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JACK

“She’s going to love you, I promise.” I press a kiss to the top of Rumi’s head just before opening the front door to my mom’s house.

With Evee in my arms, Rumi is holding the vegan blueberry muffins Ava made for her to bring over, Rumi being too nervous to prepare anything this morning after I invited her to brunch with my mom last night when we grabbed dinner together—even when I told her there was no need to be.

My mom has called me at least a dozen times since I told her I wanted her to meet Rumi and Evee, and she offered to host us for brunch today. When I told her that Rumi was vegan, she immediately took it upon herself to convert all of her tried and true recipes into vegan ones.

“Does she know we’re bringing Evee?” she asks, her eyes darting from me to her daughter in my arms as she shifts her weight back and forth on her feet.

“Of course, and I brought over her stuff last night.” I wanted to make sure Rumi had nothing to worry about, so I brought over the high chair, play mat, and the Pack ’n Play that I bought for my house.

Rumi’s shoulders relax as she exhales. “I still can’t believe you got all that stuff for her.”

“And I’d do it again and again,” I say, gently bouncing Evee in my arms. She’s tired from her morning nap, so her head rests against my shoulder.

She’s wearing a white onesie with blue and yellow flowers with blue shorts that match her mom’s baby blue sundress.

Evee’s hair is finally growing in enough that Rumi can give her two little pig tails that she tied baby blue bows in—the sight going straight to my heart when I picked the girls up this morning, their outfits accentuating their matching eyes.

“And you said Emerson will be here?” Rumi asks, my sister and her growing closer over the last month working at Hey Honey’s together.

I nod. “She should be here.” Emerson texted me last night asking if Rumi had a certain coloring book and crayons that are meant to help Evee’s fine motor skills at this age, so I assume she’s still planning on coming.

Rumi sighs. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” she admits, but I think we both know why. Rumi doesn’t have the best track record with parents, and I don’t think she’s entirely sure how to handle them, rightfully so.

“My mom has been talking about meeting my girlfriend for days now. I promise, there is nothing to be nervous about.”

Rumi turns to me, her brows raised. “Girlfriend?”

Oops .

“Too soon?” I ask her, wanting to punch myself for letting the word slip out.

I can’t help but think of Rumi as my girlfriend, even though the word doesn’t feel important enough to use for how I feel about her.

“I just wasn’t aware I was your girlfriend,” she says, her head cocking to the side as she watches me closely.

Blood rushes up to my neck, and I already know I’m doing this all wrong. “I don’t know if on my mother’s front porch is the right place to have this conversation.”

Rumi’s eyes turn to slits, but I see the blush in her cheeks. “We’ll put a pin in it.”

“Deal,” I say quickly, reaching for the door handle and pushing it open.

At least my royal fuckup got Rumi thinking about something other than how nervous she is to meet my mom.

The warm and comforting atmosphere instantly envelopes us as we walk through the door. The smell of savory spices and sweet aromas fills the air of the house I grew up in, allowing the thoughts of my conversation with Rumi going to the back of my mind.

For now.

“Jacky?” I hear from the kitchen as we toe off our shoes in the entryway—my mom having the same rule as Ava when you enter her home. I set Evee’s diaper bag down, so I can place a hand on Rumi’s back to lead her through the house and into the kitchen.

“Hey, Ma. We’re here.” Her back is turned to us as she bends to pull something out of the stove. She’s wearing the apron she’s had since I was a kid over the casual dress she’s wearing, her dark hair streaked with gray twisted back in a clip.

Before she turns around, I grab the muffins from Rumi, knowing my mom is a hugger.

And, just as expected, my mom turns, her eyes immediately going to Evee in my arms and then to Rumi as she claps her hands in front of her chest. “Rumi,” she exclaims. “It is so good to finally meet you two.” She rushes over, pulling her into a tight embrace.

Rumi looks surprised at first, but then she quickly recovers, wrapping her arms around my mom’s waist. “Thank you so much for having us,” she says as my mom finally lets her go.

“This is my daughter, Evelyn,” Rumi says, introducing the little girl in my arms. “But we all call her Evee. She just woke up before Jack picked us up to come over here, so she’s still a little tired. ”

“Well, look at you,” my mom says, her hands coming to her mouth. I can see the way her eyes glisten as she looks at Evee. “She is the cutest darn thing I have ever seen.” She gives Evee a little wave. “Hi, honey bun.”

Evee twists her head more into my neck, playing shy like her mom all of a sudden. And even though I can’t see her, I know she’s looking at my mom with those pretty blue eyes, making my mom fall more and more in love with her.

“Oh, I could look at her all day.” My mom turns back to the kitchen where dishes line the counter, and I keep to myself how truly I know the feeling.

“I hope you two are hungry. Emmy should be here any minute too, so we’ll wait for her to eat.

” My eyes roam everything my mom prepared—a tofu scramble, sautéed vegetables, a loaf of banana bread, fresh fruit, and a pot of coffee.

There’s more that I can’t see, and it warms my heart to see how she went above and beyond for Rumi, wanting to make sure she had options to choose from even with her dietary restrictions.

