nine

Sunday morning lazy lie-ins in my @silkinsheets pajamas. They’re so comfy, it needs to be a really good brunch offer to get me out of bed. PS. Instagram vs. Reality: Swipe to see how I “actually” woke up. #ad #Iwokeuplikethis

“Change of plans,” Will says when I answer my phone on Sunday morning. He’s cancelling? Disappointment rushes through me, despite all my efforts to push him away. Even though I’d love a screen-free day, I was looking forward to seeing him. Plus, even though most of my friends are child-free, too, they have partners, and default to hanging with them. I don’t blame them—I used to do the same thing when things were good with Eric and me. I’m definitely happier being single than I was when things were rough with Eric, and I like the freedom to do whatever I want, whenever I want, but sometimes, from time to time, I still get a bit lonely, when I want to hang out with someone and no one’s free.

“I was looking over the contract, and it says we should be showing how easy Fresh Food Fast is to take on a picnic, so then I was thinking, let’s head to the island. I’ll even bring a photographer.”

“Oh, great. But…the island?” I’m shaking my head vehemently, which is not effective over the phone. Though part of me’s relieved he isn’t coming over—it’ll be much easier to keep things professional if we’re in public. Still…the island? “No. Besides, you can’t just change the plan because you feel like it.”

“I can if I want to follow the contract to a T. And I do, because I want to deliver what the client asked for—I’m just that kinda guy. So you wanna tell me what the real issue is with changing the plan? You’re worried you can’t get me in the sack if we’re out in public?” His voice is hushed.

“You wish. I told you, we’re not having sex again anyway. It was a one-time thing.”

“So what is it, then?”

“I’m not island people, that’s all.”

“You’re not island people?” Will laughs.

“That’s right. No thanks. Nuh-uh. How about High Park?”

“You’re acting like I’m suggesting going to the island in Lost. It’s just Centre Island. Everyone loves the island.”

“Not me. I hate it. Hate everything about it.”

“Tough. It’s a beautiful day, and being over at the island is ten times better than any park in the city. Meet you at the ferry docks at eleven.” He hangs up. There’s something about how Will just assumes that if he has an idea, it’s a go—like what I say makes no difference—that irritates me to no end. Obviously this is a clue as to why he’s divorced—maybe he treated his wife as though she were also a child.

I don’t have to go. I could stand him up. That’d show him that I’m not the kind of woman who just goes along with some new plan I never agreed to. But we have to make the next Fresh Food Fast box by tomorrow morning. This is exactly the reason I like working alone on campaigns. And yet—do I really want to have to deal with cooking the meals alone, and risk them being able to tell Will wasn’t in on it?

It is a beautiful day, an outdoor cooking pic is a good idea, and I’ve got a new red check blanket that would look great in photos.

Fine. I’ll concede. This one time. I pack my things and head out.

Will’s waiting by the ticket booth when I arrive—he’s wearing a ball cap and another T-shirt that hugs his arms. His face is unshaven, and while I usually hate that look, on Will, it makes him even more attractive.

“Hi, Kit!” Addie rushes over to me, a camera slung across her body. What is she doing here? I look around nonchalantly to see if anyone’s looking our way. It’s not like I can’t be seen with kids, but if someone were to snap a pic of Will and Addie and me together and post it…I’m always so paranoid, but I know from experience how much time it sucks to do damage control on a bad pic. And I would never want to mislead the women I’ve worked so hard to reach out to, with my book, my talks, my meetup groups. Social media makes it so much easier to quickly reach people, but it means that it’s also so easy for things to go wrong, so quickly. And if I were to catch sight of the three of us, walking toward the ferry, on a gorgeous Sunday, I would most definitely not think this was any kind of work event.

“Surprise!” Will says, walking toward me. “Our own personal photographer.”

Couldn’t he have left her with her mom for the day? This feels like something he should’ve told me, instead of implying that he’d hired the next Ansel Adams. Addie beams. I give her my best fake Instagram smile, then immediately feel bad. She seems genuinely happy to see me—which is nice, I suppose. And realistically, what are the odds anyone’s going to recognize me and think we’re on a date? So why am I so annoyed? Am I jealous that I’m having to share Will’s attention?

“Hey, Sweetie,” I say. Then turn to Will. “I wish you’d cleared this with me. I take work pretty seriously and if the pics aren’t good we’re going to have to redo this whole thing.”

