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RUMI

I’m going on a date with Jack Hasting.

I’ve said it over and over again to myself until I fell asleep last night, continuing to repeat it as I used my day off from the coffee shop to run errands with Evee while Ava was at work.

And it still hasn’t hit me.

I thought I was nervous to be around him before?

It’s almost laughable compared to how I’m feeling now.

Last night was unexpected in the best possible way, and I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about kissing Jack before yesterday.

But the thought always seemed too much of a dream, something too good for real-life—especially because we established that we were friends when we first met almost a month ago.

Between my focus on Evee and my past relationship and him dealing with his own grief, we both have our own reasons to not be thinking about dating or relationships right now.

But when he told me about Bennett, when he held my hand, when he shared his feelings with me, all thoughts of how I wasn’t ready to open myself up to someone else dissipated.

I know Jack still has his own work to do, the same way that I have a lot of my own trauma I’m learning to live with since moving to Milwaukee, but those aspects of us don’t feel like reasons to fight this connection between us anymore.

I plan to be more than just your friend, Rumi.

I’m learning to trust myself through trusting him , and it’s been healing for me, but I can’t help but worry that this change in our relationship will stall my progress.

It was easy to trust Jack when he was my friend, but will it be the same now while we’re dating ?

Is that even what this is?

It’s been so long since the word has even been in my vocabulary, and the last time I dated someone, it was my abuser.

“What do you think, lovebug?” I ask Evee, holding up the only two dresses I own, hoping one of them looks okay. I’ve changed my outfit at least seven times—all while Evee has watched me from my bed, barricaded by pillows, playing with the stuffed Dalmatians and fire truck Jack got her.

Evee stares at me for a second before looking back at her toys, leaving me to make the choice on my own.

“I can’t wait for the day when you’re old enough to give me fashion advice,” I mutter to myself, holding each dress up against me as I look into the full-length mirror behind my bedroom door.

I’ve tried almost every combination possible with my current wardrobe, hating every single one.

Maybe if this date goes well tonight, I’ll find some time to go shopping.

Looking at the first dress, I hold it up against me.

It’s a soft, flowy maxi with a light gingham print.

At my height, it will fall to my ankles, with a small slit that stops at my knee.

It’s not flashy—just casual and comfortable, the kind of dress you could wear all day without thinking about it. It’s one I’ve worn dozens of times.

Holding the second one up in front of me, I try to picture how it will look on.

It’s short, a more playful cut with a floral pattern of greens, purples, and pinks.

The pale color would contrast nicely against my dark hair, and I think Evee has a dress that would match the purple.

It’s new, still has the tags, a dress I bought when I first moved to Milwaukee, one I wanted to save for a special occasion, but it ended up getting forgotten in the back of my closet.

Without warning, a memory assaults me, catapulting me into the past.

My new dress.

The one I got for his sister’s wedding. It was a June wedding, and the dress was perfect.

I didn’t realize it was too short, or that it showed too much of my legs.

“You think I want my whole family thinking I’m dating a whore?”

A backhand to the face, a shove against the wall, a push to the ground.

The puffed short sleeves and floral pattern covered with blood from my lip and the cut on my forehead.

I didn’t make it to the wedding.

Evee babbling to herself brings me back to reality, my heart racing from the memory.

Now, when I look at the dress, I see how the neckline dips too low, and it will put my chest and full cleavage on display, my cup size much bigger than it ever was even a year postpartum.

The dress falls just above my knees, and I make up my mind.

It’s too short.

I’ll go with the other one.

“Is this spot okay?” Jack asks as we walk through the park.

He’s holding Evee with one arm, the other holding the basket he packed with snacks and drinks.

Her diaper bag is over his shoulder as he leads the way past the families enjoying the first beautiful Saturday of June, finding a space in the shade under a big oak tree, our own little private space for an afternoon picnic.

“It’s perfect.” I splay out the blanket we brought, and the only thing Jack would let me carry after I insisted I carried something .

Making sure the blanket is stretched with enough space for the three of us, I sit down, patting the spot across from me for Jack to join me.

