Page 77 of The Man I Love

“You’ve always been like a second daughter to me. No matter what, that will never change.”

Samantha squeezed her eyes shut and her lungs constricted. Until that moment she didn’t realize how much she needed to hear those words.

Mrs. Montgomery placed a soft kiss on Samantha’s cheek and picked up a bottle of sparkling cider from the counter. “Take your time, sweetheart,” she whispered. “I know this hurts.”

She disappeared into the living room, and Sam’s gaze followed her through the sliding glass door to the backyard. Mrs. Montgomery’s eyes locked immediately on her ex-husband.

Sam held her breath as the woman, who had been bitter for far too long, crossed the lawn and stopped directly in front of Mr. Montgomery. He extended his hand—a tentative gesture—but Mrs. Montgomery ignored it. Instead, she reached forward and pulled him into a hug.

The embrace lasted a full minute, and in that time, Sam felt her heart skip a beat. She braced herself against the counter, hardly able to process what she was seeing—a moment she had never imagined witnessing in her entire life.

With shaky hands, she lifted her glass of water to her lips and took a slow sip.Things are never one-sided, Sam. Remember that.

It wastwenty minutes later when Sam’s nerves finally settled enough to go outside. They ate a lunch of tiny beignets, mini quiches, and sandwiches that were all bite-sized. She was in awe of the thought and care that went into each detail and was filled with gratitude. Tristan kept his distance, charming their guests from the other side of the lawn. With distance she could breathe easier. With distance, she could forget about Mrs. Montgomery’s words in the kitchen and find joy inreminiscing with old friends.

Their mothers gathered in the middle of the yard around noon and announced it was time to start the games. No one was off the hook, and guests of all ages seemed to line up willingly—even their grandparents and great Aunt Gretchen, who were eager to play along.

Their mothers had come up with the silliest things—such as waddling like ducks across the yard while carrying an egg between their thighs. The goal was to drop the unbroken egg into a waiting basket, but the hilarious part was how people got it there. Samantha had tears running down her face with laughter by the time it was over. Her father, who had duct-taped pillows between his knees, had won the whole thing.

Then came the “dirty diaper game.” All participants gathered in a circle, passing the “dirty diaper,” round and round to nursery rhymes until the music stopped. The person still holding the dirty diaper was “out,” causing chaos to ensue each time.

It was the final game that was Samantha’s favorite, possibly because Tristan was the guest of honor. Mrs. Montgomery made him sit at a table blindfolded, where at least a dozen baby food jars had been set in front of him. His task was to taste them allandthen guess the flavor.

His priceless reactions gathered the attention of every kid in attendance. They giggled so hard that some of them appeared to almost stop breathing.

Tristan didn’t disappoint them with his faces and seemed to thrive off their laughter and squeals. With each new flavor, his response became a little more animated and the kids began rolling in the grass with glee.

When he finally finished the last jar, he ripped the blindfold and found Samantha across the yard. “We will never”— he said between gulps of water— “feed our baby pureed chicken with peas.”

The crowd erupted in waves of laughter, and Tristan’s newfound groupies charged him with a million different questions. Samantha felt a sense of peace as she watched him with all the kids. They clung to him like magnets, and he seemed to genuinely enjoy every second.

When it finally came time for the gender to be revealed, Samantha’s stomach came alive with tiny butterflies. She and Tristan were led out into the center of the yard and “Haven’t Met You Yet” by Michael Bublé began playing through the speakers. A sense of calm had settled over her until this point, but now her throat was so tight it was hard to pull in a breath. Tristan was handed a large white umbrella, and they were instructed to stand together beneath it. Someone then began a countdown on the other side of the lawn, and she closed her eyes with anticipation. She’d waited months for this, wondering and dreaming about who this baby might be.

All day, she’d avoided eye contact with Tristan, but now she glanced up, needing to see his reaction. He looked nervous and pale, and her heart ached for him. She placed one hand over his on the arm of the umbrella, and his eyes instantly met hers, crystal blue, unable to hide all the thoughts and fears that were tearing him up inside.

She flashed him a smile of reassurance. “Are you ready for this?”

His eyes were cloudy when he nodded, and the countdown became louder.

“THREE …”

He lifted the umbrella over their heads.

“TWO …”

He pulled her close with one arm.

“ONE!”

The umbrella popped open, and in slow motion, hundreds upon hundreds of soft pink tissue paper hearts came fluttering down to the earth. It was a rainstorm of pink that littered the ground at their feet.

“Isn’t she lovely”began to play through the speakers, as more hearts began to blow from the rooftop, where she could see her father pumping his fist into the sky. Tristan’s arms tightened ather rib cage, and his chin rested on the top of her head. She could feel him shakingbut knew that if he wasn’t holding her, she wouldn’t be strong enough to stand.

Even though a hundred people surrounded them, it felt like they were all alone. Children rushed the lawn, giggling and twirlingand snatching hearts from the sky, but all she could focus on was him—his heartbeat, his breathing, and how perfectly she fit in his arms.

She pushed away so she could look up at his face. “Are you happy?” she asked.

He seemed deep in thought, but his eyes dropped down to hers. “Yes,” he whispered. She had a sense that it was more complicated than that. Yes, he was happy, but he was lost, and her heart hurt because she knew why.

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