Nothing Feels Better (Better Love 3)

“Yeah, we are, kid,” Jesse says with a chuckle. “Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah,” Jude says, and June shrugs. “Sure.”

“So,” June continues slowly, “does this mean you’ll be coming back?”

I look at Jesse as he nods. “I’m going to come back to visit whenever I can. But I still have school in Boston, so I won’t be able to see you all the time.”

“So just for school breaks and stuff,” June clarifies.

“That’s right.”

“I also want you guys to know that we’re not trying to replace your father. Patrick is still your dad,” I add.

“That’s right. I’m going to be dating your mom because I care about her, just like I care about you two. But I know that Patrick is your dad.”

Jesse’s voice is clear and steady, and his grip on my hand is firm. I study his face as he speaks to the kids and marvel at the sincerity I see there. He does care about them, I know it, but I love hearing him say it.

“I’m not trying to replace him, okay?”

“Okay,” the kids say in unison. Jude is smiling, but June purses her lips and furrows her brow when she answers.

“Are you sure that’s alright, June?” I ask her, and she nods slowly.

“It’s just...” she pauses, then looks to Jesse. “We don’t care, you know, if you do. Replace him, I mean.”

I startle. Open my mouth to speak, then close it. I don’t really know how to respond to that. When I look at Jesse, he’s grinning.

“Thank you, Junie Pontoonie,” Jesse says. June rolls her eyes. “That’s nice to hear.”

“Okay, well, I’m going to go read,” June says suddenly. “I’m glad you’re boyfriend and girlfriend finally. I knew you were but now we can say it.”

I bark out a laugh and June smirks. Then she hops up and heads upstairs.

“I knew too,” Jude says. He’s wearing a big grin, and when I look at Jesse, he’s sporting a matching one.

* * *

The next fewmonths are both blissfully wonderful and heartbreakingly difficult.

Jesse and I text constantly and talk on the phone at least once, but usually more than once, a day. He stayed in town for the whole winter break, leaving only for a few days to visit his parents in Chesterton. He wanted me and the kids to meet his parents, but I said no. Not yet. I’m not ready. I could tell he was hurt by that, but we didn’t talk about it. We avoided any heavy topic and spent the break focusing only on things that made us smile. The pictures I took of him and the kids having a snowball fight have to be some of the best I’ve ever taken.

Jesse sent me flowers when I was hired as an RN at Indianapolis General Hospital, celebrated with me via FaceTime when I was awarded full custody of June and Jude, and listened patiently and lovingly as I worked through my confusing emotions when Patrick gave up his parental rights because he didn’t want to pay child support.

“I never want them to feel unwanted,” I told him through my tears, heartbroken for my children that their dad so willingly gave up on them. Full of guilt over not choosing a better man to have children with. “I don’t want them to look at this whole thing years later and wonder why they weren’t enough.”

I know those feelings too intimately. I know how painful they are.

“They’ll never feel unwanted, Classic,” he told me. “They’ve got a superhero of a mom who loves them unconditionally, and they have me. We’ll love them, and we’ll remind them every single day that they’re perfect. That they’re more than enough.”

I let his words wash over me, and I pretend he isn’t 950 miles away talking to me through a phone.

For spring break, the kids and I flew out to Boston. Jesse introduced us to his new friends and took us on a tour all around the city. When I told him it was my first time leaving the Midwest, he did everything in his power to make it a memorable first vacation for all of us. Jude fell in love with Jesse’s cat, Steve, and June declared that she wanted to go to Harvard Med to become a surgeon just like Jesse. After winning the FIFA Women’s World Cup, of course. The whole week was full of moments that filled my heart with happiness, but the goodbye at the airport effectively broke it in half.

Every time I see him, I want to hold on to him for a little longer. Every time, it’s harder to keep myself from begging him to stay. Every goodbye, every see you later, every ‘just one more kiss’ breaks something inside me, and I don’t know if it’s reparable.

Will these cracks heal once we are finally able to be together? Or will I continue to chip away until I inevitably shatter? Can I make it through three more years of this? Can I make it through this year? Can he?

Jesse tells me I’m it for him. He speaks of nothing but love and the future and our life together. But he’s still in Boston, and I’m still in Indiana, and I’ve never known of a love to survive both time and distance. I’ve never known of a love to survive anything, period.

But I’ll keep answering the phone with a smile each time he calls and welcoming him into my home with open arms when he visits, and I will keep pretending he’s not 950 miles away every time he whispers that he loves me over the phone.

I’ll close my eyes and imagine that he’s lying in bed beside me, and I’ll push through one more day of having him but not really having him. Because nothing feels better than Jesse Hernandez’s superpower, and if the alternative to this is never feeling it again, I’ll choose him every time.

* * *

“I miss you,”I whisper into the phone, my eyes drinking in every inch of his beautiful features.

“I miss you most.” His smile is sad.

“Tell me about classes.”

“I’ve already told you everything,” he says slowly, his voice tired. I can hear the weariness, and I know it’s not just because we’re pushing past midnight for the third day in a row. His eyes droop closed, but he still holds the phone propped up, so I can see him. So he can see me when he drags his eyes back open. “I study. I go to class. I study some more. I scold Steve for sleeping on my Js. That’s basically all I do.”

“Hmmm.”

“And I miss you. Constantly.” He yawns, making me yawn, and we both laugh softly. “Tell me about you and the kids.”

“I’ve already told you everything,” I repeat his words. “I work, I chauffer, I do laundry. Jude insists he’s a pirate. June talks about soccer. And we miss you. Constantly.”

“Sometimes, I imagine what it will be like when I’m done here and finally with you. I’ll dream about it and it’s always so real, but then I’ll try to touch you, kiss you, and suddenly, gravity tugs heavily and I can’t lift my arms or move my feet. When I call out for you, my voice won’t work.”

“That sounds terrible,” I say, my voice cracking. I don’t tell him I’ve had similar dreams, but I actually prefer the dreams where I can’t touch him to the ones where I can. At least the sad ones are easy to wake up from.

“It is terrible.” He hums. “Sometimes I also have dreams that I have a flesh-eating disease or one of those brain-eating bacteria that you can get from contaminated water.”

“Oh my god.” I giggle, then giggle some more, and his sleepy smile warms me up from the inside. I long to kiss him. “Those dreams sound worse.”

“They’re not,” he says, frown lines replacing the smile I was just admiring. “I’d take brain bacteria over never being able to touch you again. Every time.”

I sniff. Blink back tears.