“You both look beautiful,” Jack says, as I kick off my shoes, setting them beside me in the grass.
I look down at the dress I’ve worn a thousand times, running my palms down the fabric, smoothing it out on my lap. “Thanks,” I say, wondering if he would have liked the other dress better.
Jack sets the picnic basket and Evee’s diaper bag down before settling down across from me. The sun is warm, our spot in the shade offering a nice breeze, causing a few pieces of his hair to fall on his forehead.
He stretches his legs out on the picnic blanket, his large frame relaxing against the soft fabric, the hem of his shorts revealing the tattoos etched into his tan skin. His T-shirt clingslightly to his broad chest and muscular arms, his dark hair tousled from the wind. He gazes upward, the sunlight peeking through the leaves of the tree above us casting soft shadows across his features.
“So you were saying Evee had what for breakfast?” he asks, continuing our conversation from our walk to our picnic spot.
Since picking me and Evee up, the conversation between us has been easy, natural, and I can’t help but notice how he’s much more talkative today than he’s been in the past.
I’ve known from the beginning that Jack is a man of few words—never wasting time with small talk or beating around the bush. It’s something I instantly liked about him, wishing more people followed his lead.
But today, there’s something different about him. A lightness to his usual broodiness, a happiness to his usual grumpiness.
“She refused to eat anything but her leftover birthday cake,” I tell him, explaining how I made the attempt to give her all of her tried and true breakfast options, only for her to throw them on the floor—or at me—until, exasperated and fed up, I gave her a piece of her birthday cake leftover from her party yesterday.
Jack laughs, looking down at Evee. He’s gotten so comfortable with her, always eager to hold her and include her in our conversations. “I would’ve begged Mommy for a piece of birthday cake too, Evee girl,” he tells her, always talking to her like he talks to anyone else.
“You don’t even like sweets,” I argue playfully, remembering how he wouldn’t take a cupcake yesterday for himself but took the bite I offered him of mine. My cheeks warm at the memory, how I offered it to him, forgetting he doesn’t like chocolate, and how he leaned in to take the bite from my hand, staring at me right in the eyes as he did, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to me.
“Only once in a while.” He winks, somehow knowing where my mind went before he nods toward Evee. “But, l wouldn’t beg you for a piece for me. It would be for her. I mean, look how cute she is.” He plucks one of the small wildflowers from the grass and holds it in front of her. “I don’t think I could ever say no to her.” Evee grabs the flower from Jack, holding it in her little hand, her round, rosy cheeks red from the warm day. She babbles something to him, and I smile at the noises she makes. They’re not quite words yet, but her expressions always give her away.
Jack watches her, and I can’t take my eyes off the two of them. The way Evee looks at him like he’s the moon in the sky, the way he grabs her other hand in his, her fingers wrapping around two of his fingers and not letting go.
He keeps his eyes on her as she continues to babble, talking in her own little language. He nods along, giving her “mhmm’s” and “you’re right’s”, as if they really are having a conversation, and my whole body warms at how good he is with her—how he went from holding her like she was a bomb about to go off to looking at her the way he does.
Evee looks at Jack like he’s the sun, but Jack looks at her like she’s the entire universe.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, my voice cracking at the last word. I clear my throat, reaching for Evee’s diaper bag. While Jack was insistent on bringing the food, I couldn’t help but pack a few things—I’m used to always having some vegan snacks on hand, just in case.
Unzipping Evee’s diaper bag, I pull out some trail mix I prepped this morning and a bag of vegan gummy bears I impulsively bought at the grocery store.
Jack watches me as I set both down, and his eyes go to the gummy bears. “You want some?” I ask, unsure why he’s eyeing them like they might come alive and bite him.
“You like gummy bears?” he asks.
I nod. “They’re my favorite. Most aren’t vegan, so I was happy to find this brand.”
He clears his throat into his fist. “They were Bennett’s favorite too.”
I don’t say anything right away, not wanting to bring too much attention to how easily he mentioned Bennett—something he said was hard for him to do.
“He always hid gummy bears in his locker at the station because he said someone at the station was stealing them from the drawer where he kept them in the kitchen,” he explains, and his lips curl at the memory. “I’m positive he didn’t keep track of how many he was eating, so he would run out before he could realize.” He chuckles at the memory, and emotion clogs my throat.
To many, it might not seem like a big deal what Jack just did, but, after hearing about his battle with his grief yesterday, it shows the strides he’s making.
“What was he like?” I ask carefully, wanting to know more about the person who meant so much to him as Evee makes herself busy with her toys.
There’s a hint of sadness in Jack’s smile as he thinks about how he wants to answer my question. “He was a lot like Luke,” he says. “Not as happy-go-lucky, but he was always so positive and wanted to make the people around him smile.” Jack looks off into the distance, the sunlight making his dark hair look less like chocolate and more like caramel. He lets out a sigh. “He was the kind of guy who’d drop everything to help you—loyal to the core, almost to a fault. He had a sense of humor that could pull you out of the darkest place, but he also knew how to kick your ass into gear when you needed it. He made life feel lighter just by being in the room.” He speaks with a quiet reverence, eyes distant as he recalls his best friend.
Each word carries the weight of loss, yet also the warmth of a friendship that even death can’t erase.
“I think he’d be really proud of you,” I tell him, reaching for his hand and giving it a small squeeze before bringing my hand back to my lap. “He kind of sounds like he was your soulmate.”
Jack turns back to me and gives me a look, raising an eyebrow. His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes fixed on me with a mix of disbelief and amusement. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Careful, Jack. Don’t let that toxic masculinity show.”
