Page 34 of Easton

And you can’t.

Not to mention, I’m certainly not in any way, shape, or form interested in getting pregnant. Not at this time in my life. Though, man, I bet Easton would make a great father. Not like mine. He’d be in his child’s life more than once a year.

But some things can never be.

“Why do you suddenly look sad?” my mom asks as she reaches over and places her hand over mine.

I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”

Patting my hand, she says, “I’m sorry, Claire. I shouldn’t have brought up the subject. Having a child is your and Easton’s decision to make, not mine. I’m sure when you guys feel the time is right, it’ll happen.”

Yeah, that time will never come, Mom.

I can’t say that, of course, so I just nod in agreement.

Thankfully, the subject is dropped. Mom pivots, and we talk about how both of us are settling into our new homes. I also share that Madison and I are going to the Phoenix Bears game tonight.

“Ooh,” Mom coos. “That should be fun. They’re playing Edmonton, right?”

My eyes widen. “Whoa, Mom, they sure are. I’m impressed. Since when did you start paying attention to the Bears’ schedule?”

After taking a small sip of coffee, she states proudly, “Since my daughter happened to marry one of their players.”

I laugh. “Touché, Mom. Touché.”

I stay at my mom’s for a while longer, and then I head back to my house.

When I arrive, everything is quiet. I assume Easton is taking his usual routine before-game nap.

I don’t want to bother him, so I decide to sit out on the back patio. It’s not overly hot today since it’s early November, but Istill opt to take a seat at the table with the big umbrella shading the sun.

Once I’m settled, I notice I have a perfect view of where the trailhead that leads to Stan begins. It reminds me that I’ve been meaning to take a picture of that cactus. I have a few shots of the old Stan on my phone, but the new one has yet to be immortalized on my camera roll.

Leaning forward and slipping my phone out of my back pocket, I stand and then make my way over to the trailhead, where I embark down the windy path. Within a few minutes, I reach Stan.

I skid to a halt.

But for a good reason—there’s a small wooden picnic table by our new friend. It’s roughly the same size as the one that used to be next to the old Stan, but this one is in better shape. It’s not sun bleached or worn.

Smiling, I murmur, “Easton sure didn’t waste any time putting this thing back here.”

I’m touched and also pleased.

This means we can sit and chill, just like we used to on the old neighborhood trail.

I take a few pictures of Stan from different angles, some including the picnic table.

But all I keep thinking the whole time is what a sweet husband I have.

“Fuck!” I grind out as I’m checked into the boards—hard—by an Edmonton player.

We’re on the ice right where Claire and Madison are seated, and as the glass reverberates, they both jump back.

Yeah, they’re in the front row again. They really do like these close-to-the-action seats.

That’s fine with me. I love seeing Claire during the game.

I glance at her now and notice that her hand is over her heart. There’s also concern for my safety on her face.

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