Her eyebrows pinch and her eyes move from the bag to me. “But you made me the cake.”

I hand her the bag and shrug at the same time. “Yeah, but this is something you can keep.”

Her smile’s gone now; her features bunched in a way that makes her look confused for some reason. She widens the opening of the bag and empties its content onto the palm of her hand. After setting the bag on her knee, she picks up the ring. It’s a quarter-inch thick, silver and has the words I shoot like a girl engraved with a picture of a camera. It’s also extremely lame. And going by the look on her face, she thinks so too.

“It’s stupid,” I rush out, smacking it out of her hands.

She catches it quickly and turns her back to me, inspecting it further. After a few moments, she faces me, a single tear streaming down her cheek.

My eyes widen, and then roll stupidly high. “Great, I’ve made you cry with the ugliest present known to mankind.”

“Shut up, Josh,” she whispers.

I try to reach for the ring but she pushes me away.

“It’s so beautiful and thoughtful and perfect and you’re ruining my moment with it.” She slips the ring on her pointer finger and smiles. “It was made for my shooting finger,” she says, shoving her hand under my nose.

“It’s stupid.”

“Stop it.”

I look over at her now—her smile back in place and her emerald eyes gleaming under the porch lights.

“It’s lame,” I say, because apparently I like beating dead horses. Or maybe I just need her to assure me that it doesn’t suck.

She purses her lips and narrows her eyes at me. “You’re lame!” Then she scoots closer and hugs my waist, and swear it—I think I actually sigh. She clears her throat before saying, “I’ve been thinking about something lately, but I don’t really know how to bring it up…” she trails off and I know that whatever it is—it’s not good.

“So just say it,” I tell her.

“The other day, when your friend Chloe was here, I thought it was Natalie.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

“I don’t know, Josh. I kind of just felt weird about it.”

“Is that why you’ve been a little…I don’t know, standoffish?”

She shrugs. “Is she nice?”

“Who? Chloe?”

She shakes her head.

“Natalie?”

She nods.

“I don’t really know. She hasn’t been around since Tommy was born.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh. I thought maybe—”

“No,” I cut in.

“Have you thought about what you would do if she came back in your lives?”

“Every day.”

She doesn’t respond, not with words, but she backs away and lowers her gaze.

With shaky fingers, I take her hand, bring it to my lips and kiss it softly. “Becca, I need you to say what you’re thinking.”

With her eyes fixed on our joined hands, she whispers, “Would you want her back?”

“No,” I say quickly. “That ship’s way passed sailed.”

“So…”

My shoulders drop with my forced exhale, causing her to look at me. “She’s Tommy’s mom, Becca. I’m not going to lie, if she came back and wanted to be part of Tommy’s life, I can’t, and I won’t, stop that from happening. I’ve spent nights thinking about it. At first, I told myself that she would have nothing to do with him. That I’d shut her out and protect him. But then I realized I wasn’t protecting him. I was protecting my heart… and he deserved to have both parents. If the time ever comes…”

“Do you still love her?” she asks.

I hesitate.

And that slight hesitation is answer enough.

“I can’t lie, Becca.”

“I understand.”

“Do you, though?”

She glances toward her house, where the sound of Tommy and Chazarae’s laughter echo through our surroundings. “Nothing can replace a mother’s love,” she says, but there’s something off about the way she says it, almost like she’s mad that such a statement exists.

Chazarae opens the door and pokes her head out. “Tommy’s all tucked into my bed. He asked if he could stay the night?”

I nod. “Sure.”

Becca releases my hand and stands up. Then she gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, Josh, and thanks again.”

★★★

Hours go by and I spend those hours in bed, tossing and turning. And then tossing and turning some more. I check my phone for what feels like the millionth time.

It’s just past two in the morning.

Finally succumbing to the voices in my head, I pick up my phone and dial a number.

Not hers.

Hunter answers, whispering a “Hey.”

“Sorry to call so late.”

“No such thing, Shitstain. Everything good with you?”

I nod even though he can’t see it. “I met a girl.”

“So Chloe’s told me. I’ve been waiting for this call,” he says, and I picture him smiling lazily. “Tell me everything.” A door clicks shut at his end and footsteps sound, as if he’s walking away from the bed he shares with his wife. “What’s she like?”

“Insanely hot.”

He laughs. “What are we talking here? An eight? Nine?”