Page 78 of If Only In Our Dreams

“Have you ever tried a long-distance relationship?” I asked her, even though I already knew the answer. She and my dad, Charles, had been high school sweethearts. They’d been together their whole lives, pretty much, till the day he died. She was remarried now, and still happy, but there hadn’t been much room for experimentation.

“I can’t say that I have,” Mama sighed, though her smile was gentle. “You really like him.” It wasn’t an accusation so much as it was a statement.

“I really do,” I agreed. We continued walking toward my van, voices hushed. Another family walked by, probably to enjoy the lights that lit up Main Street, or grab a book from the book store. There was a fifty-percent-off sale going on, and it was only a few blocks down.

“I’m happy for you.” Mama bumped her shoulder against my bicep and I sighed, tipping my head back to look at the glowing stars.

“I’d be happy for me too if it didn’t feel like there was a timer ticking over my head.”

“That isn’t the way to live,” she chided.

“I know.”

“You know…” Mama paused, her hand on my arm. We were in the middle of the sidewalk but it was late enough the only families out and about were easily able to side-step around. “If I’d known one day I’d lose your father I wouldn’t have changed anything.”

My heart lurched, and I tipped my head down to see her, our eyes meeting. The sincerity in her gaze made me ache. “Even though it caused so much pain?”

“He was worth it,” she said simply, giving my elbow another squeeze. “Good things are worth hurting for. He may be gone now, but his memory lives on. In each of you kids and the families and lives you build.”

“Cheesy,” I chided, lips twisting upward, because if I didn’t joke, I might cry.

“Focus on the good,” she said, tone soft. “That’sthe way to live.”

It reminded me of being a little kid. Of my first panic attack. Of the way she’d held me and held me, and promised me everything would be alright. She’d been the one who’d taken me to a therapist. She’d been the one who’d always done her best to help me cope.

I was older now, but the anxiety hadn’t gone away.

I’d simply learned how to cope with it.

It was a companion I’d never shake, and I was at peace with that now. At forty-five, I figured I deserved enough grace to allow myself that.

Mama’s words followed me home that night after I dropped her off.

I kept them safe and protected inside my heart beside Robin’s stories, Trixie’s first tremulous hello, and the way I’d felt when I’d seen my little girls’ wrinkled, red faces for the very first time. Precious memories. Good things. Memories that made the dark lighter, and the world a softer place.

On Sunday, after spending the morning playing with the girls, we returned to the park to train. Once again, Robin was there waiting for us. He was in my hoodie for the second Sunday in a row, and this time I didn’t try to hide my grin.

Today I’d get his phone number.

He’d come home with me.

And I planned on snuggling him till those chilly pink cheeks were rosy warm, and his sweet little smile was protected by my bulk. Maybe if I was lucky I’d get to touch him again too. To see more of the faces he made. To make good on the promise I’d given him. To find out if he liked having my big hands tucked up inside him the way he’d hinted at the airport.

As usual, I made sure the girls were situated before emptying my bag. We only had one more training session until the festival, and I knew without a shred of doubt that we were going to lose. But that didn’t mean we weren’t going to give it our all.

Rosie tripped more often than she didn’t, Jane was no better.

And I was somehow faster with the toddlers strapped to my legs than when I was roped up with Robin.

Still though…

I hadn’t had this much fun in…maybe ever?

And I was going to enjoy every single second of it.

By the time we finished for the day, I was sweaty and flushed and had smashed Robin to the ground at least four different times, a fact that made my back more than a little angry. He hadn’t complained though, and his flush was somehow worse than mine. He kept glancing at me through his lashes.

And I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking about.

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