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A real, lasting, rock-solid partnership.
I wondered if I’d know, when I met the future mother of my children.
Brett always knew, with Corinne. It was almost like destiny for them. At least, that’s how it seemed to me as a kid.
And I sometimes wondered, in my teens, if I had that same kind of destiny written out for me.
I wondered if the woman for me was living her own life and, one day, our paths would finally cross.
I gave up on that, though.
I even started to give up on the idea of kids.
Because… I’m not going to have them if it doesn’t feel right. And it never has. When I was with Jess, I played around with visions of a future that didn’t include a family because she was never psyched about being around kids.
Right now, my feet won’t move. I can’t walk forward into the scene unfolding before me.
The image I’m seeing—Hazel, being so sweet with my nieces—reaches into my chest and stirs my heart.
This scene brings up a dream I gave up on and buried.
She could be the mother of my children one day.
As soon as that thought flits through my head, fear grips me.
The cold, icy fingers of doubt clutch my chest. In my head, I let a few curse words rip.
No way.
I can’t think things like that…
Not about Hazel Thorpe.
She’s not the future mother of my offspring… She's my future manager.
Get it together, I tell myself.
I rake my hands through my damp hair and move forward.
As usual, Ophelia jumps out of her seat at the sight of me. She races my way, gives me her usual hug, and then scampers back to her seat—she doesn’t want to lose her half of the chair she’s sharing with her sister.
Her black braids whip around her head as she looks over her shoulder at me. “We got donuts!” She holds a mangled one up to show me, then takes a bite. “Also, we told Hazel?—”
“Manners, sweetie,” Corinne interjects patiently.
Ophelia chews and swallows. Now, without a mouthful, she goes on. “We told her you know every word to every Tay Tay song.”
Hazel now glances at me, too. She quirks an eyebrow my way. “So, not a Swiftie, hm? You’re gonna stick to that? I hear you’ve attended concerts.”
Traitors.
I pretend to scowl at my nieces as I walk around the table and pick up a mug. “Okay, which one of you two ratted me out?”
“What’s ratted out?” Ophelia asks.
Jasmine points to Ophelia with both hands, silently implicating her.
I chuckle. “Okay, so it’s out.”
