I don’t stay long at the party—just another few minutes to say my goodbyes.
When I get home, I slide out of the car and walk toward Mari’s Airstream. It’s not a fully conscious decision. I just know I need to check on her again, make sure she’s okay after all that—Wilder-ness.
I knock, quietly, in case she’s conked out sleeping already.
I hear her feet shuffling behind the door, and she answers in her pajamas—a pair of joggers that can’t possibly stretch another inch and a navy long-sleeved t-shirt that no longer quite reaches her waistband. Her feet are bare and her hair is down. She looks young and vulnerable. If I didn’t know that she was so strong, I sure wouldn’t guess it now.
“Hey.” She steps back to let me in. “I’m glad you’re here.”
The stairs aren’t unfolded, so I take a huge step up to her, closing the door behind me.
She cocks her head. “Can I get you something? Tea? Orange juice? I think I have an old bottle of bourbon somewhere?”
I laugh. “No. I’m good. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. That was so much. So much Wilder energy. I was overwhelmed, and I’ve known them my whole life.”
She shakes her head. “They’re good people. Really good people.”
“They are—just a lot.”
She’s facing me, but she’s looking past me, at something in the distance. “Kane,” she says.
“What?”
“I still don’t know what I want for myself. Not exactly. But if you—if you want to be—” She presses her mouth into a tight line, tries again. “If you want to raise the baby—”
I don’t know yet whether she means by myself or together, and that question will keep me up nights till it’s answered, but this is a huge step forward for us. For the baby. For me.
“God! Yes!”
She smiles, slow and almost shy. “Then you should. I want that. I want the baby to grow up with a supportive father and a supportive extended family. I want this for both of you.”
I’m feeling so much at once, I don’t know what to do with it. I settle on reaching out a hand.
“May I?”
She nods, then takes my hand and guides it to where her belly bulges, life moving—fierce, determined—under the surface.
“Hello, baby,” I say. “Is it weird if I talk to your belly?”
She shakes her head.
“I’m gonna be your daddy,” I tell the small person inside there. “I love you already.”
Mari makes a small sound. I look up. She’s biting down so hard on her lip that it must hurt.
“You okay?” I ask her.
“Yeah,” she says. “It’s just—that makes it real. I was trying not to—not to let it be real. So it wouldn’t be so hard.”
“I didn’t think about that,” I say. “I’ll stop.”
“No,” she says. “Don’t stop. It’s nice.”
We’re both quiet for a moment, her hand still on mine.
“I’m gonna hug your mom now,” I tell her belly. “Because she just gave me the most amazing gift. Also,” I say, trying to lighten the moment, “she staved off no end of lengthy lawsuits and complicated custody battles.”
She’s laughing. “Thank you for not saying all that beforehand.”
“It was very restrained of me, don’t you think?” I raise an eyebrow. I am not really sure I would have gone to battle with her, involved lawyers and the courts, but I can’t deny it was a possibility.
“So restrained.”
“C’mere, you,” I tell her, and she does, sliding easily into my arms. The lemon smell of her comes, too, and the warmth of her body, the softness of her curves, the feel of her arms around me. My body wakes up instantly, and if it weren’t for her belly, keeping us at a safe distance, I’d—
I draw back before I can fully form the thought, before I can picture what I want.
Instead I ask, “So you won’t pursue adoption.”
“Right,” she says.
“Does this mean…” I hesitate, wanting to tread carefully. Knowing for sure I’ll raise my baby is enormous, but it’s not the only thing I want. “Does this mean you’re thinking about staying?”
She tilts her head. “I don’t know.”
It’s not a no. Which right now feels pretty damn good. “You don’t have to know the answer yet.”
“Thank you. I don’t think a lot of men would be as awesome about this as you’re being.”
I polish my knuckles on my chest and make her laugh.
“When did you know you were okay with me raising the baby?” I ask her.
“As soon as I found you, saw you again, I thought it might be the right answer. So that was before the breakfasts and the Boston cream pie. And your family—they really are kind of…”
“Like a love bomb?”
She laughs again, which makes my chest fill up with light.
“I can tell if the baby grows up here, it’ll always be with people who love it. You’re amazing with other kids, you’ll be amazing with your own. And there are so many people who will support both of you.”
“And you, if you stay.”
“Well,” she says. “I’m not—ruling it out.”
“Good,” I say. “Because hear this. I like you, Marigold Barrymore, and I’m asking you to seriously think about staying here and raising this baby together. Or at least treating Rush Creek as your permanent home base. You could travel. There are tons of families where one parent is on the road for work.”
Her eyes are big and soft, like they were when our hands met over her belly. Like they were when my family swept over her like a tidal wave. Like they were during that long quiet moment of affection and understanding between Mari and my mother.
Big, soft, and vulnerable, and the fissure in my chest opens into a spiderweb of holes and cracks.
She bites her lip again, her gaze skidding nervously around Bernadette’s interior. I think the word families was too much for her. “Don’t freak out,” I say, hoping I come across as gentle, echoing her words to me from the first day she arrived in Rush Creek.
That totally makes her smile. “I’m not freaking out. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
“I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”
Her eyes settle on my face, and she studies me. It’s a strange feeling. Good, I think—but foreign. I’m not sure anyone in my family really looks at me. Not like this, like she’s trying to read all the meanings behind my words.
“Okay,” she says, finally. “I will seriously think about staying. But no promises.”
It’s better than nothing. And I won’t give up. Not yet.
“I still have a lot of tricks up my sleeve,” I say, as much to myself as to her. “I still haven’t made you my bacon-and-tomato strata for breakfast.”
A little half-moan escapes her mouth—and lodges itself at the base of my spine.
“And, sweetheart, I give a mean foot massage.”
The next sound out of her mouth is a full-throated moan, and it’s my turn to stifle a groan. My own damn fault for calling off the kissing. A little kissing would go down super smoothly right about now.
I’m staring at her mouth. I force myself to stop.
“And now I know how to make Boston cream pie,” I remind her. “That’s a life skill.”
She bursts out laughing. “Again, no promises,” she says, sternly, but I’ve made her laugh, and that feels like the biggest win of all.
There’s never been anything I wanted this much. I’ll fight for it.
Even though I’m the boy next door, I’m also a Wilder. And Wilders don’t back down when something matters to them.