Page 68 of Reclaim Me

“Thank you, Sunshine.”

I don’t mean to use the nickname. It’s a private thing. Something that belongs to Rae and me. Something I don’t want tarnished by the other two adults at the table who kill everything with their judgment and negativity. I don’t mean to use it, but it pops out anyway, the way it always does when I’m caught up in a moment where it feels like there’s no one else in the world besides me and her. When I’m trapped in her gaze and have no intentions of looking for a way out. When my heart is brimming with unspent love that has no where to go.

Aaron clears his throat, snapping the moment in half, and Rae forces a smile, picking up her fork and spearing a green bean with it while I try not to watch the way her lips curve around the gleaming metal.

“What were you building?” Riley asks, bringing us back to the start of the conversation.

I focus my gaze back on her sweet face. “A treehouse.”

Rae coughs, and everyone, including Riley, turns a concerned gaze in her direction. She waves her hand, assuring her silently that she’s fine while Aaron claps her on the back.

“A treehouse?” She wheezes once she’s finally recovered and taking slow sips of her water. “You’re building a treehouse?”

The funny thing about history is that it will always find a way to make itself known, and when you have as much history with a person as I have with Rae, it happens more often than it doesn’t. Every conversation we have, every look we share, is the equivalent to navigating a minefield. No matter how careful you are or how slow you move, every time you take a step, you run the risk of triggering a bomb.

No one else in this room knows that I did exactly that when I mentioned the tree house. They don’t know that they’re now standing at the site of an emotional explosion, covered in the shrapnel of a steamy night where four years of longing turned into lost inhibitions and confessions of love.

But Rae knows.

She remembers, and now she knows that I never let myself forget.

“A treehouse,” she repeats, her eyes soft, her voice softer.

“A TREEHOUSE!” Riley shouts, bouncing in her seat. “That sounds so cool!”

“It is cool,” I assure her when I manage to tear my eyes away from her mom again. “There’s this big tree at the edge of my property that overlooks the lake my daddy and I used to fish in. That’s where I’m building it.”

Riley’s eyes are as big as saucers. “Ohhh, can I see it?”

“Well, I don’t have any pictures of it, but maybe one day, when you come to my house, I can take you out there so you can see it in person.”

It takes me a second to realize my mistake, but when I do, I immediately wish I could take the words back. Rae and I haven’t talked about Riley coming to my house. At all. Since becoming a part of Riley’s life, I’ve been content to let Rae lead, only pushing for more when I felt it was likely I’d get the result I wanted. I’d love to bring Riley to the house, to bring her into my world just a little bit more, but I haven’t asked Rae, and I don’t want it to look like I’m trying to force her hand by mentioning it to Riley first.

The thing with kids, though, is that they always hold on tight to the things you want them to let go of. And judging by the curiosity dancing in Riley’s eyes, she’s not planning on letting go of this house thing any time soon.

“Can I come and see it today?” she asks.

“It’s a school night, Ri,” Rae responds, and I hope the reminder is enough to end this conversation, but it’s Riley, so of course it’s not.

“This weekend, then! I’ll help you build the treehouse and make sure you don’t hurt yourself again,” she says, her eyes on me even though I don’t have any power here. I hate that I don’t have it, that I have to look to Rae for help while ignoring the smug smile on Aaron’s face as he watches me flounder for a response.

Rae smiles gently at Riley, her tone soft. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Nugget.”

While I knew what her answer was going to be, I still feel unprepared for the pain that lances my heart when I hear it. I’m even less prepared for the way Riley’s face crumples with disappointment.

“But why?” She whines, looking between Rae and me. “I want to help Daddy build the treehouse. I can be a good helper.”

“You’re a great helper, Ri,” Rae assures her while I put a soothing hand on her back, rubbing small circles between her shoulder blades because it’s all I can do. “But I’m not going to be here this weekend, so I can’t take you over there.”

“Aaron has planned a romantic weekend for him and Rae to reconnect,” Marcy adds between bites of rice pilaf, chucking the information in my direction even though I don’t want it.

“Two full days alone in Atlanta with no interruptions,” Aaron says.

Rae’s eyes flash with self-consciousness as she looks at me. “Riley’s going to be staying with Jayla and her daughter, Sonia, for the weekend.”

It hurts to know that I’m at the bottom of the list of childcare options for my daughter. Below Dee’s little sister and Aaron’s mom and a stranger on the fucking street, but I hold the pain in, swallowing it because nothing good will come from letting it out.

“You don’t have to explain,” I tell her, even though I do want an explanation. I want to know what I have to do to make my way to the top of the list of people she trusts to be alone with our daughter.

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