Maddy smiles at the jocular group. “Well, what’d you boys think of Peenie’s peenie?”
“Babe, I keep telling you. Don’t call it a ‘peenie.’ That makes it sound small.”
“Sorry, honey. What’d you boys think of Peenie’s porridge? Do you think he should ask for a shorter edit on the shot, or let them keep it, as is?”
“I’d say that depends,” Ryan says. “Does Peenie Weenie want his audience to be able to count the veins in his porridge?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Keane replies.
“Okay, then,” Ryan says, settling onto the couch. “Then in that case, I’d say the porridge is ‘just right.’”
Twenty-Eight
Colin
“Everything okay over there?” I ask.
Amy and I are driving home after visiting Keane and Maddy, and ever since we got into the car, Amy’s been unusually quiet. She’s typically chatty in the car. But not this time.
At my question, Amy turns from her passenger-side window, and I know the minute I see her tightly drawn features, she’s been having deep thoughts over there.
“Everything’s fine,” she says.
But it’s all I get.
“What have you been thinking about?” I prompt, even though my clenched stomach is telling me to leave it alone.
“Billie,” she replies. “I was thinking about how happy Keane and Maddy seem to have her.”
“Yeah, exhausted, too.”
“They’re ‘happily exhausted.’”
Uh oh. I don’t think I’m going to like where this is headed.
“You were adorable with the baby,” Amy adds. “I felt like I was watching that story your mom told us the other night—the one where you held me after my parents brought me home from the hospital.”
Oh, fuck. I’m positive I’m not going to like where this is headed.
“Did you see the sassy look Billie gave Maddy at feeding time?” Amy continues. “You can tell she’s going to be a spitfire like Keane.”
“Keane’s not a spitfire. He’s a flamethrower.”
Amy laughs and my shoulders soften. Maybe this conversation isn’t headed where I think, after all?
“Do you think you might want kids one day?” Amy asks.
And . . . my shoulders tighten again. “Sure. One day,” I reply. I already know Amy’s answer to the same question. As a little girl, she was always playing with dolls whenever I came over to play video games with Logan. But, still, out of politeness, I ask her, “Do you want kids one day?”
“Oh, definitely.”
It’s not a surprise.
Wordlessly, I steer my car off the main highway and make all appropriate turns to make our way to my canyon-side street.
“How many kids do you imagine yourself having?” she asks, breaking the silence.
Fuck. “Two or three, maybe.” Fuck. “You?”
“I don’t want to pick a number and jinx myself,” she says. “For all I know, I could have fertility problems or meet the love of my life much later than I hoped. Or never.”
Oh, Jesus Christ. The poor woman is wearing her heart on her sleeve. When she said the words “love of my life,” she looked at me with such palpable longing, I could feel it all the way down in my soul. “Yeah, life can be unpredictable.”
“But I suppose if I could wave a magic wand and get exactly what I wanted,” she says, “I’d have four or five kids.”
My eyebrows ride up to my hairline. That’s a couple more kids than I thought she’d say. Don’t people who grow up with two kids in their family usually imagine themselves repeating the cycle? I shift my hands on my steering wheel and mull that over.
“That’s a scary thought to you?” she says, apparently reading my body language.
“No, I wouldn’t say scary. There are five kids in the Morgan family—four boys and a girl—and they’re the coolest family I know.”
“The three Morgan brothers I saw in action tonight seem super close.”
“The whole family is like that. All five of them and their parents.”
“The Morgan parents are still married?”
“Yeah. Happily, it seems.”
Amy’s green eyes blaze. “That’s what I’d want. A big, close-knit family like the Morgans, where everyone always gets along and loves being together.”
“When did I say they ‘always’ get along? Because believe me, it’s shocking to me Ryan didn’t off Keane at some point. Or Kat, the lone sister, didn’t off Ryan or Keane.”
Amy giggles. “I would have preferred having a love/hate relationship with Logan. He was too old to play with me, or even argue with me, growing up. He just sort of ignored me, like I was an inescapable nuisance.” She pauses. “What do you think is the Morgan parents’ secret to staying together? I’ve never seen a happy marriage, up close.”
“Neither have I. My mom is happily married now, but she married my stepdad after I’d already moved out.”
“So, what do you think is the secret to the Morgan parents’ success?”
I pause to think about it. “I guess . . . they genuinely like each other? That sounds basic, but it’s kind of astonishing. They make each other laugh a lot. And it’s clear they don’t sweat the small stuff. Plus, at the end of the day, they’re both one thousand percent committed to their family.”
Amy lets out a shaky breath. “That’s what I want one day. A family like that.”
We’ve reached my house now—and, clearly, the truth about what Amy was actually thinking about earlier when I asked her. My breathing shallow, I turn into my driveway, pull my car into the garage, and press the button to close the garage door behind us. And, finally, when Amy still hasn’t spoken, I gather the courage to look at her.
Yep.
It’s exactly as I feared. She’s feeling deeply moved. Indeed, there are tears pricking her eyes. Which means my hunch was correct: this conversation has been a prelude to Amy asking me about the future. Specifically, if I can imagine myself giving her the kind of future she just described.
But how can I possibly know that already? As of now, I know I’ve got love in my heart for this woman—this beautiful, gentle soul who brings something out of me, like nobody else—and I have for a very long time. But I also know Amy only thinks she’s in love with me, because, for reasons I’ve never fully understood, I’ve always felt inspired to don a red cape around her. And now, I’m reaping what I’ve sown. This girl worships me like a hero, because that’s exactly what I’ve trained her to do—even though I know, down deep, I’m not capable of delivering that illusion forever. Who could?
“You look like a trapped animal,” Amy says.
“I feel like one,” I admit.
“Why?”
“Because I know you’ve got expectations I’m not going to be able to fulfill, long-term.”
Amy looks deflated. “When I told you what I dream about for my future, I didn’t mean right now. I meant ‘one day.’ All I’m asking for now is honesty.”