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“A lot of reasons. Sometimes they just fall out of love. Other times, one person isn’t happy.”
“Is that why you and Mommy aren’t married?”
Jeez, her gaze is so intense. How am I intimidated by a three-year-old?
“No, I love your mommy.”
“Then get married!”
I glance at the kitchen clock, wishing I had the excuse that we had to hurry and pack up and leave.
“It’s a kind of different love,” I say.
“Like how you love me?” she smiles.
I shake my head and ruffle her hair that I should really brush. “No, I have the most love for you. I love you more than anyone else in the world.”
“You can’t marry me.” She giggles.
Jesus, this conversation has taken a turn.
“Of course I can’t marry you. Smart girl.” Hopefully she doesn’t tell her teacher that her daddy wants to marry her. Wanting this conversation over with, I stand and dump out my coffee in the sink, rinsing it down. “We should do your hair.”
I rush out of the kitchen and into the bathroom to get the brush and ponytail holders. Once I’m alone, I inhale and exhale a deep breath, happy that the conversation is over—for now at least, because I never really explained it all. I just need to keep her busy until preschool, then I’ll call Palmer, and we can figure out how to handle this new stage. I thought the worst part of parenting was when she woke up at all hours of the night, but no one told me it would get harder as she got older. What the hell?
