Page 44 of More With You

I hear Ms. T curse under her breath as she sets the tray down. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her curse like that inside the store. She swipes one of the coffees off the tray and hurries over to me.

“Why don’t you have your phone glued to your hand like the rest of you twentysomethings?” she urges, stepping between me and the scene I’ve walked in on.

It breaks the trance and I stare at Ms. T. “I… was cycling.”

“I tried to warn you, honey,” she whispers, as I take out my phone. Sure enough, there’s a text. Two, actually. One from her, one from Ben. I figure there’s no point reading either of them, now.

My heart is about to beat right out of my chest, my head filled with that little girl’s gapped smile and bright eyes. She has the fearlessness of a happy childhood. I don’t know how I know, but I can feel it. She’s the kind of kid who’ll sit down next to an old woman on a bench and start talking about anything and everything, striking up friendships wherever possible. She doesn’t know there are things to be afraid of in this world, other than imaginary monsters under the bed and green things on her plate.

“What do I do?” I murmur, my instinct to run making my calf muscles twitch. Yet, my brain is doing something stranger. It’s… curious about the girl. It wants me to walk up to that beanbag and that girl, to ask her what she’s reading.

Before Ms. T can answer, Ben rises up, appearing over the top of her much shorter stature. He still has his back to me, but I can tell he knows I’m here. It’s in the tension of his shoulders and the clench of his fists, though it’s not an aggressive or defensive gesture. It’s panic. He’s feeling what I’m feeling.

“Well, I don’t think there’s much you can do,” Ms. T breathes, tipping her head subtly backward. “Take this, wet that whistle of yours, and dive right in, sweetheart. Fortune favors the bold.”

I accept the iced coffee and take a deep gulp, even though the caffeine hit isn’t going to do anything for my anxiety levels. They’re rocketing to a fever pitch, and I haven’t even met the girl yet.

Ben turns and there’s guilt etched onto his beautiful face. It doesn’t matter how tired he looks—in my eyes, he’ll always leave other guys in the dust. He musters a small, nervous smile, and his gaze shines with a heady blend of apprehension, relief, doubt, and… something like love. I might just be seeing what I want to see, or what I feel, but so be it.

He walks over. “Summer…”

That one word, spoken with such intensity, sweeps through me like a surge of adrenaline. This is the tipping point; I realize. The make or break. I’m not going to put such a weighted onus on a little, six-year-old girl with natural badger stripes in her hair, but there’s no denying she’s at the core of our orbit. If I can’t deal with it, I’ll go spinning off into the darkness of a universe without him.

More than ever, I want to run. I don’t want to avoid the inevitable meeting altogether; I just want to postpone it. This isn’t what we agreed. I thought we’d have another week of just us, me and Ben, but that came to a screeching stop. I thought the meeting would be an arranged thing, so I could build up my courage beforehand and prepare myself thoroughly. All that has just gone up in smoke.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” I manage to say. That’s good. I’m saying words. “I can go, if you’d be more comfortable? My AC broke, and Ms. T said I could come over to keep cool until Mr. T comes back. I really didn’t know. Yeah, you know what, I’ll just—”

“Summer.” He takes hold of my hand and smiles, before leading me over to the reading corner. It’s more of a space that Ms. T couldn’t decide what to do with, so she tossed a few beanbags and those wooden children’s toys that are in every doctor and dentist office countrywide into it and hoped for the best. “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Grace.”

I’m frozen, gripping his hand so tight I might break something.

The girl closes her book—a parent favorite, according to Ms. T, about a mischievous little ghost—and peers up at me. She sticks her hand out and, in a hilarious attempt at upper-crust civility, says, “How pleased I am to meet you.”

“Likewise,” I can’t help but say, hiding a laugh as I take her small hand in mine and shake it.

She stares at our hands. “People shake hands when they say “hello,” but they don’t really shake.” She wiggles my hand back and forth. “That’s shaking.”

“Can you imagine if all those big, important politicians and businessmen shook their hands properly? I think they do it the other way because they’re scared of looking silly, but you’re completely right. They’re not really shaking hands at all.” I smile, feeling calmer than I thought I would. She’s just a child. Nothing to be afraid of.

Grace frowns. “What’s a pol… polish… polishan?”

“A politician? Well, do you know who the president is?”

She nods eagerly. “Oh yes, I know all of them! I like the Hoover one best. He sounds funny. My friend Mae hoovers my feet. It tickles.”

“You must have very dusty feet,” I joke, relieved when she laughs.

“That’s what Mae says! She’s not a polishan.” Grace tilts her head to one side. “Do you know Foster? I like Foster. He’s my favorite.”

“I thought I was your favorite?” Ben pretends to pout, and it might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. There are so many sides to him, and every day is becoming an education in the inner workings of Ben DuCate.

Grace squeals with delight and leaps up, barreling into her dad’s legs and hugging them tight. “I like you most, Daddy! You and Mommy! Foster is my favorite… not Mommy or Daddy.” She smiles back at me. “Is Daddy your favorite?”

“Um…” I rub the back of my neck. “Yes, I think he might be.”

Ben’s eyes widen: his gaze like a welcome embrace after a long day. For some reason, I feel shy, like I’ve just made a confession I wasn’t ready to make. But… he knows, right? He must. With him, I don’t hold my cards as close to my chest.

Grace breaks away from her dad and runs at me, wrapping her arms around my waist like the most lovable boa constrictor. I stand there, rigid with shock, as she hugs me, suddenly feeling like I have too many hands and limbs and I don’t have a clue what to do with any of them.

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