Page 22 of Never Less

I wish I’d had more of a hand in raising Nate, but I didn’t have much time with him when he was growing up. Maybe I should’ve tried to step in more. His mother didn’t want me to have custody at all—wanted to pretend I didn’t exist—but I refused to let that happen. She fought against every parenting tactic I used or suggested, but so what? I could’ve fought back.

Once we’re home, Nate hops out of the car the second it’s in park. He’s inside the house before Liliana or I have even undone our seat belts.

Running from his problems like usual.

“You all right?” I ask.

Liliana doesn’t respond immediately, and I don’t push. She’s allowed however much time she needs to collect herself.

When her eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, they’re filled with tears. “Do you—” She sniffles. “Do you have peanut butter?”

“I believe so.”

“And honey?”

I nod.

“And…” Her voice falters, and she looks down. “Chocolate chips?”

That one I have to wrack my brain for. “I’m not sure, little star. We can check, though.”

With a nod and another sniffle, she gets out of the car. I follow quickly. By the time I’ve taken off my shoes, Liliana is already raiding my pantry. She finds a bag of mini chocolate chips before I can even begin to help.

I watch in silence as she spoons some peanut butter into a bowl, pours honey onto it, and then mixes in some of the chocolate chips. It looks like a dip of some sort, and if I’m being honest, it sounds like a delightful combination of flavors.

“Pretzels?” Liliana asks.

I stop her before she’s even taken two steps toward the pantry. “I’ve got it.”

She doesn’t answer, just turns away. I’m not quite sure what she needs right now—silence, a listening ear, for me to tell her that my son doesn’t deserve her—but pretzels? I can manage that.

When I step back into the kitchen, bag in hand, Liliana is still stirring the peanut butter dip. It’s thoroughly mixed by now, but based on her agitated movements, I’m not sure she cares.

I set the pretzels on the counter in between us, and she grabs a few and scoops some of the dip onto them. All I do is watch. She’s managed to stave off her tears for now, but I’m not sure if that’ll last. I don’t mind either way. She needs someone to be there for her, and I’m fine with that person being me. I want it to be me.

“He’s an ass,” she says after she’s downed a few pretzels.

“He is.”

She shoves the bowl toward me, and I swipe a pretzel through the mixture. As soon as I’m done, she does the same, but she hesitates with her hand halfway to her mouth.

“Do you think I’m being naive, Marcus?”

I swallow. Seeing her like this—confidence shattered, full of anxiety, and so hurt—breaks my goddamn heart. “I don’t know.”

“What do you think, though?”

“Liliana…”

She stares at the peanut butter-covered pretzel in between her fingers. “If one of my friends’ boyfriends cheated on them, I’d tell them to leave immediately. That they’re worth more than an asshole like that. I thought I believed the same thing for myself, too.”

“I think you still do. You’re just scared to let go.”

“Do you think I should?”

“That’s… for you to decide.”

She huffs out a frustrated breath.

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