“Relax, Boss.” He grins. I want to smack him—or kiss him.

He puts the Fresh Food Fast box down and takes my camera and tripod bags from me, easily throwing them over his shoulder. Normally I’d refuse but the straps were digging into my shoulder and now my hands are free to create some Instagram stories on my phone. It’s kind of nice having someone else to work with. He bends back down to pick up the food box.

“I’m really good,” Addie pipes up. “I took a photography course last summer in Kensington Market. We walked around for hours. It was so tiring but we got all these cool shots in Graffiti Alley and stuff, and then we learned how to develop film in a darkroom and everything. But I brought my digital camera for this cuz Dad says you need it for Instagram.”

“She’s really good,” Will says, smiling.

“Well, I have my own camera and tripod and timer.” I point to the bags that Will’s now carrying. “I’m kind of a control freak so I’ll probably still take my own pics, too”—Addie’s face falls. I sigh. “I mean, it would be nice to have the help. Why don’t we just see how it goes?”

“Great. And that’s the point of digital, right? If you don’t like it I can just do it again.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, then nod toward Will, who’s a few paces ahead of us. “Let’s get on before all the shady seats are taken.”

But we’re too late and have to settle for seats along the outer railing. Will unloads our stuff, pushing it under the bench, then holds his ball cap out to me. “Want this?” he offers, but I shake my head.

“And get hat head?” I joke. Even though the thought of putting anything that’s been touching Will’s body on my own makes my heart skip a beat. Even a dirty ball cap.

Will asks us if we want anything to drink, then says that he’s going to get a ginger ale. “Preventative measures. I get seasick.”

“Are you kidding? But this was your idea. Why are we on a boat if you get seasick?”

He shrugs. “It’s the only way to get to there. And Addie loves going to the island. So it makes up for the fact that I’m working on the weekend.”

I nod. I get it. It’s a source of stress I’ve heard over and over from friends with kids—how to balance work and parenting. You’re either stressed out because you can’t get the amount of work done that you used to because of your kids, or you’re feeling guilty for working instead of spending time with them. Plus, even when you’re working you’re thinking about them. And yet, as Will walks toward the snack bar I can’t help admiring him for figuring out a way to make today work—without letting me know it was an issue. And Addie seems really happy to be tagging along, which makes me feel bad for being so negative. And she’s not making a stink that her dad’s working on the weekend instead of giving her all his attention, so why am I being so possessive?

Addie calls to me and I turn to see her standing on the bench, leaning over the railing. She’s making me nervous, but I can’t decide whether to step in to offer responsible advice or mind my own business.

“Hey, come and sit down beside me,” I say, and thankfully she listens, jumping down from the bench and sitting beside me. “So Dad says your job is on Instagram,” she says. “Like, do you work there? And they pay you to take pictures?”

“Not exactly. But kind of.” I flip the app open and show her my feed. “I talk about brands I like, to get people excited to try something they haven’t. Like the Good Food Fast box. Only I’m a terrible cook, that’s why your dad’s now working with me.” I scroll down to the latest Good Food Fast post, tilting my phone toward her, but she’s looking at me.

“Do you wear false lashes when you’re taking your photos?”

I shake my head and laugh. “No. I think I’m too lazy for falsies, but I know a lot of influencers do.”

“I’m probably going to get false eyelashes and dye my hair purple when I’m older.” I put my phone away and study her.

“I don’t think you need false lashes. You have lovely lashes. And those things—I don’t know, you can get pretty caught up in how you look.” I smooth my hair, remembering my “hat head” comment earlier. “But the purple—that sounds fun,” I say.

“Tell that to Dad.”

“Hmm. Well, how old are you?”

“Eight,” she says. I try to think back to when I was eight. Did I even know about makeup at that age? It seems wrong that she should be concerned with her appearance or what others think of her, when she’ll inevitably have to deal with that later in life. Why am I even giving so much thought to this girl I just met, anyway?

“So, do you live by yourself?”

“Yep,” I say lightly, looking around for Will. A few feet away, on the same bench, an elderly couple is holding hands, their heads bowed toward each other, talking quietly. I feel a stab of envy. I’m happy being single—and much happier than I was when Eric and I were fighting all the time—but sometimes I wonder if, when I’m older and I’m still single and everyone is old and gray with kids and grandkids to take care of them, I’ll feel the same way.

