Page 106 of 10 Signs You Need to Grovel

“I’d say he was feeling stuck. Terrified to look for the lost love of his life, assuming she’d moved on with someone else and worried he wasn’t good enough for her anyway. And . . .” I replay my talks with my pain-in-the-ass brother and my mother, this undercurrent that’s been sabotaging me since Sadie’s been back in my life. “I think he was depressed and didn’t know how to name that. I think he’d forgotten how to have fun and pushed his family away so he wouldn’t drag them down too. He was lonely and lost, even though he had people who loved him and an awesome neighbor who taught him crafts.”

Sadie’s looking at me now, not the painting, her expression brimming with compassion. “I’m so sorry.”

“So am I. It wasn’t a good place to be.” I don’t talk over the experience with light quips or brush it off with a grunt. Hiding how I struggled then doesn’t serve me or us now.

She squeezes my hand, a gentle pulse that travels up my arm, then she pulls me to the next piece. “What was the artist feeling here?”

Certainly not patient. My attempt at needlepointing a grouping of flowers lasted approximately twenty minutes. Hardly anything’s done on the piece, and what is there looks as jagged as I felt. “That was done after the artist met a terrifying girl in a diner, and he was petrified she’d join his hiking program.”

Sadie snorts. “You and Olivia are priceless together.”

“She’s still frightening, but God help me, I dig that girl.” Using my free hand, I trace a slow line from Sadie’s bare shoulder downward, letting my fingers rest inside the smooth divot of her elbow. “The artist also made that piece before he met his son. He was convinced he wasn’t father material. That he’d end up hurting his son somehow. He didn’t trust himself to be a good role model.”

Sadie blinks up at me, moisture clinging to her eyelashes. “And now?”

“We’re getting there, Sprite.” I lift her hand and kiss her fingers. “We still have three pieces left.”

She nods and presses her lips together.

I gesture to the blind drawing I did with Max, where we drew each other’s faces without looking at the pages. My sketching skills are pitiful. “This one was done after the artist met his son. He was desperate for his kid to like him, to do right by him. He was also mesmerized by the kid’s mom, falling harder for her by the minute, but drawing this was his first taste of what it was to feel connected to another person in a deeper, unbreakable way. That first awareness of fatherhood. Of realizing life was bigger than his own regrets.”

Sadie places a kiss on my shoulder. I run my nose along the top of her head, breathing her in. The Summer of Sadie Jones.

“And this?” She moves us along to the next frame of a hanging embroidered bracelet.

It still baffles me that my thick fingers can wind thread that tightly. “This particular bracelet was done this afternoon.”

She faces me fully and wraps my hands in both of hers. “What were you thinking while making it?”

She’s no longer pretending we’re at a posh gallery. We’re Desmond Bower and Sadie Jones, former high school sweethearts, parents of one fantastic kid, desperately trying to figure out our future.

“I was thinking about how sorry I was that we fought. That I didn’t really listen to your worries or consider Max’s feelings. But also that life’s short, and I’m tired of trying to be something I’m not. It’s like I’ve been living with this unsettled panic under my happiness, worried you’d realize I’m not worth loving and that I wouldn’t be good enough for you and Max. Thinking Duke Law was the answer to everything, because it represented who I was before. Who I thought I was supposed to be. Truth is”—I free a hand from Sadie’s grasp and brush her hair behind her ear, letting my hand come to rest on her neck—“I don’t want to go to law school. Not anymore.”

She shakes her head, frowning. “Des, you can’t do this for me.”

“That’s the thing, honey.” I cup her neck harder. “I’m not doing it for you. I reapplied to Duke because I wasn’t happy with myself. Because I thought it was what you needed, so you’d see me as a success.”

She rears back. “I don’t care what you do for a living. That’s never mattered to me. You’re what matters to me.”

I smile at her tenderly, letting the vehemence of her words sink in and settle. I’m done second-guessing her motivations and undermining myself. Tonight is about laying ourselves bare. “What I want, Sadie, is to be a full-time father and dedicated partner to the woman I love. Which is you, by the way.” She lets out a watery laugh. I run my thumb down her neck. “I also decided to start seeing a therapist. Took a cue from our kid to finally talk through the mess of my last eleven years. And I want to do more as a group leader, planning outdoor activities and that kind of stuff. Which brings me to us. To your job, and a new suggestion I have on how to plan for the next few years.”

Her next swallow is long and slow. “Okay.”

“I agree that Max is happy here in Windfall. He has friends and extended family he won’t have in Arizona, but I still desperately want you to take that job so you can live your best life. Fulfill yourself professionally in a meaningful way. So.” I lick my parched lips, readying to take this next leap. “I suggest he lives here with me. We set up our home base here, and I step in as his full-time parent.”

“Des, no. I’m so happy you’ve decided to see a therapist, and working with Lennon is a great idea, but—”

“And,” I go on, jumping in before she completely squashes my plans, “you’ll probably be pissed I did this, but I called Joseph and talked to him about logistics. Asked him if you can work blocks of time in Arizona and blocks here remotely. He said it shouldn’t be a problem, except when setting up new exhibitions. Otherwise, you can split your time between Arizona and Windfall. And since I’ll be here now, we can make it work. He also said getting Sarah to add a travel budget to your contract is no issue. That’s how much she wants to hire you. Because you’re that good, and your perspective is that unique.”

I study her tense expression, unsure which way she’s leaning, terrified she won’t give the idea a chance.

She focuses on the floor, squeezes my hand tighter. When she looks back up, there’s fire in her eyes. “Being a full-time dad is hard. It’s not all fun art walks and cooking classes.”

“I know,” I say quickly, thankful she’s even considering my plan. “I don’t expect it to be easy. I also know it’ll be worth every tough day, every frustration.” Every time Max decides he hates me for wielding parental law.

“I want this, Sadie. I want to be the stay-at-home dad while you work.” Let assholes like Justin Bernardini make all the cracks they want. I’ll hold my head high, knowing how goddamn lucky I am. “E and Delilah said they’d help out as much as I need. I’ve even spoken to Lennon and can work with him on Littlewing part time or however much I can do. Continue leading programs and help build the business.”

We’ll be adding an adult component with certifications offered and skill-building events—corporate programs and trust exercises. My mind’s been spinning with possibilities, but the most exciting aspect of this plan is the idea of living with Max full time. Helping raise him and shape my son into the strong man I know he’ll be.