For Lucy

“Well, then you need to rethink.” I shut the door and head to the kitchen, opening the fridge to survey my options for dinner.

“I can’t believe you think Lucy is acting like what you were at seventeen. Just because you clearly had sex on the brain doesn’t mean she does. I was embarrassed for her. I would have died had my dad offered me a condom. And it’s like you were giving her your blessing. That makes no sense. Don’t you feel any sense of protectiveness toward her?”

Pulling out leftover chicken, I shut the fridge door and grin. “I’m pretty sure offering her the condom was a protective measure.” I grin.

“It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” I retrieve a plate and slap two pieces of bread on it.

“Why do you have condoms to offer her anyway? Are you dating again?”

I pull pieces of chicken off the bone and put them on my bread. Why does her question give me such pleasure? Why does she care?

“I don’t think dating is a prerequisite to using a condom.”

“Jesus … so you’re just having random sex with women? Does Lucy know? God … I hope you don’t bring them here.”

“So … how are the wedding plans coming along?” I put the rest of the chicken in the fridge and grab the barbecue sauce.

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Yes, from my sex life to yours.”

“So you do have a sex life?”

I glance over my shoulder at her. “I think you can kiss me, hump my leg, and ask about my sex life … or you can marry Josh. But you can’t do all four. So what’s it going to be?”

She winces at the humping my leg statement. “Lucy is standing up with me. We’re getting fitted for dresses on Saturday.”

“Sounds lovely. I’m so happy for you.” I shake some barbecue sauce out of the bottle then screw the cap back onto it.

“Are you really?”

Taking a bite of my sandwich, I nod and chew. “Your happiness is mine,” I mumble.

“Don’t say that, Emmett. I know you don’t mean it.”

“Why can’t I mean it?”

“Because I know you still have feelings for me.”

“And you still have feelings for me, but you’re marrying Josh anyway. So why can’t I have feelings for you but still want you to be happy?”

She bites the inside of her cheek.

“Unless you’re not really happy.”

She scoffs and turns, gazing out the front window. “I’ve lost two children, and I nearly lost Lucy. I’m not sure happiness is the right word. I’m moving on, searching for something resembling joy in my life.”

“So Josh isn’t your happily ever after? He’s just a bit of joy? That’s sad, Tatum. Why marry a guy unless he makes you deliriously happy? Why marry a guy unless he ignites passion?”

“What makes you think Josh and I don’t have passion? You’ve said this more than once.” She turns back toward me.

Taking another bite, I shrug. “Just an educated guess,” I mumble.

“You know what your problem is? You think you’re the only man for me. You’ve always had this arrogance about you from our very first date.”

“I’m quite aware that I’m not the one for you. Maybe I was never the one for you.”

She flinches. “That’s …” She shakes her head. “That’s not what I meant. You were the one for me until …”

“Until I killed our son?” It’s the first time I’ve ever said those words aloud. I’ve taken the blame. I’ve accepted responsibility. But I’ve never said those exact words.

“I couldn’t grieve.” She releases a slow breath, sending her gaze to her feet. “With you here, I couldn’t grieve. I was so angry and devastated, but I felt like every tear, every aching moment of heartbreak was slowly destroying you. And I would have been angry and devastated no matter what the cause would have been of his death. And we would have been angry together. We would have grieved together. But we couldn’t. And I started to resent not only the fact that he died on your watch, I resented feeling guilty for grieving in front of you.”

“Tatum, I never expected you to not grieve or hide your emotions from me. I expected you to be angry with me. To hate me. To …” I shake my head.

To leave me.

“But that’s just it!” She lifts her gaze to meet mine. “It wasn’t just about you. It wasn’t just about assigning blame. It was that I lost my son. And I had a daughter to console. And I couldn’t do it while tiptoeing around your feelings. I felt like you were always here … always waiting for me to yell at you. Beat my fists against your chest and tell you how much I hated you and how I should never forgive you. But I didn’t need someone to blame. I needed someone to hold me. To …” Her eyes fill with tears. “I felt like you were waiting for me to console you. To tell you that it was okay. That I didn’t blame you. And that’s what angered me more than anything. That he did die on your watch, but I somehow had to be the one to forgive and forget, to accept and move on.”