Page 82 of Marcus

Jesus Christ.

Cella had hoped that the round of twenty rapid-fire questions she faced at her parents’ dinner table would be all that she had to answer for a while. She couldn’t be so lucky.

“He is my friend,” she settled on saying, “and you’re right, I do like him the same way your grandparents like each other, or your aunts and uncles.”

“Oh.”

The silence from the backseat stretched on for at least another two miles. Cella wasn’t sure if that was because Tiffany was too busy reading her book, or if she was thinking about the next questions she wanted to ask her mother. It really could go either way.

Cella checked the rearview again.

Tiffany looked up at the same time, brow furrowed. “Was that how you liked Daddy, too?”

An ache hit Cella right in the fucking heart.

Sharp and oh, so deep.

Because something like that couldn’t be simplified down to a yes or no in her mind. It wasn’t that easy. Although, if she were being honest, everything about falling in love with Marcus while she still grieved a man who had given her one of her greatest gifts—her child—had seemed easy almost. He was not who she expected him to be. He came when she wasn’t looking for him.

And yes, she made room in her heart just for him.

But how did she explain those things to her child?

How did she tell her daughter all of that?

“Ma?” Tiffany asked.

“Yes,” Cella said, “it’s very much the same way I liked your daddy, but no, it’s also entirely different because they’re not the same people. I liked your daddy because of who he was, and I like Marcus for who he is to you and to me.”

“To me, too?”

Cella smiled. “Of course—you’re everything I love the most.”

So, he’d have to love her, too.

“Okay.” Then, quieter, Tiffany added, “I like Marcus.”

“I know you do, baby.”

“Do you think that would make Daddy mad?”

“Absolutely not. If anything, that would make him so happy because someone else makes you happy.”

“Oh.”

The silence came back, but this time, Cella didn’t feel like she had to wonder what her daughter was thinking about or if she had more questions that needed to be answered. She could tell just by glancing in the rearview mirror that Tiffany was lost in her thoughts and sometimes, that’s all a person needed to do.

Absorb what they knew.

Consider what it meant.

Even if that person was a five-year-old girl.

“Ma?”

“Hmm?”

“Could I call Marcus? I’d like to say goodnight.”