“But —“
“I’m infertile. I can’t get pregnant.” She blurts the words, too loud for the closed setting. More quietly, she adds, “I just found out this week.”
“Infertile?” I turn the word over in my mouth, brain racing to catch up.
She nods. “I get it if this changes how you feel about me.” Her face is grim. “Or about wanting me past tonight.”
I didn’t know until this moment that it’s possible for your heart to shatter and joyfully sing with love in the same instant. Tears burning at my eyes, I gather Hattie back into my arms.
“Look at me,” I command, surprised at the power in my voice.
She does.
“This changes nothing. Do you hear me?” I say ferociously. “Nothing.”
“But —“ Hattie begins.
I cut her off with a shake of the head. “I want you, Hattie — all of you, as is. While I think you’d make a fantastic mother, that doesn’t have to be for a new baby of your own. You’re already mothering my daughter in ways that mean the world to the both of us.”
She plays with the open buttons of my shirt. “I didn’t realize how much having the option to have biological kids meant to me until it was gone.”
“I’m so sorry.” I tuck her head under my chin and stroke her close-cropped hair.
Hattie nods and shrugs like it’s no big deal, but the tears I feel on my chest tell a different story. I hold her closer, wishing I could do more than just be here for her.
But I know grief. And while I can be her companion through it, she has to walk this road herself.
When I no longer feel fresh tears, I whisper, “Let me take you home, make you some tea, and tuck you into bed. Sleep will help.”
Her red-rimmed eyes find mine. “And you’ll be there in the morning when I wake up?”
“I’ll be there for the rest of the mornings of my life if that’s what you want.”
She hauls in a deep breath, holds it for a long moment, then lets it trail out of her, long and thin. When the exhalation is complete, she straightens as if strengthened. “Okay,” she says, a trembling smile crossing her lips as she tenderly strokes the side of my face. “Take me home.”
Hattie
True to his word, Ben loans me a tee shirt to sleep in, then tucks me into bed before heading downstairs to make me some chamomile tea. Drifting into sleep a surprisingly short while later, I think that I might be confused to find myself in his bed upon my waking.
But when morning comes and I open my eyes to see Ben slumbering at my side, it only feels right. Like it’s meant to be.
And hell, maybe it is.
Rory’s not surprised to find me in her house either.
I don’t let her find me in bed with her dad, clad only in panties and his shirt. Instead, I shower and don yesterday’s clothes. Then I take Ben’s joking suggestion and head downstairs to forage for coffee and see if he has the ingredients for pancakes.
I’m standing at the stove, four pancakes stacked hot and steaming on a plate with four more on the griddle when Rory bounces into the kitchen.
“Hey,” she says, not skipping a beat.
I rake my gaze over her, looking for signs of consternation and finding none. “Hey yourself, kid.”
“I love pancakes.”
I smile. “Good. Do you know if your dad has any maple syrup in the fridge?”
She nods and produces a jug of pure Vermont syrup from the refrigerator.
“Ah, you’ve got the good stuff.” I nod. “I approve.”
“Dad says there’s no point in using syrup at all if it’s not the real maple kind.” She grins. “But I don’t care if it’s real or fake, as long as it’s sugary and there’s a lot of it.”
I snort. “A girl after my own heart.”
“That’s me,” Rory chirps, hauling a container of milk from the fridge too. She pours herself a generous glass and gulps all down at once while I watch with saucer eyes.
“Damn,” I mutter. “Got milk?”
Rory’s grin returns, wider this time. “Gotta get my protein and calcium in so I can grow up big and strong.”
“I guess,” I laugh. “Now how about some pancakes? Oh, and can you grab more plates and some silverware?”
“On it.” Without hesitation, she pulls out two plates and three forks. I grab one plate and heap the freshest four pancakes onto it, then pass it over to her.
Rory snags a fork and, sliding her plate along the surface, hops onto a stool at the central island. I watch as she douses her pancakes in syrup, worries swirling in my mind that I struggle to form into sentences.
“I hope this isn’t weird, waking up to find me here,” I say, weighing each word carefully as I pour more batter onto the griddle.
Rory wrinkles her nose. “Why would it be weird? I know you’re super great.”
“Yeah but—“
“And you’ve babysat me before.” She points her now-sticky fork at me.
“I’m not babysitting now,” I say carefully. “I’m . . . visiting.”
“Visiting my dad,” Rory prompts, tone matter-of-fact.
“Well . . . yeah,” I admit. “And that’s the part that I hope isn’t weird for you. Your dad and I, we, um, really like each other.”
Rory rolls her eyes. “I know. Sheesh.”
That pulls me up short. “Wait, what?”
“It’s super obvious. I can’t believe it took you two so long to figure it out.”
I frown, confused. “To figure out what exactly?”
“That you guys want to date each other.”
“Wait.” I flip the bubbling pancakes over in the griddle, then set the spatula down. “Are you telling me that you knew your dad and I were, um, romantically interested in each other before we did?”
She nods, chewing exuberantly. “I even heard some of the other Outdoor Adventure teachers talking about it.”
I cringe. “Great.”
“No, it is, I swear,” Rory continues. “They were talking about how you two would be cute together.” She waggles her eyebrows. “And you are.”
I can’t help but laugh at her expression and wide-eyed enthusiasm. “Well, I’m glad you think so.”
“Are you going to move in with us soon? I hope so. All the other kids are going to be so jealous of me.” She tents her fingers and makes a sound that I can only describe as an evil laugh. “I can’t wait.”
“Um, well, your dad and I haven’t quite gotten to that point yet.”
Her shoulders slump, but her eyes stay bright. “Well, I still think it’s awesome. And I’m glad you’re coming to Grandma’s party today. They’re usually super boring.”
“I’m sure they can’t be that bad.” I flip the last stack of finished pancakes onto one of the waiting plates, then turn the stove off and transfer the griddle to a cold burner.
“No, they’re bad.”
“What’s bad?” Ben says, walking into the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed.
“Your mom’s party,” I say. “But I bet it’ll be great.”