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“Time passes by you like a bullet,” he says, “and fear gives you the excuses you’re craving to not do the things you know you should. Don’t doubt yourself, don’t second-guess, don’t let fear hold you back, don’t be lazy, and don’t base your decisions on how happy it will make others. Just go for it, okay?”
For however long it lasts, I’m a little braver, and he’s my new hero.
but he knows I care. I’m starting to wonder if it’s one of my faults. Definitely my weakness.
And so I thought he was cute. So what? I think Chris Hemsworth is cute. And Ryan Gosling, Tom Hardy, Henry Cavill, Jason Momoa, the Winchester brothers . . .
Same girl.
It’s always the same wish. Every candle. Every time. I want a life I never want to take a vacation from. That’s my goal.
I was never hit or starved or verbally abused. Just kind of forgotten, I guess. They struggled for anything good in life, so it was too much to ask to let responsibility or concern for their children interfere with what tiny pleasure they managed to muster with their beer and bingo nights.
“Got it?” I don’t wait for an answer as I spin around, heading for the lawn mower. But I hear her small, sweet voice behind me. “Yes, Daddy.” I blink long and hard, my hand tingling with an urge to give someone a spanking for the first time in my life.
OH. Okay.
“Please don’t cry again,” he begs, “or I’ll have to take out the pool and build you a gazebo or some shit.”
“And that’s for you, Birthday Girl,”
The birthday cake, the tapes, joking around with him . . . The way he remembered that I have to blow out a candle and make a wish. A flutter hits my heart, and I smile and then scowl, confused and not wanting those feelings. I blew out the matchstick last night, wishing for the same thing I wished for in the movie theater that night. I loved how I felt in that moment and hoped that I could feel that way every day. That’s all I wanted.
“You’re like a cave. You don’t give up all your secrets at once. Who knows how deep you go, right?”
“You look at each other like . . .” “Like?” He swallows, an unusually troubled pinch to his brow. “Like the two of you have your own language.”
In the back of my mind, I always knew I couldn’t not have her.
He just chuckles. “Aw, that’s okay. I saw how nice the house looks, so Pike must be working you pretty hard already.” “Oh, you have no idea,” I tease. “I’m working up a sweat way past my bedtime lately.”
“I love you,” he tells me. “But no one’s better off without you.”
“Baby,” he whispers, his hands shaking. “I hope you love me, because I love you like crazy, and I’m going to want you the rest of my life. I tried to stay away, because I thought it was the right thing, but I fucking can’t. I need you, and I love you. This doesn’t happen twice, and I’m not going to be stupid again. I promise.”
I close my eyes. Mine. My house, my wife, my family . . . mine. Sometimes I’m so overwhelmed by how lucky I am that I can’t wrap my head around this all being real. I still can’t stop reaching for her when she’s close or stop being anxious to crawl into bed at night, knowing we’re finally alone.
