Page 38 of Forget Me Knot

Gram—which she insisted I call her from the moment I walked in—gazes at Jack as if she can see that little boy now. “He wasn’t havin’ it. That’s for sure. He was used to bein’ the baby and didn’t want anybody else takin’ his place.”

“He was right to be worried.” Owen sits on the arm of the couch, hovering over Brooke and eating what has to be his fourth full-sized pretzel of the day. My new baseball inspired flavors are a hit. It felt like a huge win when Winnie said she’d like to “takea bath” in the caramel crackle shell of my Cracker Jack-inspired pretzel. Owen has eaten his weight in the Hotdog Pretzel Bites, and Jack licked his fingers clean after inhaling the Jalapeno Bacon Bites with homemade Nacho Cheese Dip. If their approval is any indication, I might have a chance at winning this Badger Bites Competition.

“I’m clearly the highlight of their lives,” Owen says, smirking at his parents and batting his impossibly long eyelashes.

“You’re the reason we have gray hair.” Gary throws a cheese cube at Owen’s face, but he catches it and pops it in his mouth with a grin.

“He’s the reason you’re nearly bald, sweetheart.” Shelly waves them off, exchanging a knowing look with Brooke, who always seems to be studying every movement of Owen’s, whether he’s laughing with his siblings or shoveling food in his mouth.

A family friend to more romance… I’d read that.

I mentally chastise myself, thinking of what Emory would say if she knew I was daydreaming about real-life romances. Especially when I’m spending time with the family of the man that she so delicately texted me—after a Jack/Jackson update yesterday—was a “daytime talk show episode waiting to happen.”

“Plus,” Shelly adds, “everyone knows we love Brooke best.”

Brooke laughs and squeezes her pseudo mother, only to receive a noogie from Owen when she returns to her seat.

“Anyways,” Gram continues, speaking over the siblings now arguing over who’s the most well-loved of the group, “we thought if Jacky had his own baby, he might like to meet the real thing. So his granddad and I took him to the store, bought him a baby doll, and insisted he meet his new brother.”

Jacky. The moniker I’ve only heard his sister and Gram call him. I like it.

“He named that baby Bowen, carried him, put him to bed, changed his diapers, and…”

Jack interrupts his mama, “I think she gets it.”

Shelly pays him no mind. “And he breastfed that baby doll just about everywhere we went. It was the most precious thing.” She smiles wistfully and carries on. “He loves babies, our Jackson. We always thought he’d have babies with—”

“Shelly,” Gary clears his throat and shakes his head.

Jack groans quietly like he’s in pain and hops off the couch. “I need some air.”

Before I realize what I’m doing, I grab Jack’s hand, holding him momentarily from leaving. I’m not sure how the conversation went from gently teasing to something he obviously wants to forget, but I want him to know he has a partner here. Jack glances back at me, our eyes meeting where our hands connect, and he gives me a squeeze and a nod before removing himself from the conversation.

The room grows uncomfortably quiet. His parents look at each other like they both want to follow their son outside but are too afraid to make a move. Brooke and Owen have a silent exchange where it seems as if they speak the same non-verbal eye language, and whatever she’s said, Brooke is not happy with him. Gram sips her sweet tea, completely unbothered and shaking her head at the lot of them.

“I think I’ll go hang with Jack for a bit,” Owen says, slapping his legs and hopping off the couch. He retreats to the kitchen, pops back in the living room with a cupcake and a sweet tea and hands it over to Brooke, kissing her cheek like it's second nature. “You win, Brookey.”

She can’t hide her pleased smile but says nothing as she watches him retreat back to the kitchen and outside to join Jack.

“Jacky struggles when we talk about him before the accident,” Winnie says in between gentle coos over Chipperrolling around in between her legs on the floor. “I think it reminds him too much of everything he’s lost.”

“Winifred,” Shelly’s voice is filled with warning. “Not with company.”

“What? He clearly likes her mama,” Winnie continues, and I feel all sorts of awkward. “Jack. Jackson. Doesn’t matter.Jacky… ourJackylikes her, and I don’t wanna sweep his feelings or his situation under the rug. It sucks what happened, but if we don’t start talkin’ about it, he’ll never move on.”

I think she’s talking about the accident until his Gram says, “I agree. Stacy was a fool and—”

Stacy.

Griffin mentioned the same woman, albeit briefly, the other day. Most of what Gram says after, I block out. But suddenly, and quite desperately, I want to know who Stacy is and why Gram just used the wordsweaksauceandnincompoopin the same sentence to describe the woman.

I smile and nod for the remainder of the afternoon. When Jack and Owen return to the house, Jack’s more unsure than before, the mask of irritability pulled back into place. He helps his dad with the dishes, brings Gram her sweet tea refills, and joins Owen when he rags on Winnie about the guy she’s currently dating. Owen mentions the Peewee Spring Training Camp they put on for Little League, but Jack deflects the conversation completely.

Everything’s suddenly forced. There’s less warmth in Jack’s words and a stiffness to his movements. He fits, but he doesn’t.

“Don’t give up on him, doll.” Shelly wraps an arm around me just before we head for the car. “He’s different around you.”

“I don’t know about that.” I bite my lip, eyeing the man in question who hugs his dad but pulls away quickly.

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