I close my eyes in his arms, falling backward until I land somewhere around the wordfuck. Jake so rarely swears—getting himto do it in the heat of the moment was a fucking treat—and his choice to do it now makes me pay closer attention. And honestly, I haven’t been with many people who cared to read between anything, so it means I'll have to try harder to get this right.
Trying isn’t really my thing, but it feels like it should be.
“My father contacted me. Sort of.” I take my own deep breath when I feel his against my back. “He left a comment on one of my Trailhead videos—one of the same ones Lucy found while you were at dinner. And he said he wants to talk about the bar.”
“The same father you told me has never been a part of your life since he sent a birthday card 20something years ago?”
“That’s the guy.”
“But you haven’t talked to him yet?” Jake asks.
“No, he said he’d DM me, which just—it feels shitty in some specific way, on top of the general shittiness of it all.”
Jake nods, and his short beard brushes my temple. “Because now you can act nonchalant—like maybe you didn’t see the comment at all—and hold on to all that tension while you wait for the other shoe to drop. Or you can DM him first, but then you take the chance that he’ll see it as an eagerness to connect, and you don’t want that either.”
“The past two days have been awful,” I say. “I spent most of last night staring at the stupid fucking barn doors, like I’d even recognize him if he came in for a drink.”
“Right,” Jake hums. “Because you didn’t go looking for every picture you could find after you read his comment?”
He’s wrong, actually, but I’m not surprised by the assumptionwhen it’s one I would’ve made in his shoes. I’m online plenty, and I spiral all the time, so it makes sense that I’d see my father’s comment and spend hours scouring every social media profile he has. In fact, if I were Jake, I’d figure I’d already spent years tracking the man, if only to find the reason he didn’t want me.
I’ve thought about it a lot. Poked around just a little.
But I’ve built a life around distances designed to keep me from feeling the empty ache I was born with. I’ve never met my father, but I’m just like him, careful to leave before I believe anyone can miss me. Beau’s been the only person I’ve let close enough to break that rule, and that did enough damage to both of us. I’m too much of a coward to chase a love I’ve never known.
I wasn’t enough for Drew Barrett once. I’m not sure I could handle that being true twice.
“I saw the tiny version of his profile pic, but didn’t get any further than that. I burned a birthday card once upon a time, and I don’t think I need to go looking for the ashes.”
"Those ashes haven't existed for a while," Jake says.
"For me, maybe not. But that birthday card was never the same again." It’s an ugly way to explain any of what I'm feeling, and as has been true most of tonight, Jake deserves better. I have nothing left though, and I do the most innocently dishonest thing I can think of, quietly shifting the topic back to him. “How old were you when Michelle had Lucy?”
“23.”
“Older than my mom was, but that still seems kinda young, yeah?”
“Itfeltvery young,” Jake chuckles. “But we got married when we were 19, which I can’t even fathom now, and as soon as we finished undergrad, our very Catholic families wanted their very Catholic kids to have kids of their own.”
“Did the two of you want kids?” I ask.
He takes a few seconds to respond, and I wonder if he’d rather go home than lie on my couch and talk about the past. It’s been a long weekend for him, and he’s already done everything I’ve asked. Staying now, and basically cuddling on my fucking couch, is a choice he doesn’t have to make, but he doesn’t change his mind.
“In hindsight, I know we did. At the time, we didn’t think about it that much—it was the next step. But the only thing we would’ve changed would’ve been figuring out the rest of school and career stuff first. Michelle took a break for a few years before going back for her master's, while I kept at it. It worked out better than I could’ve imagined, but nothing was perfect.”
“Why—” I cut myself just as quickly as I’ve begun because it’s none of my business, and I have self-control now and then.
Jake nudges me. “Go ahead. It’s fine.”
I squeeze his hand. “Why didn’t you have any more kids? Not that—obviously I don’t think anyone has to have any kids, and I’m sure Lucy meant the world to you from day one. Perfect or not, you had Michelle and your baby girl, but I’m sure your families had something to say.”
He’d encouraged me to continue, but Jake tenses somewhere in the middle of everything I’ve said, and I feel him force himselfto relax. I’m close to turning around and kissing him to reassure something I don’t understand, but I can’t decide whether it’ll make anything better or worse. In the end, I lift his hand to my mouth and brush my lips against it, too soft for friendship and too quiet for the guy he’s known me to be.
He hums, the noise small and comforting as it fades into his answer.
“They did, but I think having a kid helped us prioritize things. We juggled work and school and parenthood, but didn’t start trying for another baby for a while. Then when we finally tried, it didn’t work, and it was always the three of us—until it wasn’t.”
I do turn in his arms then, because that has to be better than asking about his dead wife, no matter how much he’s been willing to tell me about her. He’s ready for me, his mouth open, and everything is easier when I’m not using him to clear my head. And as much as I’d do this all night, it was never part of the plan.