“We brought these too,” I say, handing the muffins to my mom.

“My roommate made them,” Rumi interjects, and I twist my lips to the side to hide my smile at the way her nerves are showing.

“They look wonderful,” my mom says, taking the container from me and setting them down next to all the other food.

“Can I help you with anything, Ms. Hasting?” Rumi asks my mom, but she just waves her hand.

“Please, call me Angela. And no, but thank you. Please, sit. Let me get you something to drink. Jacky, your energy drinks are in the basement fridge.” My mom turns to Rumi. “I don’t know how he drinks those things in the morning.”

“Right,” Rumi agrees. “I could never drink one of those cold, bubbly drinks right when I wake up.”

The two go back and forth, sharing laughs at my expense, but I don’t care. I grab Evee’s high chair from where I put it at the dining table last night when I stopped by, pulling it to the counter where Rumi is sitting. Setting Evee down, I head downstairs to let my mom and Rumi chat.

While it’s been a few weeks since the drive-in movie date—the one that resulted in way less movie watching than I had initially anticipated, not that I’m complaining in any way, shape, or form—Rumi and I have really found our routine with one another.

June is slowly fading with July just around the corner, but we both find time to see each other within our work schedules—spending time at each other’s houses, hanging out with Ava and Anderson, Emerson, and Luke and Annie and their friends, but we are taking things slow.

Knowing we both weren’t necessarily looking for a relationship when we found one another, we’re both on the same page that we aren’t rushing this.

I think we both know that whatever this is between us could be the real thing, so we want to let it happen naturally as we continue finding out footing—something I royally fucked up by announcing to her that she’s my girlfriend when we have yet to talk about this transition from friends to something more.

I’m still going to my therapy sessions twice a week, and I’ve really noticed a difference in myself.

I’m slowly rediscovering what I loved about my job, even without Bennett here.

Making more of an effort with Anderson and the other guys on the same shift rotation as me has helped, and Chief Sanders mentioned to me yesterday that he’s noticed a difference in me too.

Going into the field isn’t as scary as it felt when I first came back almost two months ago. Instead of the anxiety and dread, there’s just the adrenaline and urgency that make me good at my job as both a first responder and firefighter.

We haven’t had any massive fires, but there’s been a few that I feel the familiar threat of freezing overwhelm me. I’ve been able to use the strategies for my PTSD I’ve learned in my therapy sessions to help me overcome them.

Grabbing an energy drink from the fridge, I make my way back upstairs, hearing that my sister has arrived.

The morning goes perfectly, and I find myself looking around the table and feeling my heart grow exponentially at seeing my mom, my sister, and Rumi getting along so well.

I don’t even try to get a word in, wanting the three of them to talk as much as they want. I make sure Evee is eating and has what she needs, so Rumi can focus on the conversation and not have to worry about her.

Before I know it, two whole hours have gone by just listening to the three of them chat.

“How’s the child support filing going?” Emerson asks Rumi. I reach a hand behind Rumi’s chair, knowing that she has talked to both my sister and Ava about her decision to file for child support for Evee, but Trevor is not her favorite thing to talk about.

“Okay, I guess,” she says, explaining to my sister that there’s been little movement with the process since the local child support enforcement agency sent over a court-ordered paternity test to Trevor’s last known address. “We’re still waiting for the court to prove paternity.”

“The whole process can really be a headache,” my mom says, speaking from her own experience of having to file for child support when my dad left.

I’ve told my mom very little about Rumi’s past, mostly because I didn’t think it was right to give her details that were Rumi’s to tell. She’s aware that Evee’s birth father isn’t involved with her and how Rumi plans on keeping it that way, and she knows there’s a history of domestic violence.

“Has he tried to contact you at all?” my sister asks as she helps clean Evee up, wiping her face with a wet paper towel and grabbing her one of those flappy books she loves from the basket of toys my mom bought for her and setting it on the tray of the high chair.

I was pretty much holding my breath when Rumi saw that my mom bought Evee toys, waiting for her to say how my mom didn’t have to do that. But she surprised me when she thanked her, telling her how excited Evee would be to come visit her again.

“Thankfully, no. I was already nervous for the paternity test to be sent, but luckily it’s from the court,” Rumi explains.

It’s been a concern of hers from the beginning that Trevor might be able to find her if she decided to file for child support, but, as far as we know, her address and other information is protected.

But, since paternity cases are localized by county, there is a chance Trevor would be able to figure out where Rumi is.

She is adamant that Trevor won’t bother trying to contact her in any way, but it’s something I keep in the back of my mind, knowing that there’s a chance.

“And you’ll let me know if you ever need anything?” my mom asks Rumi. They’re seated next to each other, so my mom rests her hand on top of Rumi’s. “I’d be happy to help with Evee or anything else you might need.”

I press my leg against Rumi’s under the table, knowing this can’t be easy for her. As someone who missed out on a chance to have a mother and isn’t used to being part of a family, I know this all might be overwhelming for her.

Rumi flips her hand, holding on to my mom’s. “Thank you, Angela.”

That’s my girl.