Page 103 of One and Only

“No shit,” he breathed. “Erik was amazing at Washington. He was one of my favorite defensive players.”

Greer smiled. “Mine too, but I can’t tell my brothers stuff like that too often, or it goes to their heads.”

I exhaled a laugh.

While we finished dinner, I was able to angle a little closer to her, keeping my voice quiet enough that no one could hear.

“How long do you want to stay after dinner is done?”

She finished her bite of chicken. “Is Olive coming back home with us?”

I pushed my plate away. “I have to check with Josie’s sister. She doesn’t get to see Olive very often, so she and her kids might sleep at Josie’s place if Olive wants to hang out with her cousins while they’re in town.”

Greer nodded. “Makes sense. So we’d just have to pick her up in the morning if she stays? My mom actually asked if we would come out to their place.” She studied my expression, her smile tentative as she said it. “I think they’re chomping at the bit to get to know you two more.”

Her tone was apologetic, and I fought the churning sensation in the pit of my stomach.

Sitting in that big room, tastefully decorated and filled with soft, warm lights, I hated thinking about all the things she’d given up to help me with this.

“Yeah, we can go out there,” I told her.

She beamed. “Really? I know you hate … faking. But they’d love it. And we’ll have to do some of that when Josie is gone anyway. You know they’re going to want to do birthdays and holidays and school plays … all of it.” She scrunched her nose. “Honestly, they will want to show up at an almost obnoxious level, and I don’t actually know how we’ll be able to stop them.”

I managed a nod.

It was the stuff Olive and I had never had. The stuff we’d never been able to give her.

The big loud Christmases.

A chorus of people singing “Happy Birthday” while she waited to blow out the candles on the strawberry cake she always asked for.

People to fill the rows at school functions.

It suddenly felt like Greer was giving so much more to this situation we found ourselves in.

She was bringing life into our house and warmth.

She made my daughter laugh; she mademelaugh.

And she was bringing us an army of people who wanted nothing more than to embrace me and my daughter, make us feel loved and welcome.

What was I giving to her in return?

I’d given a day. I’d given her a performance that brought joy to her family.

That was it.

“I’ll be right back,” I told her, my voice ragged.

Her eyes filled with concern, and I didn’t wait to see how she responded.

I cut through the room, managing a few smiles to familiar faces as I passed, but no one stopped me. In the corner of the room, Josie and Micah had their heads bent at a private table, and he said something to make her laugh. Olive had her own seat there with them, and she was scribbling something on her napkin.

By the time I walked into the hallway outside the reception hall, the quiet was deafening. I took a slow breath, fighting the build of helpless anger that I’d somehow thought this would be easy. That it would be clear cut and neatly defined.

This is the problem we both have. And here’s the best solution.

Simple as that.

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