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My honesty must surprise her because there’s a beat of awkward silence that follows my words. Beth looks around the empty field behind us and blurts out, “Has Adam told you? About me?”
“Most of it. He said there was certain stuff he thought you should have the right to tell me yourself.”
“He’s a good man. A great dad,” she says.
“Yeah, he is.”
“I was unfair to him when I told him about Cooper,” she starts, her gaze falling to her shoes. “What he probably didn’t tell you or want you to know at all was that I told him it was his fault. How I screamed at him in that alley and told him such awful things that weren’t true, but that flew out before I could stop them. I gave him Cooper as if he were a damaged box of goods instead of a little boy, and I’ve never forgiven myself for that. Adam did, though. He forgave me, offered me money, welcomed me into our son’s life even after I gave up custody. He never saw me as damaged and gave me a life with our son because that’s just who Adam is, and I want you to know that I am so happy he has found you.
“You don’t need my support or acceptance, but you have it anyway. Adam and Cooper both deserve to have you in their lives. Knowing you’ll be there for them makes me so, so happy.”
The next time Beth looks at me, she’s smiling. It’s a smile fit with a thousand emotions, but I can only decipher one. Happiness.
“I don’t know what to say . . .” I mumble, at a loss for words.
Out of all the things I was expecting Beth to tell me, her confessions were definitely not one of them. I don’t know whether to cry or smile. I’m leaning toward smile, but my nerves have short-circuited my mind. I release an awkward, short laugh instead.
Much to my surprise, Beth starts laughing too. “That’s okay. I think we’ll get along quite well, don’t you?”
I nod. “Yeah, I really do.”
And just like that, we head toward where Ava is waiting, devouring a corn dog, suddenly more comfortable and at ease with each other.
ADAM
Cooper has never been into sports. He’s always chosen music and art over anything that requires physical activity, and unlike my own parents, I made sure to never fault him for realizing what makes him happy and what doesn’t.
However, once a year, at this festival, he entertains me for a few minutes by putting a pair of skates on and gliding around the rink with me. He’s a natural, even with a lack of experience.
“It’s freezing in here!” he shouts from the opposite side of the ice.
“I told you to put a sweater on!” I shout back, laughing.
Like any twelve-year-old boy, he figured he knew better than me and insisted he would be fine. Oh, how I love proving him wrong.
I watch him speed up and head right for me, a silly grin splitting his pink cheeks. There’s a joy in his eyes that has me taking off in his direction.
“Dad!” His eyes go wide when he notices I’m coming at him. “Slow down!”
“No can do!”
He shrieks when I skate up to him and grab him around his middle, lifting him off the ice and holding him sideways against my side as I keep skating.
“You’re going to kill us both,” he warns before I briefly loosen my grip and pretend to drop him.
He shakes against me as he breaks into a fit of laughter. The happy sound rings off the walls of the arena and settles in my chest.
“This will teach you for not listening to your old man.”
“You think you’re so funny.” He slaps my abdomen.
I cluck my tongue to the roof of my mouth. “I don’t think, buddy, I know.”
“I’m way heavier than I was the last time you did this.”
From the burn in my bicep, that much is obvious. Still, I make it my mission to hold him for at least another minute. “I would hope so. The last time I did this, you were eight. You didn’t wiggle so much then either.”
“I could slice your butt with my skate. Then you would let me down.”
