Page 86 of From Maybe to Baby

"Yes."

"And were you planning on telling me? Or the kids? Or were you just going to vanish after Christmas cookies and hockey practice?"

"I haven’t made any decisions yet. That’s why I haven’t brought it up. And I don’t appreciate Gloria spilling the beans without asking me first. That woman is so gossipy?—"

"Hey. My mother-in-law kept me sane when I lost my wife. She’d lost a daughter, but she was here for my family around the clock." His eyebrow arches and his lips are tight.

I stand up, suddenly needing to put some physical distance between us, to match the emotional chasm I feel widening. "It’s my dream job," I say, staring out at the backyard. "Everything I’ve worked for."

"And this?" he challenges, gesturing around at the house.

"This is..." I struggle for the right words. "Complicated. Jonas, we’ve never discussed the future. Don’t act like we’re some old married couple where the woman can’t have a life of her own."

His face turns beet red. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

"I… I somehow became elbow deep in themed cookies and Christmas plans and school plays and... I don’t even know who I am here."

"Don’t know who you are? What does that mean?" he asks, his voice hard and unfamiliar.

I want to vomit. Or run away. Or both. "I don’t do this—families, futures, feelings. I’m not the school party type, or the Christmas tree decorating type, or the hockey mom type."

"Except, you are. And you’re good at it," he counters, unrelenting.

"That was for the article!" I shoot back, desperation creeping into my voice.

"Was it? Helping Jace with her princess project, teaching Lukas to signal in hockey—was all that just for your article?"

"Professional observation," I insist, clinging to the last shreds of my old identity.

"Professional bullsh?—"

"Lexa?" Jace’s small voice cuts through the tension, her appearance at the door with her unicorn clutched to her chest stops us cold.

"Are you leaving?" Her words are a punch to the gut.

"Like Mommy?" The innocence in her question, the fear, it dismantles me, right there.

Jonas steps towards her, but she retreats, the raw hurt in her eyes anchoring me in place.

"You promised!" she cries, tears streaming down her face. "You promised cookies and stories."

"She can't leave!" Jace’s sobs fill the room, each one splintering the flimsy facade I’ve maintained, and my heart breaks open until it hurts. It’s literally hard to stand up straight.

“Jace, go to your room, please,” Jonas says.

"I need to..." What? Explain that I’m not cut out for this? That I’m scared of wanting a life I never planned? "It’s complicated," I repeat, like the lame asshole I am.

"It's not," Jonas says, voice low. "You’re in, or you’re out."

"I need time."

"You need to stop running."

"Running?" I falter, the truth of his words slicing through my defenses.

"I... can’t." The words choke me, my admission disgusting and shameful and cowardly.

"You can," Jonas insists.

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