The Godparent Trap

by Rachel Van Dyken

His height dominated the dirty kitchen, making me feel small—and stupid, always stupid.

Failure. I was a failure as a mom.

“You’re sad. Even when you’re trying to be an adult you’re so off base, I just assume you’re drunk.”

I was a fixer. But I couldn’t fix this. I couldn’t fix any of it.

Could I do nothing right? And why was it still so damn important that I impress him when I knew it was a futile task?

Worse, it was like he’d reached into my soul and pulled out every single insecurity I’ve ever had and voiced it out loud.

I promised to attempt to be less like myself. A hot mess who didn’t know how to adult.

“I am trying, Rip.”

“Try harder.”

I always fell short. And he always ended up on top.

The kind where he was always looking down. And I was never enough.

all I did was stare back. Because wasn’t that what you did when you were hurt? When you were so exhausted you couldn’t see straight? When your grief felt so overwhelming you had no choice but to ignore it because two small children’s tears were more important than yours and you couldn’t justify your sadness in the face of theirs? Even when you knew you needed those quiet moments too? The ones where you screamed silently into your pillow, shattered whatever object you could find handy, and slid down to the floor in a heap of devastation?

“You think about it too, then? What will they do if something happens to us? What if something happens to them?” “Every day.”

“I’m not a mess.”

I did everything in my power to make him see me as an equal and always came up short, which just irritated me more because I knew my worth—the problem was, he didn’t, and he never would.

“Just because you think of yourself like a servant girl doesn’t mean you are one.

“Do you hate me?” He didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile. Just stared into his drink and whispered, “I wish I could.”

“Then you’re a perfect mess… a perfect wreck… let yourself be the masterpiece of chaos.”

“You have really pretty eyes,” I blurted like an idiot.

“I don’t know what sane man would see you as just a friend.” He cursed under his breath. “You’re like a fucking hurricane—a chaotic beautiful mess of waves and wind, powerful, daunting, and any guy—especially ones like Banks—would risk his life during the storm just to see if he can survive it.”

Live a little—because they no longer can.

I just needed my partner in crime.

There I’d been, arrogantly thinking I was going to help him get outside his crabby shell—and he’d thrown my world off its axis and made it so all I thought about was him—and the sides he’d never shown me. Until tonight.

“Uncle Rip.” Ben waved a hand in front of my face. “Are you OK? You’re smiling really hard at your coffee.”

Why did I suddenly like her so much she consumed my every waking thought?

“Oh, and how I pray every night for you and Aunt Colby to get married so we can be a family again.”

Everything that had seemed normal—even achievable—at one point, and now, I wanted the mess. I wanted the chaos.

I wanted the crazy. Not the easy.

You go home tonight and you kiss her. That’s it, no speeches needed, no grand gesture, you pull her into your arms and you do what you’ve been dying to do ever since you got pissed off at the movie theater and almost killed me dead.”

“You need to stop controlling the world around you—and stop worrying about the life you’ve always wanted, especially since it’s been in front of you all this time.

‘One day it’s going to happen. I can feel it. One day, she’ll be his family.’

This time, Rip Edison leaned forward and pressed a painfully slow kiss to my lips.

“I love you mostest. Thank yous for dinner.”

You taste like I imagine sunshine would taste like, warm, inviting, and then blazing hot.”

“Aunt Colby? Are you OK?” Viera tugged on my shirt. “You’ve been staring at Uncle Rip like he’s a cookie!”

“Because you terrify me. You make me want to color outside of the lines, which I hate. You’re an incredible aunt. You’re a loyal friend. Because you’re beautiful even when you’re walking around with ketchup on your shirt. Because it bothers me that you don’t see how unique you are, how special it is to be included in your circle. And finally because I’ve tasted…” He nipped at my lips. “I’ve drunk…” He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine. “And I fell.”

“Like I’m yours.”

“Even when I wasn’t yours—I was yours, Rip.”

“Love. Acceptance… with a side of annoyance that I’m pretty sure I’ll always see.”

I loved her.

If I’d finally found my forever. Only to lose it forever. “Rip.”

I was falling in love with him. I was terrified to tell him. But I loved him. This wasn’t supposed to be our ending.

“You hate me.” “I love you,” he fired back. “I’ve always loved you.”

“It’s never been hate,”

“It’s fear. It’s fear of letting go, losing control, it’s fear that something’s going to happen to you, so yes I scold you, yes I get angry, but the anger just masks the pain, Colby. It masks the guilt that my parents aren’t alive, and it masks the guilt that—that—”

“I’m not letting her fucking go.” He gritted his teeth and held on tighter like he was afraid of losing me.

“They’re ours,” he continued. “We’re a family. Or we will be, once Colby gets better and can come home. She’s literally the worst cook on the planet, despite her uncanny ability to blog about food and shovel it down about as fast as she can type. At least she has mean coloring skills.”

At this point I couldn’t stop staring at Rip. My forever. Mine.