Page 42 of Summer with a Single Dad

We walked together, Hudson in the middle. It didn’t escape me that Emily was still trying to keep some space between us. After visiting The Puzzle Guy, the Bark Booth, and the Jam Stand, we bought some fresh bagels with cream cheese and found a bench with some shade to sit together.

When my phone buzzed in my pocket, I groaned. But when I saw that it was my dad calling, I knew this would be a perfect opportunity to talk to Emily. I handed Hudson my phone and told him, “Sit down here. Grandpa’s calling.”

Sitting on the grass nearby, Hudson was oblivious, but still, I kept my voice low. “What happened last night?”

Her face hardened, muscle by muscle. The tension and adverse reaction to my question were evident in her simple reply. “Nothing.”

“Emily, I know something happened. Did I do something wrong?”

She looked away, refusing to meet my eyes.

“If I did something, I need to know what it was.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Is it about Hudson?”

“No.”

“Em, you have to talk to me.”

“It’s stupid. And not a big deal . . .”

“Something made you bolt, so it’s gotta be at least a medium deal.”

She gave a silent chuckle. “I heard Hudson . . . when he was crying.”

“Okay. I’m not sure why that made you feel like leaving. He was just scared of the storm. It happens sometimes when the weather gets crazy like that.”

“No, not that part,” she said, still averting her eyes. “He was crying for his mom. And I—” She wrung her hands together.

“Oh, Emily. That wasn’t?—”

“I’m not trying to take her place.”

“I know. And I’m not asking you to.”

“That’s not what I mean.” A quiet moment passed as we regarded one another. “When I heard him, it made me realize that maybe this whole thing is happening a little too fast. For Hudson, I mean. I don’t want to jeopardize anything with him or cause him more pain.”

I looked at Hudson, who was happily picking at the grass while he talked to his grandpa. “Emily, you have it all wrong.”

“But—”

“The thing you need to know is that this happens sometimes after we’ve talked about his mom. The night before, we looked at his scrapbook. It has pictures of Kayla when she was pregnant and after he was born. It’s filled with pictures of her. My mom and sister made it so he’d have something to remember her by.” I breathed deeply when she took my hand because I didn’t want to cry. “He was too little to remember her when she died. This way, he can . . . remember.”

“I-I didn’t know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing to apologize for. I can see where you got your signals crossed. He wasn’t crying because of you or anything you did. Hudson really likes you.” The corners of my mouth curved up. “I mean, what’s not to like, right?”

“Chris.” She sighed. “I’m new at all of this. And it freaks me out.”

“Me or Hudson?” I asked.

“Both. The whole family thing is elusive to me. My mom was strung out on drugs most of my life. She cheated on my dad, broke up our family, and eventually died from an overdose. My dad passed away, and then it was just me and my grandma.”

“You had a good relationship with her, though.”

“I did,” she said, nodding. “My point, though, is that what you have with your family isn’t anything like what I had. And I just don’t want to screw it up.”

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