Never Have I Ever(43)

But “might” was a big word, especially when I held it up beside my child’s future.

What if they gave me Tig’s exact sentence? Oliver would be older than Ruby was right now. Ruby already had friends, ideas, opinions, passions. I could not miss three years. Or two. Or even one. Oliver was changing every day, and the near-walking bold explorer I had now was nothing like the tiny, soft potato I’d been handed in the hospital. In a year he would have a fifty-word vocabulary. He would be running in that stumpy toddler gait, flat-footed and charming. I couldn’t miss that time.

And that was only the legal side. If Roux told my secrets, it would wreck my world in ways I could not bear to think about. It would put cracks and dents in every relationship that mattered to me. Everyone would know. I’d have to move. Davis might not forgive me, much less move away with me. This could smash my family in half. The night he proposed, I’d promised him, I’m not the kind who’ll ever leave you. And I had meant it. I still meant it. But what if my secrets broke us? I didn’t want Maddy, who was my Mads now in so many ways, to be unmothered twice in her short life. I did not want Oliver growing up between two houses, much less two entirely separate states.

That was as far as I could think.

That was as far as I would allow myself to think.

I could not look directly at all the other consequences looming. It was like staring into a sun so bright it hurt. But that didn’t make them any less real.

Either I had to pay Roux off or I had to tell everyone who mattered most myself, then go to a lawyer.

The master bath was gleaming. I repacked my cleaning basket and headed to the laundry room. The dryer was finished. I pulled the warm clothes out, heaping them onto the counter to fold. I’d thrown in some of Davis’s plaid boxer briefs to make a full load out of Oliver’s small onesies. Intimate clothing, warm as skin, smelling springtime fresh.

I bent and put my face into the pile, breathing in everything that was clean and sweet.

If I told, I’d start with Davis. The very thought made my heart hurt inside my chest. I straightened, wiping at my eyes with a soft onesie. Of course, Davis first. Then Char. The two of them before a lawyer, even though I could not bear to imagine the look in Charlotte’s eyes when I told her all the truths I’d hidden. I owed her so much. Not least she had gifted me with Davis in the first place.

“You’re too cute to be single,” she’d told me early in our friendship. We were eating frozen yogurt from a little stand out by the beach. They had picnic tables near the water, and we sat side by side on a rough wooden bench, watching the waves roll in. “There’s a guy who works with Phillip, very attractive, about your age. He’s not all the way divorced yet, but he says he’s ready. Or there’s my dentist. He’s a widower. It’s been almost four years, so he has to be ready.”

I shook my head. “You talk like these guys are grocery-store avocados. I’m not up for doing any pinching right now.”

Char grinned and stole a bite of my yogurt. “Sorry. I can’t help matchmaking. I love being married. I want everyone to be this happy.” Since I had not yet met Phillip, I thought this was charming. “Oh, I have the perfect one! My neighbor down the street. Davis Whey. He’s so nice. One daughter, Madison. She’s a headstrong little thing, but very darling. He’s been divorced a couple years now, and he’s super, super cute.”

I demurred, changing the subject, but not three days later Char brought Davis to Divers Down, giving me significant, waggling eyebrows as she introduced us. I was polite but cool, shooting Charlotte a quelling look as I asked Davis how I could help him.

Just then Maddy came slouching up behind them both. Her dark curls were limp and greasy, and her heavy brows were pulled down into a scowl that seemed permanent. I knew she must be nine, ten at most, but she was dressed like the kind of teenager who is busy going bad.

Too-tight jeans, too-short crop top, and she’d drawn spiderweb tattoos all over her arms in Sharpie. Not the kind of creature who inspires love at first sight, but Char presented this sulking kid and her exasperated father to me as if they were Christmas presents.

“This wants swimming lessons,” the man who would one day be my husband said, jerking a thumb at his scowling child.

I didn’t like him calling his kid a this, but she responded, “No, this does not.”

“This is having swim lessons,” he said. “Charlotte says you have a team? A swim team here?”

“Swim team is for nerds,” Maddy said, not to me. Appealing to some higher court.

“Good,” her father said. “Nerds almost never go to rehab or have accidental babies. Be a nerd.”

“Davis!” Char said, shocked.

I didn’t recognize it as wry humor, but Maddy snorted with laughter.

“Gross,” she said. “And anyway, I know how to swim. Miss Charlotte said diving.”

“Wait, do you mean scuba diving?” Davis said, looking around as if he only just now understood what sort of dangerous fun house he had staggered into. “I thought you meant, like . . .” He crossed his hands, leaned a little, mimicking a person diving off a board into a pool.

“Dad, I know how to dive. I want to scuba,” Maddy said.

“That’s insane,” Davis said mildly. “They don’t let nine-year-olds go scuba.”