He sets Evee down in front of me, smiling in her purple dress and matching sunhat, her sunglasses making me chuckle every time I look at her, the frames too big her face but still the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

“You both look beautiful,” Jack says, as I kick off my shoes, setting them beside me in the grass.

I look down at the dress I’ve worn a thousand times, running my palms down the fabric, smoothing it out on my lap. “Thanks,” I say, wondering if he would have liked the other dress better.

Jack sets the picnic basket and Evee’s diaper bag down before settling down across from me. The sun is warm, our spot in the shade offering a nice breeze, causing a few pieces of his hair to fall on his forehead.

He stretches his legs out on the picnic blanket, his large frame relaxing against the soft fabric, the hem of his shorts revealing the tattoos etched into his tan skin.

His T-shirt clings lightly to his broad chest and muscular arms, his dark hair tousled from the wind.

He gazes upward, the sunlight peeking through the leaves of the tree above us casting soft shadows across his features.

“So you were saying Evee had what for breakfast?” he asks, continuing our conversation from our walk to our picnic spot.

Since picking me and Evee up, the conversation between us has been easy, natural, and I can’t help but notice how he’s much more talkative today than he’s been in the past.

I’ve known from the beginning that Jack is a man of few words—never wasting time with small talk or beating around the bush. It’s something I instantly liked about him, wishing more people followed his lead.

But today, there’s something different about him. A lightness to his usual broodiness, a happiness to his usual grumpiness.

“She refused to eat anything but her leftover birthday cake,” I tell him, explaining how I made the attempt to give her all of her tried and true breakfast options, only for her to throw them on the floor—or at me—until, exasperated and fed up, I gave her a piece of her birthday cake leftover from her party yesterday.

Jack laughs, looking down at Evee. He’s gotten so comfortable with her, always eager to hold her and include her in our conversations. “I would’ve begged Mommy for a piece of birthday cake too, Evee girl,” he tells her, always talking to her like he talks to anyone else.

“You don’t even like sweets,” I argue playfully, remembering how he wouldn’t take a cupcake yesterday for himself but took the bite I offered him of mine.

My cheeks warm at the memory, how I offered it to him, forgetting he doesn’t like chocolate, and how he leaned in to take the bite from my hand, staring at me right in the eyes as he did, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

“Only once in a while.” He winks, somehow knowing where my mind went before he nods toward Evee.

“But, l wouldn’t beg you for a piece for me.

It would be for her. I mean, look how cute she is.

” He plucks one of the small wildflowers from the grass and holds it in front of her.

“I don’t think I could ever say no to her.

” Evee grabs the flower from Jack, holding it in her little hand, her round, rosy cheeks red from the warm day.

She babbles something to him, and I smile at the noises she makes.

They’re not quite words yet, but her expressions always give her away.

Jack watches her, and I can’t take my eyes off the two of them. The way Evee looks at him like he’s the moon in the sky, the way he grabs her other hand in his, her fingers wrapping around two of his fingers and not letting go.

He keeps his eyes on her as she continues to babble, talking in her own little language.

He nods along, giving her “mhmm’s” and “you’re right’s”, as if they really are having a conversation, and my whole body warms at how good he is with her—how he went from holding her like she was a bomb about to go off to looking at her the way he does.

Evee looks at Jack like he’s the sun, but Jack looks at her like she’s the entire universe.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, my voice cracking at the last word. I clear my throat, reaching for Evee’s diaper bag. While Jack was insistent on bringing the food, I couldn’t help but pack a few things—I’m used to always having some vegan snacks on hand, just in case.

Unzipping Evee’s diaper bag, I pull out some trail mix I prepped this morning and a bag of vegan gummy bears I impulsively bought at the grocery store.

Jack watches me as I set both down, and his eyes go to the gummy bears. “You want some?” I ask, unsure why he’s eyeing them like they might come alive and bite him.

“You like gummy bears?” he asks.

I nod. “They’re my favorite. Most aren’t vegan, so I was happy to find this brand.”

He clears his throat into his fist. “They were Bennett’s favorite too.”

I don’t say anything right away, not wanting to bring too much attention to how easily he mentioned Bennett—something he said was hard for him to do.