Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
She glances my way, her lips twitching the tiniest bit before settling back into their downward swoop. “Thanks, but you don’t have to make excuses for me.”
“I’m not,” I insist. “I’m reminding you that you’re human. And even the strongest humans don’t have an unlimited capacity for dealing with stressful shit.”
“I know I’m strong. The parts of me I’m aware of most of the time, anyway, but…” She pulls in a breath, holding it for a beat before adding in a softer voice, “But what about all the other parts? The parts Kai twisted before I was old enough to know better? The parts that never had a chance to grow up right because I hooked up with a sociopath before my prefrontal cortex was done…prefrontal cortexing or whatever.”
She laughs, but I can hear how close the tears are to the surface. “What if this isn’t just a conflict avoidance thing I need to work on? What if there’s something seriously fucked up in here?” Her voice gets smaller, wobblier. “Something that will hurt her, no matter how hard I try not to? Even though that’s the last thing I ever want to do.”
I take the next right, grateful when I turn onto a relatively quiet street lined with shuttered bodegas and a tire store promising to recycle your old tires for no extra charge. I pull over and shift into park, leaving the engine running because her hair is still wet and the air is cool tonight.
“Hey, look at me,” I whisper, taking her hands in mine as she turns my way. I curl my fingers around hers, willing away the chill clinging to her skin. “You have blind spots. Of course, you do. We all do. Anyone who tells you they don’t is done growing, and I don’t trust people who are done growing. I don’t ever want to stop, and I know you don’t, either.”
“I know, but what if I’m not growing fast enough?” Her eyes fill again as she says in a rush, “Or what if I’m not even aware of where I need to grow? What if I’m completely blind to my shitty spots? And I stay that way long enough for Bean to decide I’m a clueless, lazy old grown-up who doesn’t understand what it’s like to be a kid? What if she feels all alone and miserable, the way I did when I was a teenager? My parents loved me, Archer. It wasn’t a matter of them not loving me. It was just that they didn’t get me. They hadn’t done the work that I needed them to do to understand where I was coming from. They still haven’t.”
I run my thumb over her knuckles, tracing the delicate ridge, offering what physical comfort I can when we’re trapped on opposite sides of the console. “Then you’ll see it coming, and you’ll adjust before it’s too late. I will, too. There’s no doubt in my mind about that, Bea. People who gloss over the growing they need to do, don’t work themselves into tears worrying about being what their daughter needs at fifteen while she’s still in the womb. You’re going to be fine. Better than fine. You’ll be the kind of mother all Bean’s friends will wish they had. One who’s there on the battlefield beside her, learning and fighting no matter how hard things get.”
Beatrice’s bottom lip trembles as she searches my face. “Really?”
“Really,” I promise.
She blinks faster. “Thank you. For believing in me.”
“Ditto,” I whisper.
“But we have to stop calling her Bean,” she adds after a beat. “Grammercy introduced me to his mom the other day after the game. Guess what her name is?”
“Beanie,” I say with a laugh. “Yeah, I’ve met her. She’s great.”
“Super great,” Beatrice agrees. “But two Beans would be confusing, not to mention our Bean would probably appreciate a more thoughtful name. I was thinking a mix of beautiful and bold, so she has options to choose from once she decides how she wants to show up in the world. Maybe something to honor the people who matter most? Like…Charlotte Baylor Blue Nix, maybe?”
“That sounds perfect.” I tighten my grip on her now-warm fingers. “So does calling her ours.”
Bea’s lips curve. “Well, she is ours. Even if we break up and decide we hate each other, she’ll always be ours.”
“I don’t want to break up and hate each other,” I say, holding her gaze. “I want to stay right here and love you. Always.”
Her eyes start to shine again, but she smiles as she nods. “I mean, duh. Should we just get married, do you think? Or kick it down the road until we decide it’s time to give Bean a brother or sister and worry about it then?”
My throat locks.
Before I realize what’s happening, I’m choked up, too.