“But why don’t you have any kids? Are you married?”

Seriously? It’s not even noon.

I sigh. “I’m happy with my life the way it is,” I say. “I’ve got a great job and great friends and I don’t think I could also fit kids into that. And the world is overpopulated as it is, so I think it’s better for those who just have to have kids, the people who feel like they’ve always wanted to be a mom or a dad, to be parents, and if you’re not sure, maybe it’s better to just be that really cool aunt, or friend, you know?” I wink.

“My piano teacher doesn’t have a husband but she had a baby,” she says, a bit randomly, then squeals. “And oh my gosh, she’s sooooo cute. I love babies. They’re so squishy and they smell so good. I’m going to have four kids when I’m a mom.”

I force a smile. “Wow. Four? That’s a lot.”

“It’s not that many.”

“I guess.”

“Did your husband die?” she asks, and I just stare back at her wide eyes, wanting this conversation to end. I’m about to tell her that I don’t have a husband, that I’ve never had a husband, that just because I’m in my thirties doesn’t mean I have to be married, but then she continues. “My mom died, so I get it. Death and all that.”

And her words hit me like a deep punch to the gut. It goes right to that place that I hate, and I feel frozen in time and space. She is motherless, like me. I just assumed Will was divorced—that he was only caring for Addie half the time. I never even considered he was solo parenting. She seems so well adjusted, happy, even, and I feel faint. “Oh Honey, I had no idea,” I say, thinking she could probably use a hug, but I barely know her. Should I try to hug her? The idea paralyzes me, and then the moment is gone. It would be awkward, surely, for one of us, if not both. I always feel like my own mother was taken away from me way too soon, when I was too young to be motherless. How unfair it all was. But I was ten, and Addie’s only eight.

“When did it happen?” I ask gently.

“When I was three. I don’t really remember her that much.”

Of course she doesn’t. What do you remember at three? Much less than what you remember at ten, I suppose. I have the garage memories with Mom. What does Addie have? I look out to the lake and try to block out the city so all I can see is blue against blue. Sky melting into water. Or water melting into sky.

“Everyone thinks Dad is divorced,” she’s saying and I pull away from my trance and turn to her. “Most kids have divorced parents, I guess. Like my friend Millie. Her parents are divorced, and she stays with her mom one week and her dad the other. Her mom has a house with a pool but her dad has this cool loft-place. Millie still hates that her parents are divorced, and she talks about it all the time. But her parents are always fighting—like, whenever they see each other, so I don’t see why she would want them to still be married. Plus, I’m pretty sure her mom likes my dad.” Now Addie’s looking out into the blue. “And when she complains, I always think, well at least she has a mom.”

I wonder if Addie gets stuck in the loop, too. Like I do. If Mom were alive I could ask her how to make this. And If Mom were alive I would know how to do this. And lately, it’s been bigger questions, like: If Mom were alive, would I feel differently about motherhood? If Mom were alive would I be more willing to risk everything for my dreams? I want to take Addie’s hand, but Will returns and everything falls back into place. The spell is broken and the loop is lost. For now. And I tell myself that’s a good thing. The more distance I can keep between Addie and me, the better. I can’t be a role model for her, I don’t want to be in her life. No ties. Too much risk of things turning out badly. Too messy. And things are already feeling messy, as it is.

Will returns with drinks and sits down on the other side of Addie. “Look!” Addie points toward the shoreline. “We’re almost at the island.”

Will nods, taking a sip of his ginger ale. “What should we do first—get bikes and ride to find a picnic spot or grab a snack so we don’t kill each other?”

I shake my head and grumble that we don’t need bikes for the picnic. “Can’t we just choose a spot by the ferry dock and eat sooner?”

“We always rent bikes,” Addie protests. “Dad, tell her. We always get bikes.”

“We always get bikes,” Will shrugs. “Plus, we want to find a spot where people aren’t going to trample us.”

I sigh. “Fine.”

“Wow, you really don’t like the island, huh?” Will teases, poking me in the side. Electricity shoots through me and I feel bad about being such a grump. I grab my camera and tripod while he grabs the large box of supplies.

Once we’re off the boat, Will puts the box down again, opens his backpack and starts pulling out snacks like some sort of culinary magician. “Cheese stick? Granola bar? Yogurt drink?”

