But what else doesn’t make sense is Boone and me. There is no way that Boone is thinking of proposing marriage. No. Way. I’m … me. And now, well, I’m a package deal.
But how on earth do I make plans to move out and start fresh somewhere when I don’t have a job and need stability for Rosie? Deep breath, Jaxi.
You’ll never amount to anything, Jacqueline. Everything you touch ends in disaster. You infect everyone with your darkness.
No. This is not the time to hear Mom’s voice. I’m determined to do this right.
I head into the kitchen and pull out a workbook of letters and a pencil. Siggy not only supplied toys and games for Rosie but she also gave her these pre-Kindergarten workbooks that she loves. I’m so grateful for Siggy because I would’ve been out of my depths more than I could’ve predicted.
When I sit with Rosie, her eyes are full of excitement. She takes the pencil from my hand, making me so very thankful. She’s happy.
I stroke a lock of hair out of her eyes and try to take a second before I switch gears.
Her widow’s peak is the same as mine, as are her eyebrows and how gently they arch over her hazel eyes. I wonder if Nettie ever thought about me when she looked at her.
“What do I do first?” Rosie asks, opening the book.
“First, let’s trace the letter a. Can you do that?” I ask.
She bites down, her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth, and gets to work.
“This is an a,” she says, moving the pencil around the broken lines forming the letter. “Do I have an a in my name?”
“You don’t,” I tell her. “Your name is Penelope Rose Woods.”
A warmth pours over me as I think about Nettie naming Rosie’s first name is Penelope.
“Do you have an a?” Rosie asks.
“In Jacqueline.” I tap her on the nose, making her giggle. “My name is Jacqueline Penelope Thorpe.”
“Penelope like me!”
I grin. “Just like you.”
“And what about Boone?”
“He has an a in his last name,” I say because I don’t know his middle name.
“But what’s name? What’s his whole name?”
“Boone Mason. I’m not sure what his middle name is.”
“Oh.” She sticks her tongue out as she moves to the line of lowercase letters. “Why isn’t his name the same as your name?”
“Because we aren’t married.”
I make a face. It’s as though the universe is screwing with me.
“But why don’t me and you have the same last name?” she asks.
“Because we have different daddies.”
“Oh.”
I sit back in my chair and give up. I let the ball of anxiety add to itself.
What day will she realize that she will never know another Woods? Will she have that sense of not belonging anywhere like I did?
Is it my fault if she does?
That idea was planted into my head as a little girl, and it affected me more than I ever knew.
I craved wanting to belong. I was so envious of other people who could trace back their family history for generations and could walk into a basketball game and see five people from their family in the stands. “Oh, that’s my Grandma Smith,” someone could say.
I didn’t have a grandma, let alone a fellow Thorpe.
It’s why I left home with Shawn. I wanted to create a place I belonged, no matter how unhealthy it was.
I won’t let that happen to you, baby girl.
The doorbell sounds, ringing through the house, and Rosie’s eyes light up.
“Maybe it’s Wade!” she shrieks and starts to climb down the chair.
I laugh, helping her to the floor. “I don’t think it’s Wade.”
She lands and races to the foyer without missing a beat.
“We don’t answer the door without an adult,” I remind her.
She drops her hand quickly. “No touching.”
“No touching,” I repeat. “That’s right.”
I peer through the peephole and see Siggy.
“Hey,” I say, pulling it open.
“Iggy!” Rosie screeches. “Hi, Iggy!”
Siggy laughs. “Hi, sweetheart. Are you ready to go?”
She stands on the porch in a pair of jeans that are inherently trendier than anything I own and a navy-blue blouse with giant white flowers that makes her look effortlessly beautiful. A necklace with a light pink circle hangs on her tanned skin.
I blow out a breath. She’s a vision of put-togetherness, and I’m a hot mess.
“I forgot she was going with you today,” I tell her, grabbing Rosie before she makes a break for it. “I’m so sorry. Can you give me a second to get her shoes on her?”
“Of course. I’m in no hurry.”
“Thank you.”
Siggy steps inside as I hoist Rosie on my hip. I grab her shoes and carry them with us to the kitchen.
“Am I going with Iggy?” Rosie asks as I put her shoes on her feet.
“Do you want to?” I ask.
“Yes!”
Siggy ruffles her hair. “We’re going to Bellamy’s to play with Bree. Does that sound fun?”
“Yes!”
She climbs off the chair and takes Siggy’s hand. “I’m ready, Iggy.”
Siggy grins and looks at me. “I love that she calls me that.”
“It’s pretty cute.”
I follow them to the door.
“Can you go to the potty before we get in the car please, Rosie?” Siggy asks her.
“I don’t need to go potty, Iggy.” She furrows her little brow.
So serious. So, so cute.
“Why don’t you try?” I ask. “And we’ll wait right here.”
Siggy smiles at Rosie. “Yes, I’ll be right here. I promise.”
“Okay,” Rosie says, not amused but willing to participate to get it over with. “Wait for me!”
She runs down the hallway without a tantrum, thankfully.
“Are you doing okay, sweetheart?” Siggy asks me.
“Yeah. I’m great. Thanks. Are you okay?”
Siggy furrows a brow in a way that only a mother can do.
“You know you can reach out any time, right?” she asks. “If you need anything or want to grab coffee or want to go shopping. I can watch Rosie or go with you.” She winks. “I love shopping.”
“I appreciate that. I might take you up on it one day.”
“You do that.” She opens the door, and they step outside. “I’ll have her back this evening. Or you and Boone can come over for dinner. I’ll whip something up.”
I lean against the door. “I’ll ask him. He should be home soon.” I glance at my watch and realize he’s already late.
“Tell Jaxi goodbye,” Siggy tells Rosie.
“Bye. Love you,” Rosie says, waving over her shoulder.
I smile. “Have fun, Rosie. I love you.”
The words flow out of my mouth. I love you.
A lump forms in my throat.
Siggy straps Rosie in, gives me a wave, and pulls down the driveway. I’m about to close the door when another car pulls to the curb.
A man in a sharp white polo shirt and black dress pants gets out. He takes out a folder and a notepad before heading up the sidewalk.