DARREL
I should have dragged Sunny somewhere quiet right after the wedding. She glared at me the entire time, but it’s not like I could take my eyes off her either.
She looked stunning in her maid-of-honor gown. Her hair fell over her face like a waterfall, wavy and full. Her lips were a sultry red and her body was draped in an elegant floor-length dress.
Every part of me wanted to hold her, kiss her, promise her that rings and proposals could wait as long as she stayed next to me.
But I didn’t. She kept frowning at me. Kept scowling. She pulled her hand away as soon as we were done with the wedding march. She was stiff in my arms during the dance at the reception.
Even so, I could have pressed her into the shadows. I could have pinned her there. Told her everything that was on my mind. It’s not what you think. I don’t want to marry you because I want to keep the kids. I love you. I’m in love with you, you crazy woman.
Words. Would words solve this? I didn’t have a chance to find out. Sunny took off in a split-second. By the time I realized she was headed to the parking lot, it was too late. She’d already disappeared.
I pace up and down my office. It’s been two hours since Alistair and Kenya waved goodbye under a sea of bubbles and entered the limo that would whisk them to their honeymoon.
Before he got into the car, Alistair gripped my arm and whispered to me. ‘I got ahold of a friend. He’s agreed to make some calls and bring your case before a family judge sooner rather than later.’
‘So I won’t have to tussle with Ms. Bennet?’
‘Ms. Bennet will still testify,’ Alistair said, ‘but she won’t block you from the opportunity. It’s up to you to make your case before the judge. The problem is… if the judge denies custody, you may never get legal guardianship of the boys.’
It’s a chance I have to take. There’s no way the jaded social worker will allow the boys to stay with me if I go through her. I’m willing to fight above her if it means I can get a different outcome.
I slip a hand into my pocket and pull out my phone. The background is a photo of Sunny and the boys at the ice cream store. I have no idea when they took this shot. Sunny sent it to Bailey and Micheal a few days ago and I asked them to forward it to me. The best decision I ever made was getting those boys new phones.
My fingers graze over Sunny’s smiling face. Her eyes are warm enough to heat my skin. The more I stare at her, the more my heart throbs like I stubbed it on the coffee table.
This is torture.
Damn. How long has it been since we fought?
I miss her.
Space. She asked for space. I hate that word. I want to crumple it into a ball and toss it from the English language. Tonight was torturous enough. Being so close to Sunny at the wedding and not being able to talk to her stung more than the time I drank eight shots of straight vodka at a college party.
The light on my desk flickers.
The clock is at an obscene number.
I should probably be sleeping. Or at least preparing for the hearing.
Instead, I’m here walking up and down my office. Missing Sunny. Wishing Sunny were here. Wondering how to make it up to Sunny.
I tap my message icon.
Then I exit it.
Then I open it again.
Darrel: I’m going before a family court judge in two weeks.
There’s no response.
I should have expected that.
She told me not to bother her. Told me with fire sparking from her eyes and lips pursed, that I shouldn’t even say her name until she calls for me. Using the boys’ situation is cheating, but I also want her to know about this desperate chance I’m taking. Sunny is just as invested in their wellbeing as I am.
My heart pounds when a bubble appears.
Sunny’s texting back.
Sunny: Okay.
I wait for another message to roll in. My feet pound the floor as I march to one end of the room and back.
My phone remains blank.
I grit my teeth and resist the urge to fling it at the wall.
They say time flies when you’re miserable. Whoever ‘they’ are, I wish they’d jump out a window.
Time has slowed to a crawl.
No, it is currently crawling.
Over rusty nails.
And a hot bed of coals.
Unable to stand the silence, I pull out my phone again.
I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I’m not going to reach out again, but I want you to know that I love you too much to give up. I only know how to fight for the things that matter to me. That includes you and the kids.
My thumb hovers over the send button. In the end, I erase it all and toss the phone on my desk. She asked me not to bother her. It’s late. I want to show her that I’ve grown since my days as the hoodie guy who spied on her in the hallway.
