Bear:Can I text you again tonight?
It hits me that we've been texting long enough, he knows a good bit of my schedule, and I know a bit of his.
Yet I don't even hesitate.
Me:Please do.
When I pull up in front of the school, Emma is already waiting with her teacher. She climbs into the car, her backpack bumping against the door, and her curls wild from recess.
"You're smiley today," she observes, narrowing her eyes at me. "Is it because of a boy?"
I choke on a laugh. "Excuse me?"
She grins like she's caught me red-handed. "You always smile like that when you text. Is it Bear?"
I blink. "How do you know his name?"
She shrugs. "You said it once. When you thought I wasn't listening."
I shake my head, amused and mildly horrified. "You are way too observant."
"So? Is he nice?"
I pause, then nod. "Yeah. He's... nice."
"Are you gonna marry him?"
"Emma!"
She giggles and kicks her legs as we pull out of the lot. "I think you should. But first, you should get your hair done. You always say you feel fancier after a salon day. Boys like fancy hair, right?"
I bite back another laugh. "I don't think Bear is the fancy hair type, sweetheart."
"Well, then just wear your sparkly earrings and smile more. Boys like that, too."
I glance at her in the rearview mirror. "You're giving me a lot of advice for someone who still thinks macaroni and cheese counts as a food group."
"Mac and cheese is a food group," she says proudly. "And I give good advice. Just saying."
As I watch her kicking her legs in the back seat, face glowing from a day full of recess, snacks, and stories, it hits me all over again how much her happiness means to me. Every choice I make comes back to her. Every risk, every hesitation. And that's what makes this whole thing with Bear feel so dangerous. If I fall for someone, it's not just my heart on the line anymore. It's hers too.
She laughs as she tells me about her day, swinging her legs as we drive. But the truth is, her question lingers longer than it should.
Later that night, after Emma's asleep and the house is quiet, I lie in bed with the glow of my phone lighting up the darkness. My finger hovers over the keyboard. I almost type: "What's your real name?" I even finished the message. But I stare at it too long, heart thumping, and eventually, I hit backspace until the words are gone.
Instead, I send:
Me:Can't sleep. You up?
Bear:Always. Thinking about you.
Me:Oh yeah? What about me exactly?
Bear:Wondering about your voice, your smile, that cat-shaped stapler.
Me:You barely know me.
Bear:I know enough to know I want more.