The Family Man

Chapter 16

Tom liked curling up in patches of early sunlight.

He also liked bristling by ankles and occasionally shrieking, but it was this third observation that brought on Jack's first pang of affection for the cat. It was five in the morning, and he was at the kitchen table, and his coffee was cool and untouched.

He had been up for two hours now.

Jack reached over and cupped his palm against the scruff of her neck; she purred and molded into his hand, eyes sleepy slits of gray.

A corner of his mouth pulled up.

Barefoot, he abandoned his mug in the sink and padded quietly upstairs as something soft grazed at his ankles. The bedroom door cracked open and the cat darted inside. Jack watched from the doorway. Worn mahogany dresser. Pale green walls. Pre-K popsicle stick picture frames. Crumpled up clothing. Yeah, this is definitely us.

Jackie was still sleeping, mostly because she was human and not prone to waking up at an ungodly Katie Couric hour. The mattress creaked under his weight and he crawled under the covers; Jackie was warm. Jack hadn't realized how cold he was until his hand brushed against her wrist.

He paused, propped up on an elbow, and traced slow faint patterns on her skin. Freckles. A birthmark near the crook of her elbow. It was a little while before Jackie stirred and gave a slow, sleepy smile. "Hi, Creepy."

Hi," Jack murmured.

Jackie squinted up at him blearily, then snaked one pale arm across to her bed stand, groping for a watch. She pulled it up to her face and arched an eyebrow. "Jesus, really? It's five something in the morning."

Jack tilted his head and pointed at the watch's face. "See, this black wand right here is called the minute hand, and it usually tells you how much time has elapsed in the course of an hour—"

She shoved him. "Cute."

He grinned. "How long have you been up?" Jackie put a hand against his cheek—morning stubble.

Jack looked contemplative. "Let's just say they were showing infomercials on every channel."

You're such a weirdo," she yawned.

"I know."

Jackie nestled back into the covers. Thirty more seconds and guaranteed, she'd be asleep again.

"I gotta tell you something," Jack said urgently.

"Yeah?" she smiled, and his stomach gave a little flip. "Let's hear it."

In the end, it hadn't been difficult to say at all. There was no knot in his throat, or tongue-tied babbling, or schoolboy sweaty palms. He brushed a curl out of her face and looked at the woman who had sent his life through a mass of twisted roads and potholes and revelations and said feelingly what he had felt for way too long now: "I'm in love with you."

And there it was.

Ideally (after such a declaration), Jackie would have leapt off of the bed and embraced him and there probably would have been much sweeping and pining and glassy eyes and no more sleep.

But in reality, Jackie was only able to poke her head out from under the comforter and give him a sleepy green-eyed gaze before John's banshee wail could be heard across the hallway. Toddlers and their ill-timed nightmares.

She darted out of the room like a lightning bolt and Jack was left, pinned over the warm patch of bedsheet that had been his wife about half a minute ago. He laughed suddenly and stopped, unsure of what had just happened.

It wasn't until Jack had given up and started dressing that Jackie came sprinting into the room and lunged into his arms. The fact that his face wasn't even through the neckhole of his shirt yet was irrelevant. It was still romantic.