The Mrs. Degree (Accidentally in Love 2)

Those two—they’re my family.

A lump forms in my throat when I watch Penn lift the top of the box and set it off to the side. Then she plucks at the white satin filler and removes that.

She peers inside at the gold chain bracelet there.

On that bracelet is a charm; a baby shoe with a one karat diamond—Skipper’s birthstone—dangling along with a gold football. One charm to represent me, one to represent our daughter, both representing the fact that I wasn’t there when she gave birth and even if I had, I wouldn’t have had the money to buy her a fat diamond band as a push present.

I had the money to buy her one now, but chances are, she wouldn’t have wanted one. That is not Penelope’s style.

Sure, this may be too sentimental of a gift, but I want her to have something that reminds her of me, but also lets her know I would have been supportive seven years ago, and I would have been happy, and I would have held her hand through the entire thing.

Shit.

I don’t have a tear in my eye. I don’t.

Kevin stares up at me from the floor as Penelope holds the bracelet up in front of the camera, inspecting it, turning it this way and that so it catches the light.

The stones sparkle and shine—simple but flashy, if that’s even a way to describe it.

“Jack, I don’t know what to say.” She certainly looks as emotional as I feel.

It’s just a bracelet, and it wasn’t that expensive. At least, not to me, based on what I earn.

In my mind, it’s all relative.

“I wish I was there so I could put it on you.”

Her head gives a little shake as she sets about undoing the clasp and putting it on. “Funny enough, I’ve learned some tricks to putting on my own jewelry over the past few years—not that I have a lot of jewelry, but you know what I mean.”

I catch another glimpse of Skipper in the background, dancing around the living room in front of the television, still duded up in her new costume.

She’s so stinking cute.

My heart squeezes watching her hop around, so excited and…loud, and I feel like an asshole that I’m not there with them both.

Yeah, yeah—it’s not my fault, I get that.

But that doesn’t make it feel any better.

“What do you have going on this week?”

It’s Tuesday, and the only thing I have going on is practice now that the Sunday football game is out of the way and I’m days away from the next one. Just conditioning and practice and a few meetings—same shit, different day.

Penelope sets the phone back on the counter and leans in, bracelet already shining on her wrist. “Well, let’s see. This Thursday Skipper has a Fall Concert at school.”

Say what now? “A Fall Concert? What’s that?”

She shrugs. “You know—it’s singing, mostly. They do one in spring, one in fall, and one at the holidays. It’s a total racket and lasts way too long, but I’ll tell you—that child really gets into it. If she doesn’t beg me to wear that horse to sing in, I will be shocked.”

“Are you going to let her?”

Penelope laughs. “No! Absolutely not. It would be so disruptive. Besides, she picked out a dress when we were at Costco a few weeks ago, so she can wear that.”

“It’s Thursday?”

She nods.

“I could do Thursday.” I’m nodding too, already planning in my head, buying an airline ticket, renting a car, getting to the school on time.

Yeah—I can swing it. Make it work.

“You do not have to come on Thursday for an hour-long concert.” She pauses. “Okay, it’s more like two hours. The point is, you do not have to fly here to watch a kid’s concert.”

“My kid’s concert,” I correct her. “And I know I don’t have to but also, yes, I do. Besides, I want to, so—this isn’t actually a discussion because I’ve already made up my mind.”

Penelope seems to weigh her arguments; whatever reason she was about to come back with gets swallowed.

“Just to be clear, this is a rinky-dink children’s concert; half of the kids are too embarrassed to sing, the other half stand there giggling and laughing. The rest stare off into the crowd of parents and wave.”

“Sounds like my kind of concert.”

“I just don’t want you coming here and being disappointed or annoyed. I want you to manage your expectations.”

“Penelope, I’m well aware that this is a children’s concert where there will be children singing. I’ve sung in a few of them myself back in the day. I’m not expecting Billie Eilish or The Weeknd to come busting out on stage. I know this isn’t a halftime show at the Super Bowl.”

Her shoulders rise and fall. “Okay, I’m just letting you know…”

“Penn.” I take a deep breath. “Don’t feel guilty that I’m willing to fly in to watch a two-hour concert. This is what airplanes are for.”