Her All Along

I chuckled and took a swig of my own Coke. “The other day, I got a headache from reading Grace a bedtime story. I figured if that was painful, I don’t wanna know how it’ll be when I get back to work and have to grade tests in font size twelve.”

“Good call.” She turned the stroller so she could see Grace.

Sensing that the aquarium visit had drained her of energy—probably combined with the worries of leaving—I slid closer and put my arm around her.

She exhaled and rested her head on me.

I pressed my lips to her hair, lingering. “Pipsqueak, why didn’t I get a full day with you?”

“Dammit,” she whispered. “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask.” She picked at the label on her bottle. “Can I tell you when we get home? I don’t want to do it here.”

“Of course.” Now I was suddenly worried I didn’t want to know.

If cutting me out from her family days was a way to let me down gently or part ways gradually, she was doing a horrible job at it.

Fuck.

All this wasn’t some last hurrah, was it? A collection of memories to bring with her when she started her new life in California? No, that wasn’t like her. I couldn’t believe that.

Twenty-Three

When Elise asked to put Grace down for the night, I should’ve known she was going to stall upstairs.

It was past ten, and Grace hadn’t slept one bit on the way home. She was sleepy as hell, so it shouldn’t take more than ten minutes to change her diaper, get her into her pajamas, and put her down.

I grabbed a beer in the kitchen and then trailed out to the patio in the back, and I walked straight past the chairs, opting to sit down on the edge of the deck.

How many times had I sat here in the early hours of the day and spotted Pipsqueak jogging across the playground to join me?

Before I’d repaired the deck, before the new patio furniture, before the retractable awning, before the grill, before Grace, before we lost Jake.

Just her and me.

“What’s it like to be normal?”

“What’s it like being you?” I took a sip of my coffee and refolded the paper. My quiet morning on the deck took a hike whenever Pipsqueak joined me.

She glanced up at me with a scrunched nose, all summer freckles, sleep lines on her cheeks, and messy pigtails. “I asked you first. You’re a teacher. You’re supposed to answer and teach.”

I snorted and rested my elbows on my knees. The sun was about to come up. Soon, the dew covering the grass and bushes would glisten with the first rays of sunshine.

“If a teacher never asked questions, there’d be no quizzes,” I pointed out.

“That would be cool.”

“I’m going somewhere with my question,” I said patiently.

She whipped her head to the left, then the right. “Where?”

I smirked briefly at her way of taking things literally. “Just answer, you nut. Or I’ll tell your parents you left the house in your PJs again.”

She huffed. “Fine. It’s weird being me, okay? I don’t understand humans, and they don’t understand me.”

I nodded. “Most people go through that. Screw what’s normal, Pipsqueak. Don’t worry about others. You do you.”

“You could’ve just said that…”

I took a swig of my beer and smiled faintly to myself. The grass felt damp under my bare feet, and rain hung in the air. Pipsqueak loved the rain. She was one of the reasons I’d installed the roof over my patio, so she could sit out here and listen to the pitter-patter and Grace could crawl around without getting wet.

Elise had been an integral part of my life long before I’d realized it and started showing my appreciation for her. It was kind of what she did. She snuck up on you, and once you found yourself in her inner circle, it was impossible not to love her. Because she did everything in her power to make those people happy.

I’d never struggled to understand her, though. If anything, when the world had been a dark place of cheaters and liars, she’d lit up my existence with honesty and curiosity. I’d listened, I’d asked questions, I’d paid attention, and I’d earned her trust. Most people were fleeting passersby, and maybe they weren’t supposed to understand her. Maybe Pipsqueak wasn’t meant to understand them either. But some were there, year after year, and I had to hold that spot in her life.

I couldn’t be fleeting for her, because I knew now that she was eternal for me.

For the longest time, I’d thought that was bullshit. I’d had Finn when I was a kid. What we’d suffered through had brought us together in more ways than brotherhood. I’d sure as hell never felt anything remotely similar for my ex-wife, or any other for that matter. Until Pipsqueak nestled her way under my skin and straight into my heart.