Page 143 of Reeves

But he doesn't let it slide past. His eyes stay on mine, patient and serious.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here for you."

The admission sits between us. I appreciate that he recognizes it, but I don't hold any ill will toward him.

All these years, I figured he was maintaining the line he had always said, which was that he didn't want children. My letter said to him that I was choosing to have the baby, and he didn't have to be a part of it.

I thought his silence was his answer. And I was at peace with that.

I set my half-empty bottle on the table. The glass clinks against the wood.

"You don't have to apologize, Reeves. I made a decision knowing your position on having children. I never expected you to do anything differently."

"But I would have if I'd known. I get it. You worked your ass off to give him everything, and for that, I'm eternally grateful. I know I've already said so, but he's a lucky kid to have you for a mom."

"Thank you for saying that."

"I mean it."

"The good times make it all worth it. The scary ones make you question everything. But the good still outweighs it."

"Looking back, what would you say was the scariest or hardest time for you as a single mom?"

Jesus. He’s really trying to understand what this has been like for us.

I take a second, turning the question over before I answer. Reeves leans forward but doesn't speak, waiting for me.

"The first time he got really sick, I sat in the emergency room for four hours, holding him while he burned with fever and watching other families with two parents taking turns. I remember thinking, this is it. This is what alone actually looks like."

Every decision was mine. Every mistake. Every win.

"I wasn't sure I could do it. Not really. I just kept getting up every morning and doing the next thing because that's all I knew how to do."

The admission hangs in the air. Raw and unvarnished. I don't add anything else or try to explain or soften it.

Reeves doesn't try to fix it or apologize or make it about himself. He just nods once, like he's absorbing it.

"But you did. No surprise there."

The space between our chairs is suddenly smaller now. When I look up, his eyes are already there.

Reeves reaches across the space between us. His fingers find my arm just above my wrist. The pressure is light, barely there, his thumb tracing once across my skin.

His touch is warm and deliberate. He isn’t taking anything. He’s asking.

The contact spreads heat up my arm. My pulse picks up, not from nerves but from recognition, from wanting a man I haven’t let myself want in a long time.

His fingers stay gentle, still giving me space to pull away.

I turn my hand, palm up.

That’s my answer.

THIRTY-THREE

Reeves

The Crowd:By the second line, the procession is unrecognizable from what it was at the dirge. Loss and joy have become the same moving thing.