I head to bed. The mattress welcomes me with open arms, but sleep isn’t so accommodating. I toss and turn. Sunny’s face keeps floating through my mind. Her sweet kisses. Her hot caresses. The sound she made when I had her on the edge.
My hands rake over my face and I make a garbled groan of frustration. Sitting up, I stare at the darkness. The shadows laugh at me. The empty side of the bed belongs to Sunny and I feel that truth keenly. How do I get her back?
My mind goes blank.
Somehow, I fall asleep but when I wake up, it’s to the same unease. The parts of me that got left behind in Sunny’s apartment are calling to me. My insides are hollow. I’m walking around with something vital missing. And no amount of shuttling the boys to and from school, overloading my docket with patients, interviewing certified nannies, or exercising like a madman in my home gym makes the emptiness go away.
Learning how to make fry jack doesn’t help. Mindlessly scrolling Sunny’s blog—which she hasn’t updated in a while—doesn’t help either. Sleeping, for sure, is a thing of the past.
I’m up one night, glasses on my nose, laptop open and the bones of my speech—which I’ve changed fifty times already—open before me when there’s a knock on the door.
“Bailey.” I welcome him with a dip of my head. “Why aren’t you sleeping, buddy?”
He steps into the room, clutching his stuffed orangutan. He’s wearing the monkey-themed pajamas Sunny bought for him when she arranged the campfire. The lamp on my desk casts a yellow sheen on his pale and freckled skin.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“You have school tomorrow.” I clear my throat and turn my chair around, preparing to get up. “But if you really can’t sleep, then I can warm up some milk.”
To my surprise, Bailey marches past the sofa, past my desk and scrambles to sit in my lap. My eyes bug and I help him, slipping my fingers under his armpits and hoisting him to my leg.
I’m surprised that he’s so comfortable with me. Both boys seemed to withdraw into themselves after the wedding. I gently let them know that I was around to listen and be there for them, but I didn’t push and they didn’t take me up on my offer.
The past few days, Micheal hasn’t said much to me. He still watches me like he hates the world and the fact that I’m in it. He trudges past me when he gets home in the evening and barely mumbles a greeting when I drop him off at school in the morning.
Bailey hasn’t been as angsty, but he’s definitely chosen to follow his brother’s lead. He’s been extremely quiet around the dinner table and watches everyone with worried blue eyes.
I glance at him. “What’s wrong?”
He clutches the orangutan close. Curls floppier than ever, he rests his chin on the teddy bear’s head. “I miss Sunny.”
“Me too, buddy.” I let out a sigh that could compete with a leaking balloon. “But you know that her not being around has nothing to do with you and Micheal. She’s crazy about you two.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
“I mean I know why she’s gone.” Bailey tugs on the monkey’s ear.
“You do?” My eyebrows hike. Sunny didn’t discuss that marriage proposal with the boys, did she?
“Yeah.” Bailey pushes out his bottom lip. “She went to Belize.”
I freeze in my seat. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Sunny’s in Belize. She got a job. She told us.”
“She told you what?”
“Belize, Mr. Darrel.” Bailey sighs as if he’s disappointed I’m this dumb. “It’s a country in Central America. Sunny comes from there. She says her people built the Mayan temples and—”
“Bailey, wait. Wait. When did Sunny go to Belize?”
He shrugs.
My eyes zip over the room. I suck in a deep breath to keep the panic at bay.
“Here. I can prove it.” Bailey turns the phone over. “We made a group chat.”
“You and Sunny?”
“Me and Sunny and Micheal.” He shows me. There’s a picture of Sunny, smiling into the camera. Behind her is a giant house that’s under construction. Men in hardhats swarm the building. There’s more to the background too. Coconut trees. Lots of sand.
Damn. Did Sunny run off to Belize and not tell me? Is this her way of breaking up with me?
The breaths I pull into my lungs get more and more unhinged.
“Mr. Darrel?”
“Bailey, you should head to bed now. You can’t be sleeping in class.”
“Okay.” He hops off my leg, waves and scurries out the door.
