Page 138 of The Perfect Mistake

“I like Uncle Nate,” Willa announces. “Will Aunt Connie be there, too?”

I look down at my nails and try to swallow the guilt, waiting for Alec’s response. “I don’t think so, honey. She’ll probably be celebrating with her husband’s family. I think they were going away for the weekend. But I know she wants to come by and have dinner with you guys next week. She told me just yesterday.”

I look up at him. “She did?”

Alec nods, but his half smile is wry. Right. She wants to hang with the kids, not with him, and maybe not with me. We haven’t spoken properly since her party. I’ve tried to text a bit, and she’s responded, but it hasn’t flowed the way it usually does. I’m trying to have faith that we’ll be okay, but right now… I don’t know.

I don’t know anything, and I’m getting tired of that, too. Of being in this constant state of limbo. Ever since I left the ballet troupe, my life has been one long exercise in uncertainty.

But today is a good day.

Alec’s birthday, Thanksgiving food, and happy kids.

“Isabel,” Willa says. She’s munching on one of the blueberry pancakes, no syrup, no honey. Just holding it like a cookie. “If you marry Daddy,” she starts, making sure to emphasize the first word, “could you have a baby? I want a sister.”

Alec leans his head back against the headboard with a quiet groan. “Willa, we don’t know the future,” he says softly.

“I know,” she says happily. “That’s why I said “if.” What do you think?”

“Well, I do want children one day, so… maybe?” I say.

She nods, looking somewhat mollified. “Okay. Maybe. Just please make it a sister, because I already have a little brother.”

Alec runs a hand over his face, and I try not to notice his agitation. It’s the same as last night.

“Okay, I’ll try to keep that in mind,” I say, “but it’s the babies who choose what they’ll be, not the parents. No way to affect that.”

“I know,” she says again. Then she nudges away Sam, who’s trying to grab her pancake. “When is your birthday? Do you want pancakes in bed, too?”

“December,” I say, and glance at Alec. He is running a hand over the back of Sam’s squirming head, but his eyes look distant.

“Oh. Christmas,” Willa says.

“Early December, actually. But yes it’s pretty close.”

“You’re turning twenty-six?” Alec asks me.

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Twenty-six,” Willa repeats. “Forty-one. And I’m eight.” She pauses for a beat before continuing. “So, you were thirty-three when you had me, Daddy?”

“Thirty-two,” he says.

Willa repeats the numbers slowly. She uses one of her hands, counting up to four fingers before putting it back down. “You’re both old.”

That makes me laugh. “Yeah, we’re both much older than you two, that’s for sure! Come on, do you guys want to eat properly? We have a ton of pancakes out in the kitchen.”

Sam launches off the bed. Willa follows, holding on to Alec’s right hand and dragging him along. He’s in pajama pants, something he doesn’t usually sleep in… and peeking out from the pillow he just left is his laptop.

Right. He had been awake and faked it for the kids. Small things like that make me like him even more.

He brushes my hand as he walks by. “Thank you for helping them,” he murmurs.

“Happy birthday,” I whisper back.

For tonight, after the Thanksgiving dinner, after the kids fall asleep, I’m planning something else. Something that most definitely doesn’t involve pancakes or candles, but it does involve a surprise and a bed.

The apartment we walk into a few hours later reminds me very little of Alec’s home. Both have that same classic structure, with the crown moldings and prewar details, but that’s it. That’s where the resemblance ends. This place doesn’t feel lived in. It’s almost museum-like, with the china cabinets lining the far wall of the living room and the edges of Persian rugs are perfectly laid.

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