Page 37 of Learning at 40

“If I don’t make the food for them, I’ll be the one to eat it all.” She pats her stomach, which shows no sign of excessively eating frozen fried foods or cheese-laden pasta.

“I’ll be back in a bit.” She leaves me in her yard with my boys, who settle down for what I know will be only a short respite. After lunch, they’ll wind up and want the next adventure.

“Can River be our mom?” Oliver asks, climbing up next to me on the chaise.

Oh boy. “It’s not that simple, little man.” I tug him over my lap, and he plays with the collar of my T-shirt.

Trevor climbs up next and sits beside me. “Why not?”

“Because moms and dads need to fall in love. Then a dad asks a mom to marry him.” I don’t go into the whole explanation of how falling in love usually happens before you are a dad or mom. We’ll get to that conversation later. Hopefully, years later where I’ll be emphasizing abstinence and condoms.

“Were you and Mom in love?”

We’ve had this conversation before, and I always tread lightly around it. Lawyers shouldn’t lie, River said, and I don’t want to mislead my boys.

“Sometimes moms and dads fall out of love. That doesn’t mean they don’t love their kids. They just don’t love each other like they once did.” It’s the best explanation I can give because I don’t want to tell them how too much scotch and a reckless night led to their conception. Or how I married Jeanine with nothing more than feelings of friendship. I quickly learned we couldn’t even be friends. I’m surprised we remained married as long as we did.

“So you fall in love with River and ask her to marry you,” Oliver states as if it’s that simple.

“But River isn’t a mom, so Dad can’t marry her. He needs to find someone who is a mom.”

Oh man, I didn’t expect him to take my explanation so literal.

“Guys. Dad isn’t falling in love with any other mom, and he isn’t in love with River.”

Something clatters behind us, and we all turn to see River standing outside the sliding glass door.

“Was just bringing out the plates and forks when I dropped one,” she explains, not looking up at us as she bends for the utensil.

“Let me help you,” I say, shifting Oliver off me and rolling from the chaise.

“No,” she says too quickly, sounding a tad out of breath. “No. I’ve got it.” She holds up a fist full of forks to stop me before setting everything on a four-person, glass-topped table.

“River?” I question, lowering my voice as I step toward her, but she waves a hand to dismiss me. Abruptly, she turns for the house, giving me her back and slipping inside. A funny feeling fills my belly, and it isn’t pleasant.

River keeps up a steady stream of conversation when lunch is served, chatting with the boys about their favorite things. Television shows and movies. Books and video games. She doesn’t look up at me but smiles at them while they eat. She isn’t eating macaroni and cheese or chicken nuggets after all, and I feel guilty when I do, but I’m starving.

“Let me help you clean up,” I say once the boys are done and asking if they can go play.

“I’ve got it. You enjoy them.” She nods at my sons.

“I was thinking of taking them down to the beach. We’ve encroached on your yard long enough.”

River nods. Giving me a weak smile and a tight voice, she says, “Sounds fun.”

“Come with us.” I reach for her arm while she holds dirty plates.

“This is your time with them.” Her eyes avoid mine.

“You offered me a day with them and you.” I pout, but she isn’t looking at me. River bitterly chuckles while shaking her head. I don’t understand the dry laughter.

“Like you said, I’m bad at negotiating.”

“Let’s re-evaluate terms,” I suggest, continuing to hold her arm, afraid to release her. “A day at the beach. Then later, I’ll tell you everything. The house. The person.”

“The person?” she questions. Her piercing gaze finally returns to my face.

Swallowing around a lump in my throat, I reply, “The one who hurt me.”