I run my fingers through my hair and try to make sense of Bailey’s revelation.
Sunny left the country.
Sunny left the country and didn’t tell me.
Sunny left the country, went all the way to Belize for who knows how long and didn’t tell me.
I pick up the phone to dial Alistair before I remember that he and Kenya are on their honeymoon. If I know my brother-in-law, the last thing he wants is for me to bother him unless it’s an emergency or it’s about Belle.
My shoulders are getting tense. So are my thighs. Even my knees. I didn’t know knees could get tense, but here we are.
I flip through my phone.
Advice. I need…
I don’t have anyone else to call.
My circle is that small. Or maybe I’m just that closed off.
Curmudgeon. I can hear Sunny in my head. I can practically see that mischievous smile of hers that always makes my heart skip a beat. You don’t know how to loosen up, Hastings. A man should have more than five expressions.
I squeeze my eyes shut and make a fist on my desk.
Curmudgeon means fun police. It’s like… the opposite of fun.
Screw this.
If I don’t call someone, I’m going to call Sunny and I’m going to beg her like a lovesick fool to come back to me. Or maybe I can move the kids to Belize after the hearing. Or maybe…
No. Unhinged Darrel is way worse than Sunny On the Brain Darrel.
I scroll to Dina’s number and call.
“Hello?” Dina croaks.
I open my mouth, but no words can get past the lump in my throat.
“Hello? Darrel?”
“Dina.” My voice cracks.
“Oh, you poor thing.” She tuts before I’ve gotten another word out. “You need to talk, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Meet me at the therapy center. We’re going to have ourselves a session.”
Dina makes horrible coffee. Utterly atrocious. I’m ashamed of the fact that a brew like this exists and that it came from our coffee machine.
But at least the bitter taste is enough to calm my thoughts and get me to focus on one thing. It’s a trick used in neuropsychology. We try to engage the analytical side of the brain so the emotional side takes a break and allows for rational thinking.
Right now, I’m wondering if I should throw out all the mixed coffee powders and replace them with tea.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?”
My eyes flit to Dina.
She smiles. The room is dim and her eyes are bathed in shadows, but I can still see the wrinkles gathering like tiny brackets on her cheeks. “It’s weird being the one sitting in the chair.”
I clear my throat. “It’s uncomfortable.”
“Because you’re so used to controlling every situation you enter.”
“No, because the couch is worn out. I should buy a new one.”
“Darrel Hastings, did you just make a joke?”
“I’m being utterly serious.”
“Let’s not change the topic. Are you uncomfortable losing control of the session?”
“I wouldn’t say I have a problem with control—”
“Trying to make sense of every emotion by stuffing it into a neat little box—that falls under a need for control.”
“I usually let my patients talk a bit before I analyze them.” My eyes narrow.
She laughs. “It’s harder for a doctor to receive treatment than it is for a regular person. I’d rather not waste time.”
My eyes stray to my phone. I asked Ms. Hansley to watch the boys for me. Which she was happy to do. But I do feel bad that she had to wake Belle. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have bothered her in the first place.
“You’re anxious.”
“I’m worried about the boys.”
She clasps her fingers over her knee and studies me with a wry grin. “You were in so much turmoil that you left them to be here.” She pushes her glasses up with a finger. The way it slides right back down her nose reminds me of Bailey. “Why?”
“I…” I lick my lips. “Sometimes, getting an outside opinion is the best way to solve a problem.”
“That’s a textbook answer.”
“It’s the right answer.”
“Why did you call me, Darrel?”
I press my lips together. “This center,” I glance at the wall, “it’s my life. I spent more time building my professional career than I did building close relationships.”
“Your closest friend is your brother-in-law and that’s only because you feel like you owe it to Claire to look out for him.” She tilts her head. “Your second closest relationship is with me because we work together.”
My lips flatten. “I’m supposed to be discovering things on my own.”
“If you were capable of doing that, you wouldn’t be in that chair.”
I frown.
She motions to me. “You’ve covered familial and platonic relationships. That means your problem is with your romantic relationship.” She leans forward. “Sunny.”
