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Cassidy Sullivan could do that: be sincerely happy for a man who’d broken his heart.
I glanced at my cup, then back at him. “You look surprised whenever I mention the girls. Did you not think I could really do it, or something? Raise kids?”
“No. I mean, I was surprised at first. Not because I didn’t think you could be a dad, but just…we’re adults now. We’re old enough for you to have five-year-olds. It’s weird.”
I looked away from him before I blurted out something stupid like,‘Why couldn’t you have asked my mom for my new number, Cass?’Or something stupider like,‘I should have given you my new number, Cass.’Or, really go for the gold:‘I don’t think I ever loved Ben as much as I loved you.’
We’d been seventeen. We’d loved each other with the undying, tragic and all-consuming intensity of Romeo and Juliet. But also, we’d once broken up for two weeks because he’d said that Good Charlotte was “overrated.” Seventeen-year-olds are stupid. And yet, even then I’d known I wanted kids. I was determined I was going to be the father that my father had never been—even while I was still tying myself up in knots trying to get a single “Good job, son” out of him. Or any acknowledgement of my existence, really. I’d torpedoed my relationship with Cass by going to UMass instead of OU because somehow I’d thought it would impress a man who couldn’t even remember my birthday.
I stole a glance at Cass from behind the rim of my purple Pony Pals cup and wondered what my life would have looked like if Cass and I had both gone to OU like we’d planned. Well, like he’d planned, and I’d pretended to plan while secretly planning a whole other thing.
We wouldn’t have stayed together. God, of course we wouldn’t have, because we’d been kids. But it was nice to imagine a version of my life where everything hadn’t gone spectacularly off the rails and been documented in Buzzfeed articles, one of which had featured the word “OUCH!” over a screenshot from the Kiss Cam as Ben was dodging me. I know, Buzzfeed, I know.
“So,” I said, way too loudly and jovially, “Cookies with Santa!”
“Cookies with Santa,” Cass repeated with a smile.
“Okay, so we usually do it at about seven. That way the girls are in their PJs already. The tree lighting ceremony is at what, five-thirty or something? So, plenty of time for you to go home, get changed, and get over here. They’ll be waiting, and you ring the doorbell, then you come in.”
“And eat the cookies,” Cass said.
“First youcomplimentthe cookies. Do you know how hard it is to keep two five-year-olds on task for the actual baking part? They need positive reinforcement, Cass.”
“Of course I was going to compliment the cookies. What did you think? That Santa would be all, ‘These cookies areshit.’ Come on, Fran.”
“I’m just making sure!”
Cass’s brows tugged together. “Why? What happened? Have you had a bad Santa experience in the past? DidBensay something about the cookies?”
I liked the way his voice got dangerously low when he said Ben’s name, like he hated him.
“He once said that they were lopsided.”
Cass gasped. “Hedidn’t!”
“No, of course he didn’t. He was a great Santa.” He’d been great at a lot of other things too. He probably still was great at a lot of other things, and would continue on being great at them, and I’d never get to witness it. “I just... this is our first Christmas on our own—well, the first one the girls are big enough to remember—and I want it to go right, that’s all.”
His expression softened. “I get it.” He set his cup on the coffee table. I studied the tree in the corner so he wouldn’t notice that I couldn’t stop watching everything he did. Ada’s Krazy Glue-ed handprint ornament had gotten snagged on a plastic reindeer. I got up and fixed it.
“Did you and he have the girls together?” Cass asked. “Or is that a wildly inappropriate question?”
“Not wildly. I mean, you told me about your—” I waved vaguely. “You know. The Ms. Cummings thing. I guess it’s only fair that I answer a personal question about my daughters.”
“I would love it if you wouldn’t equate those two things, but okay.”
“I had them on my own. With a surrogate. Took out a massive loan to do it; I’ll be in debt forever. It’s worth it. I met Ben like nine months after they were born. He’s been part of practically their whole lives. I really thought he loved them, but we haven’t been in touch since we broke up.”
“Except when you asked him to fly here and be Santa.”
“Ouch. Yes. Thanks.”
“No, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I did call him. I do miss him. But he’s with someone else, and I’m in Christmas Valley. End of story.”
“Sounds more like the beginning of one.”
“Cass! That is the cheesiest shit I’ve ever—”
