Shaking my head, I go upstairs, stalling right inside the room as Jonathan sorts through his belongings to find some clothes.
“I didn’t mean it, you know,” he says as he strips off his pants, standing in front of me naked. Oh god. I avert my gaze, trying not to look, but I see from the corner of my eye as he tugs on a pair of black boxers. “The Serena thing… I didn’t mean it.”
I don’t say anything. What am I supposed to say? He pulls on a pair of jeans before grabbing a plain black shirt.
“I’m serious,” he says. “I was half-asleep and didn’t know what I was saying.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, trying to move away, but he stops me, one hand on my arm, the other cupping my cheek.
“It does matter,” he says, making me look at him. “Serena used to get fucked up on coke and stay awake for days and drive everyone on set crazy. And she’d do shit like that whenever we tried to rest. She played games. So it wasn’t that I thought…” He trails off. “I know who I slept with last night. I know who I woke up beside this morning. And I’m sorry I said some shit in my sleep that made you think I didn’t know.”
I’m still not sure what to say, so I just go with, “Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeats me. “Just okay? That’s it?”
I shrug.
He lets out a laugh. “I guess that’s better than nothing.”
He kisses me—softly, sweetly, his hand roaming from my cheek down between us, cupping a breast.
I pull away. “No hanky-panky, remember?”
He grins, moving his hand. “Okay, okay… breakfast.”
We head downstairs, and as soon as we approach the kitchen I hear Maddie’s excited voice rambling about the convention. Quietly, I sit down at the table and listen as she goes on and on about how much fun she had and how great her daddy is.
The whole time, Jonathan sits beside me, beaming.
When breakfast is finished, Mrs. McKleski hands out plates, slipping one in front of me on the table before Maddie settles in on my right with her own plate piled high with bacon. Jonathan’s comes last, and I stifle a laugh as Mrs. McKleski shoves it at him, the food sloppily thrown on it, his toast burned and bacon extra-crispy.
“Uh, thanks,” Jonathan says, picking up a piece of bacon and taking a bite, cringing as it crunches.
“Don’t like it? Don’t eat,” Mrs. McKleski says. “Nobody likes a whiner, Cunningham.”
She strolls out of the kitchen, and he watches her as she leaves, mumbling, “All I said was thanks.”
“You didn’t say it with meaning,” she calls back at him. “It’s no wonder you haven’t gotten an Oscar. You’re terrible.”
I stifle another laugh as Jonathan glares at the doorway.
“Don’t worry,” Maddie says, munching on a piece of bacon. “You can get the Oscar someday.”
He grins at her. “You think so?”
She nods. “All you gots to do is get better at it.”
This time, I do laugh.
“Wow,” he says. “I can sure feel the love.”
Maddie smiles, not sensing his sarcasm. “It’s ‘cuz I love you.”
His expression shifts. I see it as those words strike him. “You love me?”
Maddie laughs. “Duh.”
Duh. She says that like he’s being ridiculous asking that question, like he’s supposed to just know, but love isn’t something he’s had a lot of.
“I love you, too,” he says.
“More than bacon?” she asks, munching on a piece.
“More than bacon,” he says quietly. “More than everything.”
She smiles at that and continues to eat her breakfast, satisfied by his answer. My chest aches, my heart feeling like it wants to burst. I sometimes wonder about his words, I question his feelings, his wishes, his wants, but from this moment on, I’ll never doubt that he loves her, because I know he means it. I believe it.
We eat breakfast.
They chat. They laugh.
I mourn.
I mourn the years they lost, the time that was wasted, the love that maybe just wasn’t quite enough to overcome his demons sooner. Every smile they share today is the product of years of tears, of years of fighting and struggling and hoping and mourning but never, ever, ever quitting or giving up, because we’re here. And maybe it won’t last, I don’t know. Maybe tomorrow something will happen and the tears will come back, but I’m grateful for the moment, knowing he loves her more than anything.
“We should get going,” I say after breakfast is through, the plates piled in the sink. “I have laundry to catch up on.”
Maddie jumps down from her chair at the table and looks at Jonathan. “Are you coming? You can have another sleepover!”
“Not tonight,” he says. “You have school in the morning, and your mother has work.”
Maddie frowns. “But will you come play tomorrow?”
“Yeah, sure, if you want me to.”
Maddie nods. “See you tomorrow!”
“See you tomorrow,” he says when she walks away, heading for the foyer. He turns to me as he says, “Thank you, K.”
“What are you thanking me for?”
“Giving me a second chance,” he says. “And a third, and a forth, and a fifth…”
“And a twentieth.”
He laughs lightly. “And a twentieth.”
“There won’t be a twenty-first,” I tell him. “I have to draw the line somewhere.”
“I won’t need another,” he says, his hand grasping my hip and pulling me closer, between his legs. “I’m going to get it right this time.”
“Aunt Meghan!”
Maddie takes off running for the apartment the second I park the car and let her out, heading straight for Meghan, who lurks by the front door.
“Hey, sugar-cookie, pecan-swirl!” Meghan says, snatching Maddie up and spinning her around. “How’s my sweet niece doing, still in her PJs even though it’s noon?”
Meghan’s gaze shifts to me, suspicious. Yeah, it’s practically the walk of shame, family-style. I haven’t even brushed my hair. Ugh, I haven’t showered. Her brother’s DNA is all over me, all up in me, and Meghan’s the human equivalent of a bloodhound.
The second I get close to her, she knows.
“My daddy took me to the convention!” Maddie says when Meghan sets her on her feet. “And then we had a sleepover, but he slept with Mommy, and then we went to have bacon!”
“Wow,” Meghan says, shooting me a pointed look as she repeats herself. “Wow.”
I open the front door. Maddie runs inside, heading straight for her bedroom, but I linger there, knowing Meghan’s about to pelt me with questions.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Meghan says, stopping short and glaring at the cardboard cutout of Breezeo still in my living room. She cuts her eyes at me with disbelief. “Really?”
“I had nothing to do with that.”
“It’s in your apartment.”
“Yeah, well…”
I have no defense.
“Unbelievable,” Meghan says, shaking her head. “A sleepover? Are you… wow, you're really doing this with him again?”
“No, we’re not. I mean, we’re just… I don’t know.” I sigh, running my hands down my face. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Clearly,” she says, looking back at the cutout bearing her brother’s face.
“I need to shower,” I say, “I’ll be back.”