“I’d like my money back. This session isn’t helping.”
“Sit down, Darrel. Stop running from hard conversations and being afraid of things you can’t explain with your fancy degree and your overly logical brain.”
“Now you’re straight up insulting me.”
“I’m laying out the facts.” She presses her shoes flat on the ground. “What did you do?”
I scowl. Then I glance away. “I asked her to marry me.”
Dina’s eyes nearly pop out and smack her glasses. “I did not expect you to say that.”
I grunt.
“And her answer was…”
“She said no.”
“Why?”
“I…” I blow out a breath. “I think she got the impression that I wanted to marry her because of the kids.”
Dina arches an eyebrow. “And why would she get that impression?”
I pull my lips inside my mouth.
“Maybe because you did ask her to marry you so you could keep the kids?”
I yank my collar away from my neck. “Next question.”
“That’s not how we do things.”
“Your style is too aggressive.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m just a nurse and not a psychologist then, isn’t it?”
I swallow hard. My eyes drop to the floor. “I love her.”
“A given.”
“I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”
“You’d be dumb if you didn’t.”
I glare at Dina.
She smiles serenely and motions continue.
“I messed up.”
“And why haven’t you told her that?”
“She asked for space.”
“And?”
“And I’m not going to make her uncomfortable.” I rub the back of my neck. “I have a… history of doing that.”
“I’m not suggesting you should disrespect her and chase her around after she asked for space. I’m asking what you’ve done while you’re waiting.”
My throat bobs. “Huh?”
“Sunny loves you. Anyone with two eyes and a brain can see that. But you broke her trust. You gave her the impression that you only want her for the kids. You put a question in her mind that shouldn’t be there.”
“She misunderstood. I do love her. I do want to marry her.”
“Misunderstandings.” She drums her fingers against the chair. “It’s the tiny things that snowball. And you know that.”
I glance away.
“You and Sunny have two very different communication styles.” Dina picks up her coffee, tastes it and sets it back down with a grimace. “You’re a man who sees things as black and white and she’s a woman who sees in color. To you, proposing marriage is perfectly logical because it solves all your problems. You love each other. You want to be together. And it keeps the kids with you. Win-win.”
“Right.” Finally someone gets it.
“But,” Dina presses her palms flat on her knees, “to her, you only see her as a means to an end. You only think of her as a business transaction. Something you need to get what you want. You diminished her value.”
I open my mouth.
She lifts a finger. “You’re not the therapist here, Darrel. You’re going to listen.”
I snap my mouth shut.
“You put a question in her mind. A question of ‘does he really love me?’ And instead of doing, not speaking or chasing or being creepy,” she gives me a sidelong glance, “but doing something to answer that question, you’re sitting here feeling sorry for yourself.” Dina scoots to the edge of her seat. “Here’s the thing, Darrel. You’re not the victim. And if you’re asking a young lady to rearrange her entire life to accommodate you and the two kids that you signed on to take care of, you’ll need to be a lot more sensitive and a lot more humble than you’re being right now.”
I gulp and avoid Dina’s fierce gaze.
“She needs to see that you’re capable of loving her. That’ll take time and yes, I agree, that’ll take space. Here’s the good news.” A light glints in Dina’s eyes. “You have an opportunity to prove your love to Sunny in a way that she’ll never ask that particular question again. So the same energy you’re putting into proving to the judge that you deserve to have those boys,” she pauses, “put that big brain of yours to use and find a way to prove that you deserve to have that woman.” Dina glances at her watch. Her eyebrows jump. “Look at that. Time’s up.”
She picks up my untouched cup of coffee and waddles to the door.
“You’re good at this,” I call at her back. “Scary but good.”
“Some people need more professional help. I’m not qualified for that.” She shrugs. “But some people just need the truth all in one dose.”
I rise to my full height. “I appreciate it.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Darrel.” She tilts her chin up. “Just show me how you’re going to make things right.”
I start with Sunny’s mother.
Why?