We are never going to actually get this picnic over with. And yet, I choose a granola bar with rainbow sprinkles because I’m starving. “I’m surprised you don’t make these yourself.”

He raises an eyebrow as he hands Addie a cheese stick. “I’m a chef, not a martyr. Also I’m so busy making boxed meals for somebody, I don’t have as much time on my hands.”

I can’t help smiling.

Will leads us to the bike rental place a few minutes’ walk away, and Addie begs us to get one of those four-wheeled bikes, the kind with two rows of bench seating that look more like open-air cars than bikes. “Dad never lets us get one when it’s just us because he thinks I won’t pedal hard enough to keep it going. But with you here we can do it. Please? Pretty pretty please? If you say yes Dad has to agree.” Her hands are together, clasped in prayer.

“Fine by me,” I say, thinking how much easier it will be to lug all this stuff around if we can dump it onto the floor of the bike-car. Addie squeals and it makes me feel so good to make her happy, even if this job is turning into an all-day affair. It’s a weird feeling—that something I don’t really want to do, but that makes someone else happy, is causing me joy. I’m not sure what to make of it.

Riding around on this ridiculous contraption, we pass an ice cream stand and Addie asks if we can stop. “Sure,” I say, hoping for another hit of that feeling, but Will’s saying no, and we look at each other. “We haven’t even had lunch,” he says, but I roll my eyes.

“Oh, come on.”

He gives in. “You’re a bad influence.”

He has no idea.

We park the bike by the side of the building and Addie loops her arm through mine. “Dad is so strict about sugar,” she says, but her voice is teasing and she’s looking back at Will for a reaction. He just shakes his head and laughs.

Addie orders Blue Bubblegum and I order Lavender then look around for a good place to get a shot of my ice cream. I hold my cone out in front of the green wall of the bathroom door and snap a pic. For a split second I’m actually happy to be on the island—since I never come, I’m seeing the opportunity for fresh content.

“Let me try,” Addie says, lifting her camera up. She snaps away then asks if I’ll take a pic of her ice cream cone the same way. I do and show it to her.

“I like how you just got my arm there.”

“I like to think about three things when I’m taking a picture: my surroundings, colors, and something of myself in it,” I say. Addie nods, licking her ice cream.

“Taste for taste?” Addie asks and I pause. I do not want to share ice cream with this kid. She has dirt under her nails. But I wasn’t planning on eating the ice cream anyway, so I hold it out to her. She takes a lick and makes a face. “It tastes like soap.”

“I know. It’s disgusting. But it’s so pretty in photos, so…” I shrug and look around for Will.

“So you got a flavor you don’t like just because it looks good?” I feel sheepish and I don’t like it. Why do I care what this eight-year-old thinks? I offer my ice cream to Will. “Only because I don’t want you throwing it out in front of Addie,” he whispers, taking a lick then making a face at the taste. “Oh, forget it.” He looks around for a garbage bin. “You’re not going to post pics of Addie, right?”

“I wasn’t planning to,” I say.

“Good. I want to put off social media as long as I can.”

“Of course,” I say lightly. Obviously I had no intention of posting pics of Addie on my grid today. Even though I meant what I said to the No Kidding group about the need to debunk the myth that child-free women dislike children, my Instagram business is a bit different. There are millions of mommy bloggers out there who flood their feeds with carefully curated, sophistically styled squares of their impeccably dressed children (usually in matching outfits). The key to success is knowing your niche. On the ’gram, mine is to show the chic, child-free life. No exceptions.

We finally agree on the perfect spot to document the picnic. Will starts unpacking the food, and I notice he’s done most of the prep work already—all the veggies for the cold tacos are pre-cut into tiny cubes and he’s even brought small white ramekins for presentation. “Looks great,” I say as I set up my blanket between a few large oak trees. I hand my camera to Addie. “So what’s the vibe we’re going for here?” Addie says as though she’s eighteen, not eight. “Do we need other people in the photo as though it’s a big picnic, or is it supposed to be just the two of you?”

“Just the two of us, Kiddo,” Will says. He winks at me.

Addie looks around and hops onto a nearby picnic table. “Always shoot from above, right?” And she starts snapping away while Will and I spoon the taco ingredients into the ramekins. Once everything’s arranged on the blanket, Will and I sit down.

“You don’t look like you’re on a romantic picnic,” Addie says. “Shouldn’t you be sitting closer or something?”

