Page 137 of The Perfect Mistake

He didn’t want to state if I was his girlfriend or not.

The calm, rational part of me says that’s perfectly reasonable. We haven’t had the conversation, yet. Haven’t defined the relationship, and certainly not made anything official, yet. But that doesn’t appease the part that feels hurt.

And I’m so tired of feeling hurt.

I throw myself into preparations instead. It’s the day before Thanksgiving, and it’s Alec’s birthday. He’s forty-one today.

“It’s ready,” Sam says. He’s pulled a chair into the kitchen, and he’s standing on it next to where I’m making blueberry pancakes. Willa is on my other side, delicately arranging blueberries on a plate next to the stove. There’s a half-opened box of candles lying close by. We’d gotten up ridiculously early before school to make all this happen.

“This looks nice,” she murmurs, and adds another blueberry to a ring she’s creating along the outer edge of the plate.

“Do you think your dad will want some coffee with his breakfast?” I ask.

Willa looks up at me, wrinkling her nose. “Orange juice, I think.”

“Okay, let’s pour him a glass…” I find a huge tray, and we arrange the food together. Sam plucks a flower from the fresh bouquet Katja always keeps on the entryway table and tries to stick it into the glass of orange juice. We settle on placing it on top of the napkin instead.

Willa pops a few candles into the stack of pancakes, and I light them, with the two kids watching on in rapt attention. Sam does little excited claps. His glasses are askew, and I right them before squatting in front of him and his big sister.

“Okay. What’s the plan?”

“I open the door,” Sam says right away.

“And we sing,” Willa says. Her eyes are glowing. “I start, and you join in. Right?”

I’m going to miss them so much when I’m not their nanny anymore. “That’s right. Let’s go. And let’s be really quiet.”

“That’s our superpower,” Sam whispers. He crouches down theatrically and sets off from the kitchen.

I balance the tray as they lead the way down the corridor to the closed door that marks Alec’s bedroom. It’s a little past seven, and I’m pretty sure he’s already awake. He’s never been one to sleep in.

I don’t know what else he told the kids last night, about us. He always puts them to bed himself when he’s home, and yesterday’s ritual lasted longer than usual.

Nerves make my stomach tight. Do you still love mommy? The question had shot ice straight down my spine. He’s been holding back for weeks, even when he’s given me his nights and evenings, his concern and his smiles. And I can’t shake the feeling that it’s because of his past.

Sam pushes open the door, and Willa starts to sing. Her brother immediately joins in. I follow behind them, singing quieter, and watch as a light flicks on by Alec’s bedside.

He pushes up into sitting. The duvet falls from his bare chest, pooling around his waist. His hair is messy, the way I’d come to love, the way it only is when he’s in bed.

He smiles. “What’s this?”

I place the tray at the foot of his bed, and the song finishes. Sam immediately climbs beside Alec, and Willa points to the pancakes.

“We didn’t have enough candles.”

Alec’s gaze flicks to mine for a second before nodding. “That’s okay. Let me get them all…”

The kids cheer as he blows out the tiny flames. I hand him the orange juice and perch on the far edge of the bed, watching the kids crawl across the sheets. I better keep an eye on this tray or something will get knocked over.

Alec pulls Sam back to his side and looks at me. “You helped,” he says.

I nod. “Happy birthday, Alec.”

He smiles a little, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and the nerves in my stomach tighten into a little ball. “Thank you. What a surprise, you guys. I think this will be the best birthday yet.”

“When do we have to go to Grandpa’s?”

“That isn’t until this evening,” Alec says. “Your Uncle Nate will be there, too, and lots of Thanksgiving food. More than we can eat.”

---