Because I might not be able to woo Sunny back, but I sure can work on winning her parents over. I’m going to marry her. Her family’s important to her. So they’re important to me too.
Besides, it won’t hurt to get Mama Quetzal on my side.
The Quetzals live in a colorful house smack in the middle of a dull cul de sac. The way they stand out makes me smile. I bet their brightly painted home is responsible for a whole lot of complaint letters at the local homeowners’ society.
An American flag and a Belizean flag wave cheerfully on their front porch. Hibiscus flowers grow profusely in a small garden in the front yard.
Sunny’s dad is a big, warm man with dark skin, shining eyes and a smile that—given the laugh lines around his mouth—is probably never far from his whiskered face.
He lets me in immediately when I introduce myself. “Honey, isn’t this Sunny’s boyfriend? That Darrel man you were yelling about a while back?”
“He dared to come here? Does he have a death wish?” Mrs. Quetzal charges down the stairs. Her shiny hair is tied back in a ponytail. She’s wearing a red skirt, and I get flashbacks to the ruler smackdown.
I cringe.
She hauls to a stop in front of me. “How dare you show your face here?”
“I didn’t come to bother you, ma’am.”
“If you’re here to ask for Sunny’s hand in marriage, you can’t have it.” She flits her wrist in a stubborn go away.
“I’m not here to ask that.” I gesture to the open door where my pickup is sitting prettily on the street. In the back of it is my brand-new lawn mower. “A few months ago, Sunny mentioned that her dad hurt his back, and it’s been tough to cut the grass.” It wasn’t a conversation she’d had with me. She’d been talking to Kenya, but I’d been listening to every word from her mouth. “I’m here to handle the lawn.”
“We don’t need you.” Mrs. Quetzal shoves me. “We have someone who comes and cuts the yard every month.”
“Ah, ah.” Her husband grabs her. “No violence, honey. We talked about this.”
“Go away,” Mrs. Quetzal huffs.
“I’ll leave when the yard is cut, ma’am. I promise.”
Her eyes darken at my response.
I tip my chin to Mr. Quetzal. “It was nice meeting you, sir.”
“You too.”
I leave the house and shut the door behind me. Then I unpack the lawn mower and spend fifteen minutes trying to figure out how it works. Finally, I hear the engine puttering and I attack the grass.
When I’m done, I pack up and leave. On the long drive home, I take consultation calls, discussing cases with other therapists.
After my talk with Dina, I decided to implement more changes to my professional life. I’m taking a break from client consultations because it’s just too unpredictable and I have a hard time keeping boundaries when someone needs help. Now, my hours are more flexible and I can be there to pick up the boys from school every evening.
I return to the city and park in front of the middle school just as the bell rings. Minutes later, Micheal and Bailey approach my car.
Bailey waves excitedly. “Mr. Darrel!”
“Hey, Bailey.” I smile at him when he bounces into the car. “Micheal.”
He just grunts.
“Bye, Beth!” Bailey presses his face to the window and waves at a small girl with tawny skin, wiry curls and hazel eyes. Beth lifts her hand in a lukewarm greeting and then marches toward a tow truck.
My eyes widen when I see her expertly cling to the handle and swing herself into the giant rig. Is that safe?
“Beth’s mom is a mechanic,” Bailey says excitedly. “Isn’t that cool.”
“Mm-hm.”
Bailey continues to chat about his best friend Beth as I drive them home.
A sweet smell greets us when we enter the farmhouse. Ms. Hansley is in the kitchen making something scrumptious. It’s the first time I’ve seen Micheal brighten up like that since Bennet took them to meet another foster family.
“Hey, boys. I made apple pie.” She gives us a ruddy-cheeked smile.
Micheal and Bailey charge to the kitchen.
“Wash up first,” I yell at them.
“Yeah!” Bailey yells back.
Ms. Hansley’s kind eyes meet mine. “They remind me so much of you and Claire when you were younger.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Her smile gets bigger. She wipes her palms on her apron. “Have you found a nanny yet?”
I blow out a breath, my amusement fleeing. “No. I’ve interviewed almost every candidate the agency sent. No one felt… right.”
