The Unsinkable Greta James(43)

It seems like an impossible job, being a parent, and a sad one too, watching them pinwheel further and further away and out into the world, so much more interesting and complicated than you imagined they might be, like a song that starts out as one thing and ends up something else—not necessarily better or worse, but different. And entirely out of your control.

“They’re okay,” she says to Ben.

“I know everyone says this, but it’s different when you have your own.”

Greta nods, noncommittal. “Yup. Everyone says that.”

“That’s because it’s true. Honestly. Other people’s kids are total monsters. They have sticky hands and snotty noses and they’re really, really loud.”

“And yours aren’t?”

He shrugs. “They are. But somehow it’s cuter when they’re your sticky, snot-nosed, noisy little monsters.”

“I get it,” Greta says. “I have three nieces, so it’s not like I’ve never spent any time with kids.”

“How old are they?”

“The twins are five and the little one is three.”

“Wow.”

“I know. My brother and sister-in-law have their hands full.”

“What are their names?”

“Asher and Zoe.”

“No, the kids.”

Greta hesitates. “Don’t laugh.”

“Why would I laugh?”

“Violet, Posey, and Marigold.”

Ben raises his eyebrows. “Oh. Wow.”

“Zoe owns a flower shop,” she says by way of explanation. “But the girls are honestly great. They’re so silly and unself-conscious, and they give the best hugs. And they’re always asking if they can be in my band.”

“What do they play?”

“Right now? They mostly just bang on whatever’s around.”

“Sounds promising.”

“It is,” she says, absently rolling up the edge of the sheet, then letting it unfurl again. “The thing is, I love them. I really do. But even when I’m with them, I don’t feel like I’m missing out on that. At least not right now.” She shrugs. “I like my life too much.”

“What about marriage?” Ben asks. “Can you ever see that for yourself?”

He’s doing what they all do: pacing the perimeter, trying to locate the outer edges of her feelings on the subject. Greta doesn’t mind; she’s never tried to hide who she is. Once, she met up for drinks with a guy she’d broken up with the year before, and while they sat at the bar, he kept trying to look at her left hand.

“What?” she finally asked, annoyed, and he gave a sheepish shrug.

“Just trying to see if you’re wearing an engagement ring,” he admitted.

Greta was twenty-eight at the time, and though her friends had started to get engaged—through a series of increasingly over-the-top proposals that would’ve mortified her—nothing could’ve been further from her mind. When she laughed at the idea of it, the guy looked first confused, then maybe a little relieved, like he’d dodged a bullet of some sort.

It’s not that Greta doesn’t want any of that—marriage, children, the whole complicated circus—it’s that she doesn’t need it. Not the way so many other people seem to. If she were to stumble across someone perfect for her, if she found herself wanting to be with him more than she wants to be flexible, more than she wants to be on the road—then that would be great. Of course it would. But if it never happens? She’d be okay with that version of her life too. And that’s what makes people so uneasy.

“Maybe,” she tells Ben. “If the conditions were right.”

He looks amused. “Isn’t that the case with anyone getting married?”

“I have a lot of conditions,” she says with a grin. She expects him to laugh, but he looks troubled. Underneath the covers, he untangles his hand from hers, sitting up.

“Listen, I’m really sorry about yesterday,” he says. “When my daughter called…I didn’t mean to be so weird.”

Greta sits up too. “It’s not like I don’t know you have a family.”

“I know. I think I just— It’s like I forgot about my real life for a second. And then Avery called, and everything came crashing back, and I felt so guilty.”

“For being away?”

“For being with you,” he says, rubbing his bleary eyes beneath his glasses. “This is all such new territory for me, and I feel like I’m having some sort of identity crisis. I know I’m always going to be this responsible suburban dad, and I love being that. I do. But I’m also supposed to be using this time to see if there are other ways to be happy, other ways to live, and then the minute I let myself off the hook long enough to actually flirt with someone, it felt like the universe was saying, Not so fast, Ben.”

Greta raises her eyebrows. “That was flirting?”

“I didn’t say I was good at it,” he says with a rueful smile.

“You seem way too practical to believe in karma.”

“Maybe it’s just the guilt then. But it’s frustrating, because there’s no reason I should feel guilty about this. We’re allowed to see other people. It was part of the deal. And meeting you…” He looks suddenly nervous. “Don’t read too much into this, because it’ll sound way more intense than it actually is…”