Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
I had no idea what I was going to do with them, but she seemed sincere, so I nodded. “Sure.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
A week before our scheduled trip to Tennessee, Colten makes arrangements for Reagan to come for the weekend. I use it as an excuse to send him home for a bit. I know I’m keeping him awake at night. It’s undeniable in his tired eyes and incessant yawning.
Since our argument two weeks ago, we haven’t discussed the marriage. He didn’t want a pity marriage, and I didn’t say anything to correct him. Now, it’s awkward. I really don’t know where we stand. It’s like the fight didn’t happen, but it’s also like he didn’t propose, and I didn’t say yes. I’ve been too preoccupied with my nonstop research to focus on where we stand.
After taking Reagan out for pizza Friday night, we watch a movie at his place. Reagan makes herself comfy in the big recliner with at least three blankets while Colten and I take the sofa.
I feel his eyes on me more than the TV, and I suppress the urge to ask him why he’s doing it.
“Bedtime, Button,” he says to Reagan as soon as the movie ends.
“Will you read me a story?”
He folds her three blankets. “Of course.”
“Will Josie read one too?”
I smile. “Uh … sure.”
“Why don’t you head upstairs with Josie. Get your teeth brushed and pick out a story. I’m going to do a few things in the kitchen, and then I’ll be up.”
Reagan heads upstairs as I stand from the sofa.
“Coming, Josie?” she yells from the top of the stairs.
Colten grins. “She adores you.”
I roll my eyes. She hasn’t known me long enough to adore me. “I’m coming.”
While Reagan brushes her teeth, I wait in her bedroom. It’s an explosion of pink paint, a mural of a white cat, and a dozen or so stuffed animals covering the single bed. I remove the stuffed animals and flip through the books on the shelf by her bed.
“Ready!” Reagan flies into the bedroom and leaps onto the bed. “Oh, my ponytail.” She tugs at the elastic, and it gets tangled. “Help, please.”
I work her hair out of the knot, freeing the elastic. Then I slowly run my fingers through her long hair. Winston Jeffries would have loved Reagan’s hair. As soon as that awful thought enters my head, I pull my hand away from her head. “So … what story are we reading tonight?”
“That one. Magic Treehouse.” She points to a book on the top shelf. “Chapter four.”
“You remember what chapter you were on?” I laugh, grabbing the book.
“Yep.” Reagan settles under the covers after grabbing a stuffed penguin from the floor and hugging it.
“That’s a cool cat on your wall. I wonder who painted it.”
“My daddy.”
I chuckle, but Reagan is dead serious.
“Wow … I had no idea your dad could paint.”
“Grandma Mosley said Daddy can do everything.”
I don’t doubt that.
By the time I’m done reading a chapter, she’s asleep. I put the bookmark in the book, slide it back on the shelf, and take a minute to stare at her in a peaceful slumber. Her dark hair framing her face. Her long eyelashes resting on her pink cheeks. Her flawless skin. I imagine she’s what an angel would look like.
This little girl is part of Colten. He willingly (even if unknowingly) gave a piece of himself to another woman, and they created a life together. I think Reagan is special. Delightful. All the things an innocent child should be. So why don’t I wish she was mine? Why don’t I wish it was me who made a life with Colten?
The lack of those feelings makes me feel broken inside as a human. There are many people in the world who have no desire to procreate. I’m sure they don’t feel broken. Maybe they made that decision later in life, as adults. They assessed their life, their careers, and their aspirations, and they decided parenthood wasn’t for them.
Not me. I’ve never wanted children. I never played with stuffed animals or baby dolls and pretended to be their mommy. I have no maternal feelings. No ticking biological clock.
After shutting off the light, I gently pull her door partially closed just as Colten climbs the stairs.
“She asleep?” he whispers.
I nod.
“Thanks for reading to her.” He stops on his way to her room, takes my face in his hands, and gives me a soft kiss, ending with a smile. “Be right back. I need to kiss her goodnight.”
Of course, he’s kissing her goodnight. That’s what he does. He pulls dying women from the water. Kisses his daughter goodnight. And paints murals of cats. He’s a normal human with normal instincts and feelings.
“You’re leaving?” he asks on his way down the stairs.
I slide my feet into my sandals. “I am.”
“You’re allowed to stay here.” He pulls me into his arms, my back to his chest.