“It’s hard to trust someone with your children.”
My children. I suck in a deep breath and let it out. “You’re right.”
“Darrel.” She clears her throat. “What do you think about me taking care of the kids?”
My eyes widen.
“I know I’m getting up there in age but, honestly, the boys aren’t toddlers. I won’t be chasing them around trying to keep them from eating anything in sight or sticking their fingers into electrical sockets.”
“Aren’t you… taking care of Belle?”
“That’s just until Alistair and Kenya return from their honeymoon.” She wrenches her hands. A line appears in her forehead. “Belle is attending school now and she’s in all these clubs, so I’ve got nothing to do for most of the day. Even when she’s home, Kenya is her new mommy. They spend a lot of time together.” Her eyes widen and she waves her pudgy hands. “It’s not that I’m not happy for that, but I’m… they don’t need me as much anymore.”
“Kenya’s different from my mom,” I agree. “Her nurturing side is dialed up to ten. But that doesn’t mean they don’t need you, Ms. Hansley.”
“I’m too old not to see the truth in front of me. Kenya’s got that family handled. Oh, I’ll still be around, helping with Belle and stuff. They’re family. But you, well, it feels like you need me a little more.”
I stare at her and excitement grows in my stomach. It feels right. Ms. Hansley was the one who took care of Claire for most of her childhood. She’s like family. I wouldn’t trust anyone else the way I trust her.
“I would love that.”
“Really?” Her eyes shimmer.
“Yeah.”
“Mr. Darrel, you’ve got to taste this apple pie.” Bailey charges into the room, carrying a plate. “What did she put in this?”
“Way too much sugar.” I muss his hair.
Micheal leans against the wall. His quiet eyes zip to me. “It is really good,” he says hesitantly.
I smile at him, walk over and tousle his curls too. “Glad you like it.”
“You’re acting like you’re the one who made it,” he mumbles, but his lips arch up as he turns away.
We eat pie that night and then I order Bailey to do his homework. He wails about how much he hates homework and I tell him he has to do it anyway. I check Micheal next and threaten to hide all his comic books if he doesn’t finish his project for school. He mumbles under his breath—he’s becoming really good at saying something just low enough that I can barely make it out—but he rolls out of bed to start his work.
I escort Ms. Hansley to her car and watch her drive off to pick up Belle from ballet school, before heading back inside and working on my speech.
The hearing is next week. I need to consult with my lawyer tomorrow, get a suit for Micheal who’s old enough to attend the custody case, and finalize exactly what I’ll say to the judge.
There’s so much to do, yet my thoughts all swerve to Sunny. I wonder what she’s doing. If she’s having a hard time in Belize. If she’s getting enough sleep. If any of the construction workers are flirting with her. That last thought has me clenching my fists in irritation.
Absence does not make the heart grow fonder.
In this case, it makes the heart obsess, wail, and throw a tantrum. I pick up my phone and then toss it back down.
Space. Give her space and prove that she can trust you.
After the weekend, I make the drive to Sunny’s parents again.
“You’re back?” It’s Mrs. Quetzal who greets me at the door.
“I saw that the porch was looking a little weathered so I brought paint.”
Her jaw drops.
I nod. “Go inside, ma’am. I won’t get in your way.”
Mrs. Quetzal remains inside until I’m done painting. I ram my knuckles on the door, tell her to be careful while the paint dries and make the drive back home.
I’m just in time to pick up Micheal and Bailey. As usual, Bailey has a million things to say, but Micheal butts into his brother’s chatter to announce he got an A on his project.
We celebrate with ice cream, which doesn’t feel the same without Sunny, and then head home.
Ms. Hansley is there with Belle in tow. Bailey lights up when he sees her and even Micheal hangs around, asking if she brought UNO.
“No UNO,” I say, shaking my head. “You get too rowdy.”
“We won’t, Mr. Darrel. Please!” Bailey begs.
I sigh and allow it.
The game gets so heated that Bailey starts crying and Micheal sulks all the way up to his room.
