Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“Hello?”
“Hey, Ari. It’s Joe Lupo.”
“Oh. Hi.” Her tone wasn’t unfriendly, but it wasn’t warm.
“I wondered if I could get your opinion on something.”
“You can get my opinion on a lot of things.”
I grimaced. “Specifically, I’m calling about a rocking chair.”
“A rocking chair?”
“Yes. I’d like to get one for the baby’s room at Mabel’s house, but I don’t know what style or color or anything. I saw the room on FaceTime yesterday—”
“I heard.”
“Oh.” I cleared my throat. “Anyway, I’m still not sure what to get. Can you help me?”
She sighed heavily. “I suppose I could. Do you want me to send you some links?”
“Yes,” I said with relief. “That would be perfect.”
“Do you have a budget in mind?”
“No. I don’t care what it costs. Pick something she’ll love.”
She was silent. “Joe, this might be none of my business—in fact, it is absolutely none of my business—but I’m going to ask this question anyway.”
I braced myself. “Okay.”
“What do you want from Mabel?”
The question surprised me. “I don’t want anything from her. I just want her to be happy.”
“And that’s what all the gifts are about? Making her happy? The shoes, the car, the rocking chair?”
“Yes. What else would they be about?”
“Keeping her in love with you while you decide what to do with your life.”
The words pierced my heart like an arrow. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“You know she is, though. She’s so in love with you, it breaks my heart.”
“I—” I swallowed hard. A sweat broke out on my back. “She’s never said that to me.”
“Because she’s scared! And she’d rather be safe than sorry. Look, I shouldn’t even be saying this stuff to you, and I wouldn’t, except that something tells me that you love her too. But if you’re not going to love her the way she deserves—with your whole heart—then stop with all the gifts and the attention.”
“She’s carrying my son,” I argued. “I’m allowed to support her.”
“That’s not what you’re doing, and you know it.”
Damn. This girl was ferocious. But even though she was baring her teeth and growling at me like a guard dog right now, I was glad Mabel had a friend like Ari in her corner.
“Look, I’m trying to figure things out,” I said. “But if what you’re saying is true, Mabel hasn’t been honest with me about what she wants.”
“She wants a love story, Joe! It’s what she’s always wanted—to meet the one and be swept off her feet. To feel chosen. To get married and have a family. But she didn’t meet the one. She met you.”
“I could be the one,” I said, more offended than I’d ever been in my life.
“Then prove it.” And she hung up on me.
Her accusation made it impossible to sleep that night.
Keeping her in love with you while you decide what to do with your life.
It rankled. It stung. It gnawed at my insides.
I lay on my back in the bed we’d once shared and scowled into the dark.
It wasn’t fucking true!
I wasn’t doing all these things just to string Mabel along. I was doing them because I genuinely wanted to. Because it felt right. Because she deserved them. Because she was the mother of my son.
Because I loved her too.
I had nothing to compare it to, because I’d never felt this way before, but that’s what this all-consuming, under-my-skin, gut-raveling feeling had to be.
I loved her.
“That’s right. I love her,” I said, as if someone had dared me to admit it out loud.
And maybe someone had.
“You’re goddamn right about that, Ari. I fucking love her too. But you’re wrong about the other thing. I am the fucking one.”
Saying it out loud felt good. It felt true. It made me feel whole.
I kept talking as I jumped out of bed and threw on some clothes, even though it was four o’clock in the morning. “I am the fucking one, and it’s time everybody knows it. It’s time for Mabel to hear it. It’s time for me to say it right to her face.”
It was time to take the shot.
TWENTY-FOUR
mabel
After my alarm went off, I stayed snuggled under the covers for a few extra minutes, Cleo curled up at my side.
I thought of Joe on Sunday mornings like this. I would imagine what it would be like to scoot over and press up against the warm, hard length of his body. To feel the shelter of his arm come around me. To lay my cheek against his chest and inhale the woodsy, masculine scent of him.
But maybe it wouldn’t be like that. Maybe the two nights I’d spent with him were not indicative of how things would be. Maybe, like he said, he was only a special-occasion cuddler, and if I tried to tuck myself along his side, he’d push me away or roll in the other direction.