Page 200 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
Perry:I’m coming, Lila. Don’t give up on me. I’m coming.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lila
I will keep myeyes on the field. I will keep my eyes on the field. I will keep my eyes on the field.
In the ten minutes that Jack is warming up, it takes all my effort not to constantly turn and scan the parking lot behind me.
Will he come?
Does he love meenough to come?
It’s been a long thirty-six hours since I gave Perry an ultimatum, but I don’t have any regrets. We can slow down, ease into him spending time with Jack when the three of us are together, but we can’t go backwards. If he wants me, he has to want us both.
Jack waves at me from the field as the referees blow the starting whistle.
Perry isn’t here.
The game is starting, and Perry isn’t here.
I itch to check my phone, see if I’ve missed something, but I accidentally left it in the car, and now that the game has started, I don’t want to go back for it for fear I’ll miss something.
Icouldgo back for it. If I run, maybe?
But then Jack has the ball, and he’s taking off down the field, and I have to keep my eyes on my boy. What could my phone possibly tell me anyway? Perry is either here, or he isn’t.
And he isn’t.
When we break for halftime, I decide to leavemy phone in the car. At this point, I don’t even want to see any explanation Perry might have sent for why he isn’t here. Better I focus on Jack. Enjoy the game. Still, in the back of my mind, I keep hoping. Keep imagining that at any moment, he’ll show up.
My hope doesn’t fully flicker out until the last few minutes of the second half. Jack has done great. He scored a goal, which, considering we started the season just hoping he wouldn’t trip over his own feet, is pretty impressive.
And I was the only one here to see it.
I didn’t tell Jack Perry might come today.
So this burden—this painful disappointment—I will bear on my own. I wipe tears out of my eyes, hoping the other parents think I’m only emotional because my kid is a soccer rockstar and scored a second goal.
At some point, I’m going to have to tell Jack he won’t be seeing Perry anymore. Maybe now that he’s already had his father-son breakfast, he won’t be so consumed with the idea of getting a new dad.
The final whistle blows, and Jack comes running over, all smiles. “Mommy, did you see me score?”
“I did, buddy. You were amazing.”
“Hey, good game, Jack,” his coach calls.
Jack runs over to the mom handing out snacks and water bottles to all the kids while I gather up my camp chair and the rest of my things. We head back toward the parking lot, my eyes scanning for Perry’s truck the whole time. I dig deep for the determination to force them forward, straightening my spine,making my steps intentional as I lead Jack back to the car. I can’t keep doing this to myself. I can’t keep looking for him.
Perry made his choice.
And it wasn’t me.
I unlock the car, helping Jack into his booster seat before hauling my camp chair to the back of my SUV. I drop everything inside and turn and sit on the back bumper. I close my eyes and press my hand to my chest. Here, just for a minute while Jack can’t see me, I let myself feel the full weight of my disappointment. The ache is bone deep, the sadness sharpened by the contrast of the bliss I experienced just a few days ago when I still believed Perry was mine.
“Lila!”
I look up.