“Belle,” I scold her, going into the living room and seeing her surrounded by cards.
“Losing is a part of playing fair.” She blows her nails. “That’s what Kenya always says.”
I stare at her. The little munchkin looks so much like Claire, but she’s slowly becoming Kenya’s daughter.
“Oh, Uncle Darrel, Bailey told me Aunt Sunny is in Belize. Did you know that? They said she’ll be there for months.”
“I know.” A familiar pain strikes my heart again. I soothe it by going to the Quetzals a few days earlier than planned.
Mr. Quetzal throws the door open. “Darrel.” He welcomes me in. “You’re back.”
“I am.”
“What did,” Mr. Quetzal nervously licks his lips, “what did you come to fix this time?”
I lift my toolbox. “Last time I was here, I saw that your roof was—”
“No, no, no, no!” Mrs. Quetzal flies out of the kitchen, her tan hands waving and her head bent. “You are not going on the roof. Do you want to get yourself killed?”
I blink in shock.
“Why do you keep doing this?” She plants her hands on her hips. In that moment, eyes wide and nostrils flared, she looks so much like Sunny that I want to give her a hug.
“Uh…”
“Aren’t you a billionaire? Isn’t that what the google said? Why don’t you let someone else do it?”
“Honey.” Mr. Quetzal places a calming hand on her shoulder.
The fight doesn’t leave her eyes, but she does step back.
“I could hire someone,” I agree. “But there are some things that money can’t buy.” I readjust my fingers on the toolbox. “I want you to see that I’m willing to pay for those things with my time, my energy, and my sincerity.”
“Oh my go—” She smacks her forehead. “I’d rather you paid someone.”
I jerk back. “What?”
“Look at our yard.” She shoves a hand at the open door. “It’s patchy. Lower in some parts. Higher in others. You’ve never mowed a lawn in your life, have you?”
“Uh…”
Mr. Quetzal pats her arm. “Honey.”
She shrugs him off. “And the porch. I can still see the brush marks. And the paint you chose was for an exterior finish, not woodwork.”
“Oh.” I blink rapidly. “I’m sorry. I’ll do it again.”
“No! No, no, no. You will not do anything else. And you most definitely will not climb on the roof so you can break your neck. I’ll have to explain to Sunny why her boyfriend is no longer with us, and she’ll blame me for sure.”
My lips quirk up. It’s her first time acknowledging me as Sunny’s boyfriend.
She frowns at me. “Don’t smile.”
“Sorry.” I fix my expression.
She looks me up and down. “You know what I still can’t figure out? Why did you take in those two boys?”
“I made a promise to their father.”
“You sure do love making promises, don’t you?”
“I don’t love to make them, but I do anything to keep them,” I admit.
She purses her lips. “You think my Sunny deserves to lose her youth being a mother to two random kids?”
I choose my words carefully. “I think that’s ultimately Sunny’s choice. But I do know the boys love her and talk to her every day.” Not that they’ll let me into the group chat. No matter how much I beg. “She’ll be an amazing mother.”
“And you? You think you’re ready to be a father?”
My smile drops. I swallow hard. “No, not even close.”
Her eyes narrow.
“I didn’t have a good father,” I admit. My words are shaky. So are my hands. “I still find it hard to call myself a father even now.”
She snorts. “How can you parent children if you can’t even handle one word?”
“You’re right.” I let out a breath. “That’s why I’ve chosen to work on it. To make different choices. I’m fighting to be a good father to those boys because doing any less means I don’t deserve them.”
Her eyes soften a smidge. “You’re intense, aren’t you?”
I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not.
“But so is Sunny.” She gives me another once-over and sighs. “Put the toolbox down. Have you ever had fry jacks?”
I give her a bewildered stare.
“Follow her,” Mr. Quetzal mouths to me.
“Ah, yes, ma’am. Sunny made it for me and the boys.”
“Oh, Sunny learned how to make it from me. Let me show you what a real Belizean breakfast tastes like.”
I follow Sunny’s mother into the kitchen, sit at her table and eat the best fry jacks of my life.
