The Mrs. Degree (Accidentally in Love 2)

Jack stops jumping and points at his inner thigh. “It’s this.”

“Your wiener?!” Skipper shouts, hopping and giggling and hopping.

“No, not my wiener.” He sounds like he’s in pain, wanting this conversation to end. “Here! By my leg. My leg!”

“Wiener, wiener,” Skipper hops and shouts.

Jack looks at me for help.

I laugh, jumping in the opposite direction so he can’t see the smile on my face with the playful echo of “wiener, wiener” lingering behind me.

Kids and their potty talk.

We bounce, jump, and hop from trampoline to trampoline for the next hour, tossing balls at one another and playing games. They have basketball hoops throughout the gym, and every so often, a beach ball makes its way into our hands, and we play with that, too.

Jack lobs the beach ball at Skipper, and it bonks her in the head, causing another round of giggle fits.

This was the perfect way for them to spend their first few hours together.

“I’m hungry!” Skipper announces, bounding her way toward me, and I check my watch to see that it’s well past her lunchtime.

She never misses a meal. Not if she can help it.

Lucky for us, the trampoline park has a nice food court with plenty of options. Skipper is not a picky eater, so it’s easy, but she has to be in the mood for junk food. Collectively, we hobble down off the trampolines to put on our sneakers so we can walk on the tile floors and not get our feet gross.

We have to scan one of those little cube code thingies taped to the table to see what’s on the menu. After waiting ten long and painful minutes, a less-than-enthusiastic teenager walks over with a tray of lunch. A slice of pizza and two hot dogs.

French fries.

Vanilla milkshake. Two bottles of water.

And a fruit cup.

For a few moments, all is quiet. Well, it’s loud in here, but the table is quiet. No one is talking while they eat—until Skipper decides she has something to say.

“What should we do next time?” She wants to know, little teeth biting down into her massive hot dog. It’s the kind of hot dog they serve at ballparks and at Costco—the really thick kind that fills you up fast.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“What should we do next time?” She repeats herself with a heavy shrug. “Next time we have a day of fun! Isn’t this fun?” She’s chomping down hungrily, a little bit of ketchup squishing out the opposite end of her bun.

Jack’s brows go up. “You’re having fun, huh?”

“Oh yes, this is so fun.” Our daughter has actual perspiration on her forehead, and her mini face is red from exerting herself. “Where are we going next time?”

Oh, that’s what she meant.

Jack ruffles her hair. “I don’t know. Do you have any ideas?”

Skipper chews her food and swallows before responding, thank god. “We could see a movie? Or go to Build-A-Bear!”

“You have enough Build-A-Bears,” I tell her with chagrin, although it is a fun place to visit—expensive but fun. Definitely something Jack could do with her when they’re ready to have independent playdates without me.

The idea makes my stomach sink.

You have to share her now.

It has occurred to me—of course it has!—but it wasn’t a reality until now. Until he was sitting on the same side of a table with us, sharing lunch and laughs and fun. Skipper has been mine for seven entire years. Actually, since before that. Since the day I found out I was pregnant.

I didn’t actually think the test was going to be positive. My period had been late before, and I was under a lot of stress. Classes were great, but I was killing myself studying because none of it came easy. I wasn’t exactly making the dean’s list, but I wasn’t average either. But the pressure to get good grades was taking its toll.

School was stressing me out.

I was searching for a job so I could at least pitch in with my rent. I still didn’t think it was fair that my brother was paying for all of my expenses. He was not my parents. He wasn’t my father, and he wasn’t responsible for me. I was an adult, too. Why did he feel the need to pay for everything?

Plenty of people had student loans.

I could have them, too!

Anyway, things with Jack were good, but I was still rather insecure about our relationship. Everyone knew we were dating, and people began to look at me differently. I noticed girls judging me when we went out to the bars.

I knew they wondered what he saw in me. I wasn’t flashy, and I wasn’t popular. I didn’t have big boobs or blond hair or a spray tan. That seemed to be the look a lot of the athletes on campus were attracted to and dating. There certainly seemed to be a type among that crowd.