Southern Heartbreaker (Charleston Heat 4)

He adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “Oh yeah. Best job ever. Also the most difficult. Especially when you’re doing it on your own.”

“My hat goes off to single parents,” I reply. “I honestly don’t know how y’all do it.”

“I do it with help. Lots and lots of help. Some days it works, some days it blows up in your face. Either way, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. To see her grow up, to see her little personality developing—Eva, it’s the coolest thing.”

For a second, I just look at him. Thoughts shifting. Swirling. I’m not sure of much when it comes to Ford.

One thing I am sure of? It’s obvious he doesn’t feel trapped or smothered by parenthood.

He feels fulfilled by it.

Exhausted? Absolutely. On Friday he talked a lot about just how much energy, physical and mental, it takes to perform the juggle on a daily basis. But it’s clear he’s also deeply, genuinely fulfilled.

Granted, he’s a man, and as much as I wish our society were truly egalitarian when it comes to parenthood, standards are very different when it comes to men and women. Men get a pat on the back just for showing up. But much more is expected of women.

It’s a horribly unfair, horribly sexist double standard. But it exists, and it’s no wonder women like my mom often have to give up dreams and jobs and friends and hobbies to make motherhood work.

One of the many reasons why becoming a parent myself terrifies me. I can’t help but feel like I’d just be setting myself up for failure. Failure as a pit master, author, and a human being in general.

Why would anyone in their right mind sign up for that?

But then there’s Ford. Yes, he’s a man, but he’s also performing the dual roles of mom and dad. He has help, but he doesn’t have a partner to pick up the mental load. He’s doing it all himself, and while it’s not easy, it hasn’t killed his dreams.

I hear that voice again. The one I heard when I was chatting with Eliza and Monty, Ford’s parents.

See? There are a million ways to do parenthood.

There are ways to be a mom and keep your freedom.

Ford is here right now, isn’t he? Breeze from the open sunroof ruffling his hair. Wide open afternoon ahead of him.

Then again, he did say afternoons like this are rare. On Friday, didn’t he keep telling me how much he needed a night out? That he never did stuff like that for himself, just because he wanted to?

And even if that weren’t true, if I don’t want kids, I don’t need to justify it. It’s not something I have to fix about myself, or work on. It’s just who I am.

But if it’s coming from a place of fear rather than certainty—fear that I’ll lose my sense of self, the things that matter most to me—does that mean I should examine it?

I don’t know.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Ford says, glancing at me. “Does it make you uncomfortable when I talk about my daughter?”

“No,” I say, a little too quickly. “I think it’s cute when you talk about her. You light up.”

“But?”

“What makes you think there’s a ‘but’ in there?”

His lips twitch. “You like butts. Seriously, though. I know when your wheels are turning. Talk.”

“Nothing.” I turn my head to look out the window. “I like kids. Yours is really, really cute. But I don’t want them myself. Kids, I mean.”

“Really?” He seems genuinely surprised. “Back in college, I remember you saying you’d consider having them.”

“I changed my mind.” I shake my head. “It was easy to say that when it was all theoretical, you know? I think I wanted kids in a ‘maybe someday’ kind of way. But now that I’m staring down the barrel of that particular gun, I have to say the kid thing doesn’t hold much appeal. It kind of terrifies me, actually.”

A beat of silence passes between us. I don’t want to read too much into it. But why do I get the sense that Ford is a little…ruffled by this admission? Disappointed, even?

“That’s fair,” Ford says at last, adjusting his grip on the wheel. “And changing your mind about something so huge is valid. Kids are a big commitment, that’s for damn sure. You can’t exactly give them back.”

I laugh, my heart clenching. He may be disappointed, but he isn’t judging me. Isn’t trying to change my mind.

I could hug him for it.

“My life isn’t perfect, and I am struggling, obviously, with my next book. But for the most part, I like doing my own thing. I like my career and being independent. Doing what I want, when I want. I’m busy making my dreams come true. And I don’t want to have to give that up.”