Who said anything about it being romantic? It can’t be romantic. Except, the thought of an excuse to shimmy a little closer to Will makes all the little hairs on my body stand on end.

“How would you know?” Will says, raising an eyebrow.

“YouTube.”

He shakes his head but moves closer to me, his hand grazing my knee. Tingles shoot up my leg. “Aren’t people going to wonder about the good-looking guy who keeps popping up in your photos?” Will says, his green eyes on mine. He’s teasing, challenging me to be seen with him. I want to look around, see if anyone can see us, but I can’t tear my eyes away from his. There’s just something about him…And even though Will’s not on Instagram, at some point someone who knows him is going to recognize him in my photos. And then how long will it take for them to put two and two together and recognize that there’s more than a work contract going on between us? Which is why there can’t be.

“Don’t get your dad’s face in it,” I call to Addie, as Will moves closer, his face inches away from mine. “How’s this?” he breathes, and shivers run through my entire body.

He puts a hand on my cheek and tilts my face ever so slightly toward his. His touch is electric. And I can’t help meeting his eyes. And then, I’m kissing him. His lips are warm and it feels so good.

“Gross,” Addie yells at us. We break apart. My pulse is pounding in my lips as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and Will laughs. Addie holds my camera out to me then plops down on the blanket. “Can we eat now? I’m starving.”

“Let me just grab a few more flat lays,” I say, snapping pics of the taco ingredients, seven-bean salad and cucumber-pomegranate coleslaw from above. Then I flip through the photos, stopping on one of Will and me. My breath catches in my throat. We look so happy and natural together—like we fit. If I had amnesia and saw these photos I would assume this was my boyfriend. Except, I’ve never dated anyone as good-looking as Will. This is torture.

I turn the camera off and toss it on the blanket.

“That’s it?” Will asks. “How do they look?”

“They’re fine. Thanks, Addie.”

“No problem. Can I go get a hot dog? This food looks disgusting. No offense, Dad.”

Will concedes, handing her money and telling her to stay where she can see us. “If you can’t see me, I can’t see you.”

I make myself a taco, but only take a few bites before pushing my plate aside. “Wanna pack up?” I say, impatiently.

“What’s the rush? Lie down with me.” He pushes the food aside to make enough space on the blanket for the two of us. He stretches out, and reluctantly, I lie down too, and look up at the sky that’s filled with white, fluffy clouds. Will shifts his head so it’s touching mine.

“I always wanted to have a picnic here on the island, but it always seemed like a lot of work,” he says.

“It was a lot of work. Though I didn’t do much. Still, I think Addie has the right idea. She’s getting her lunch in under a minute, and she didn’t have to chop any veggies at home beforehand or do any set up or clean up.”

“Yeah, but it was worth it. It gave us a reason to slow down.” His hand brushes against mine. I consider saying something now, telling him why this will never work, but Addie will be back any minute. And it’s not like we’re dating. We’re just working together. With a random kiss thrown in for the camera. It’s acting, nothing more.

I pull my book out of my bag and open it. Will looks over at me. “Always with a book, huh?”

“Yep.”

He reaches into his bag and pulls one out too. “Me too. I’m happy to stay for a bit if you are.”

I exhale then nod. “Yeah, sure,” I say lightly, thinking, This is nice. Really nice.

A while later, Addie returns and asks if we can go to Centreville. “Just one turn on the Scrambler?”

“No,” Will says, immediately sitting up.

“You always say no,” she whines. “Just because you hate rides.”

“You hate rides too?” I say to him, sitting up. “I thought kids were supposed to make you young at heart.”

“I like to have fun, but those rides are manufactured fun. And technically, I don’t hate them, they hate me. It’s the motion sickness thing.”

“Come on,” I say to Addie. “I’ll take you while your dad cleans up the mess.” I wink and Will looks at me, mouth open, then shakes his head. But he doesn’t protest, instead saying he’ll meet us by the gates in half an hour.

