptying herself—for a moment—of worry.