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“Wow,” Max says. “This is really special.”
“Yeah,” I agree. Olive squeezes between us, and she slips her hand into mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her slip her other hand into Max’s.
I can’t handle this. It’s too precious.
“Max, since it’s your first time, you have to make a wish.”
“Do I throw a coin in, or…?”
“Yes. A penny. It has to be a penny.”
Max slips his hand into his pocket, fumbling for change and pulls out a shiny coin.
“Close your eyes, Max.”
Max’s blond eyelashes flutter as he mouths something. Then he flicks the penny, and it spins into the darkness of the well, never to be seen again.
“Congratulations, Max. You just made your first wish at the Goldheart’s very own wishing well.”
“Have anyone’s dreams come true that you know of?” Max asks.
I feel a tug on my sleeve. Olive motions for me to kneel down, and I do, her hand cupping my ear. “Mom, my wish came true. Can I tell Max?”
“Sure, you can tell him,” I whisper back.
She spins around. “Max, my wish came true.”
“What was that?” He puts his hands on his hips.
“I wished for my dad to come back.” Olive then grabs Max again and links our hands together so his hand is in mine.
“Olive, what are you doing?” I say. Max doesn’t let go of my hand as we stand there, our daughter snickering behind her fists.
“You’re holding hands.”
Turning, I see a lump in Max’s throat as he swallows. We’re still holding hands, but I lean in. “How long do we need to hold hands?”
“I’ll hold it forever,” he says. Heat floods my cheeks and he swallows and looks down at the wishing well.
His thumb rubs my knuckle as he holds it, and the contact makes me involuntarily smile as Olive hugs me around my middle. I want to bottle this moment, remember every second, every breath, so I can replay it for years to come.
In this moment, we weren’t robbed of ten years together, and Olive had Max the whole time. We’re a family, and when I look at Max, I know what I need to do.
“Olive, do you want to get a milkshake with Max at Ice Dream? Have some alone time? It’s almost eleven so they’ll be open soon.”
My daughter, who begs for milkshakes almost daily, lights up. I know it sucks having a lactose-intolerant mom. It sucks being lactose-intolerant. I miss regular ice cream.
Olive splays her fingers to Max like she’s in showbiz. “Max, you’re going to love them. They have this cookies-and-cream one that’s so good…”
Max lets go of my hand, and I miss it immediately. Max grabs Olive’s, and I trail behind, watching my daughter create a core memory with her father.
A man who touches me, and my body feels like it’s a live wire.
It’s time to do what I need to do.
Stop pretending.
* * *