As Addie and I walk over to the mini-amusement park, I wonder why I agreed to this, when we could’ve been on the next ferry home. I’m hot and tired and don’t really feel like standing in a lineup. But Addie is so excited, and despite my best efforts to have a horrible time, I’m enjoying the afternoon. It’s nothing like the times Eric and I tried to come to the island together. The disagreements, the dysfunction. As soon as we enter the park and get our tickets, Addie’s immediately leading me to a large wooden-clad building. There’s no lineup and we head inside, where it’s pitch black, disco lights shooting flashes of light throughout the place, 80s music blasting through the speakers. “Scrambler!” she screams. A moment later, we’re hopping into a rattly old car, and I’m praying the seatbelt still works. Then the ride starts, and as we get whipped around, Addie is squished into me. She’s laughing and I’m laughing. I pull out my phone and snap a few pics of us before we get off the ride. “Ooh can I see?” she says, leaning close.

“I’ll send them to your dad for you.” She grins and skips to keep up with me as we walk to the gates to meet Will.

Back on the ferry, Will thanks me. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know. But it was actually really fun.” I mean it.

“See? Told you everyone likes the island. You just didn’t know what you were doing those other times. Or you weren’t here with the right guy.”

He bumps shoulders with me. He’s teasing, of course, but his words sink in. I walk over to the railing, my face to the wind, and close my eyes. When the boat docks at the mainland, we file off the boat and Will turns to Addie. “Alright, Kiddo, we should get going. We’re having dinner at Gillian’s and I think we could both use a shower.” He ruffles her hair and I feel a pang of jealousy. Who’s Gillian? Surely not an aunt, or he would’ve said ‘Aunt Gillian.’ And if she has a husband why not mention him, too? We’re having dinner at Gillian and Frank’s. Gillian and Enrique’s. Gillian and Jamil’s. Why do I even care?

“Kit?” I recognize the voice before seeing his face. My chest clenches. I turn.

And there he is, standing in line to file onto the ferry. Eric. In a blue polo shirt, crisp khakis and leather sneakers that probably cost more than my entire outfit. He’s grown a beard.

“Eric.”

He looks from me to Will to Addie and back to me. “Hi,” I say, my voice an octave too high, feeling like I’ve been caught, that I owe him an explanation.

“Were you…at the island?” he says, surprised, pointing to the ferry, then turning back to me.

I nod. “Yep.”

“But you hate the island,” he says.

“So do you,” I retort immediately.

He shrugs. “Change of heart.”

“Kit tried to tell me she hated the island, but I convinced her otherwise,” Will says, sticking out his hand and I look from Eric to Will. “Will MacGregor. And this is my daughter, Addie.”

Eric’s brow furrows. He takes Will’s hand and shakes it—firmly. “Eric Uxton.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m checking out that new restaurant that just opened. Did you try it?”

I shake my head and try to act nonchalant when I say: “We brought our own meal.”

“You did?” He looks like I just admitted to murdering a flock of seagulls. He frowns. “Alright, well, I want to catch this ferry before it goes. Nice to meet you,” he says to Will. And then his eyes are on mine. And they stay there. “See you later, Kit.” Then he turns and heads toward the ferry. I watch Eric walk away until he’s lost in the crowd. I slowly turn back to Will, who’s staring at me.

“I have to go,” I say, although I have nowhere to go, nowhere to be.

---

#

On the streetcar home, I scroll through the photos on my camera, trying to push thoughts of Eric out of my mind. Even though I no longer have feelings for him, seeing him still put a damper on what was otherwise a really lovely day. Addie took some great shots, but it’s the ones I took on my phone, the ones with Addie at the amusement park, that give me pause. That’s the real story of the day, not the staged photos that’ll hit my Instagram grid. And there’s nothing I can do with them—except text them to Will, as promised to Addie. I wait to see if he’ll text back, but he doesn’t. Then I look at the picture I took of my book against the picnic blanket, and post it to my Bookstagram account, @BookKit. The one no one knows about. And smile to myself.

Once home, I load all the images from my camera into my computer for editing, choosing ones where Will’s face is slightly obscured, just to make sure no one recognizes him, and send them off to Feloise, who will send them to Lucy who will send them to the client for approval. The photos are great and I know the client will be happy, but as I scroll through them mindlessly, I wish there were more of Will, where his face was actually in focus. But then I’d just be wasting time fantasizing about what can never be—because it’s not a life I want. Like Will said, they were heading off to dinner and after that I’m sure it would be time for him to read bedtime stories and Addie would probably throw a tantrum about something or wake up because of a nightmare and then it’d be tomorrow and there’d be breakfast to make and some sort of activity to get her to—because that’s what life with kids is all about. Being selfless and having zero time to yourself.

No, things are definitely better this way.