Page 47 of Loving at 40

“Right,” I quip, pressing play for the movie while circling the couch for the microwave. When I return, Rosie has climbed onto Archer’s lap, and Talia has moved closer to him, brushing her shoulder against his bicep but not leaning into him. His hands fist at his sides, next to his thick thighs. Archer’s eyes meet mine, and something like panic fills them.

“This alright, ’Locks?” His voice strains a bit. “She just climbed into my lap.”

My gaze falls to Rosie, where her head is tipped back on his shoulder and her little thumb rests in her mouth. Her legs are crossed at her ankles as her legs stretch forward. She’s made Archer her personal cushion.

“I can tell her to move,” I say, lowering my voice as I sit next to Talia, squeezing myself between the couch armrest and my daughter. His eyes stay fixed on mine.

“She seems comfortable.” His voice still hesitates. Is it weird for him to hold a child? He’s played with Rosie in the water and hugged her after she held his gun.

“Are you uncomfortable?”

His forehead furrows as he takes a second to respond as if contemplating himself and his position. “No. No, actually, I’m not.”

The hand between his thigh and Talia relaxes, and his other hand lifts for Rosie’s belly, keeping her steady as she balances on his legs. He releases my eyes and turns toward the movie, and we begin watching an animated film with a strong message about love conquering all.

My thoughts wander once again, wondering about the types of situations Archer has encountered. What dangerous people has he met, and what bad things have been done to him? On another thought, what are some of the things he’s had to do? He’s killed men. I don’t have to ask to know he has. In his line of work, he must have done such a thing. The question is how many, and another question is if I really want the answer.

I don’t.

While I want to know more about Archer, some things are best left unsaid unless he wants to share those details with me. Don’t-ask-don’t-tell mentality. This might be one of the best cases to apply that concept.

“I can’t decide who’s who in this movie,” Archer softly states. “Are you Anna or Elsa?” He wiggles his leg, and Rosie jostles on him. My head turns to him, watching him hold my child while my other one slowly tips toward him, leaning her head on his arm and noticing his pinky resting on her little leg. He’s patient with Talia, allowing her time to warm up and be comfortable with him.

“I’m Elsa,” Talia firmly states. “Because I’m older.”

“But you have brown hair,” Archer states.

“I’m the ice queen, so my hair will be snow-colored one day.”

My eyes widen at Talia’s comment, and I meet Archer’s gaze over Talia’s head.

“I have to protect Rosie if anything happens to Mommy. Isn’t that right, Rosie?” Talia sits upright and pats her sister’s belly. She leans toward her sister, rubbing her nose on Rosie’s, but Rosie pushes Talia away.

“Stop,” Rosie whines around her thumb, her voice sleepy. My best guess is Rosie will be sleeping on Archer before this movie ends.

Archer is still watching me, and I lean over Talia, kissing the top of her hair, understanding her fears. “Mommy isn’t going anywhere,” I whisper to her. “Nothing is going to happen to me.” I glance back at Archer as I pull away from Talia. Placing my hand on her little thigh, I offer reassurance with my touch. I realize anything could happen to me at any time. I can’t be one-hundred-percent certain in my assurance to Talia, but I hate that she lives in fear that I’ll disappear like her father. She had a hard time understanding that Ryan died. To her, he disappeared, and she once thought he’d re-appear. Her understanding of death evolved, and she now knows it’s permanent. That knowledge adds to her panic that it could happen to me.

Archer lifts his arm, stretching along the back of the couch to wrap his fingers in my hair.

“I’d never let anything happen to your mom, princess,” Archer says, holding my gaze while trying to comfort Talia.

“Ice queen,” she corrects like the label is an honor instead of bordering on something negative.

“Shh,” Rosie groans around her thumb, and a song begins. Talia starts to sing along, and Rosie sits upright, adding her voice. Archer chuckles at their enthusiasm. When the song ends, Rosie settles back into Archer’s chest, turning her body sideways and watching the movie over her shoulder through half-mast lids. His hand has moved to her back, and within minutes, Rosie is sleeping against him, thumb in mouth, comfortable as a clam without a care in the world.

I only wish my Talia girl could relax half as easily. Instead, she leans over to me, and I tug her into my side, holding her against me while Archer toys with my hair, and we finish the movie like a family enjoying movie night.

Ryan never experienced moments like these, and I wonder what Archer thinks of our wild and crazy Sunday night ritual. Could he see himself doing such a thing weekly? Just like the bike riding invitation yesterday, it’s a ridiculous thought. He isn’t going to want animated movie nights with stories about princesses. He’s probably dated one.

“What?” Archer whispers over Talia’s head. I didn’t realize I’d huffed at the thought of him with some socialite, beautiful and worldly, unlike me. I shake my head to dismiss a response and pretend for a few minutes Archer joining our family could be a reality and not some fantasy like an ice castle on a mountain in a child’s movie.

+ + +

After the girls are put to bed—Rosie never stirred from Archer’s lap—Archer and I watch a movie called The Adjustment Bureau. It’s an interesting story about fate, how it’s beyond our control, but if, if, if we knew someone was messing with our lives, we might try to change things. In this movie, the main character’s desire for love is so strong, he’s not willing to let fate dictate his life. He asks the woman he adores to trust him, essentially saying he won’t let anything happen to them.

“Who do you trust?” I blurt, and Archer pauses the movie. If he’s never loved anyone, who does he trust with his secret desires?

“What?” He chuckles apprehensively, turning his head to look at me.