White Space Season 2

nice. Lots of people really like him.”
    Emma stared at her aunt suspiciously. “You don’t like Grandpa Conway?”
    Jon stared at Cassidy, wondering how she’d dig herself out from Emma’s question, imagining the lie she was about to light on her tongue. But Cassidy sat in her silence for a handful of seconds, then shifted in her seat and spilled truth instead.
    “No,” she wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “I think your Grandpa Conway is a cold, callous asshole.”
    Emma’s eyes went wide, and she turned to Jon, probably to see if he was mad. Jon burst into sudden and almost fitful laughter. “He’s not that bad. My brother, though, Warren, well, he’s a giant asshole.”
    Cassidy laughed with Jon, and Emma joined them.
    “ But ,” Cassidy said, “You’d better not tell him we said anything!”
    Emma ran a finger over her lips in a zipping motion, “I won’t say a word, I swear.”
    “Good,” Jon said. “Because I’d like to have a nice dinner without any drama.”
    Cassidy nearly harrumphed, but stopped as she caught Jon’s eye.
    “What about Grandma Conway?” Emma asked. “Will she be there?”
    “No,” Jon shook his head, “she’s in heaven. I never knew my real mom. She died when I was born. My stepmom died when I was graduating high school.”
    “Wow,” Emma said, putting her hand on Jon’s arm, displaying the maternal instinct that was surely wired in her brain. “So you never knew your mom?”
    “Well, I knew my stepmom, who was a lot like my mom and who I even called mom. She was a very nice woman. But no, I never knew my real mom.”
    Emma looked down, clearly thinking of her own mother. Cassidy swallowed, visibly uncomfortable, then turned to stare through the glass and out at the sea.
    Emma said, “That must have been really sad for you, to never know her. At least I got to know mine. A bunch of people keep telling me they know how I feel, but you actually do, maybe even more than me.”
    How can she be so mature?
    With a heavy note of confession in her voice, Emma said, “I actually feel guilty a lot of the time.”
    “Why?” Jon and Cassidy asked together.
    “Because I feel like I should be missing Mommy more. I mean, I miss her, but Aunt Cassidy helps me miss her less, I guess, just like you do.”
    Emma turned to Cassidy and smiled, then Cassidy turned and smiled at Jon. Something about the moment made him feel cold, lost, and surprisingly guilty.
    Was being with Cassidy really the best thing? Sure, he missed Sarah, Emma missed her mother, and it was easy enough to play house. But were they merely numbing their mutual hurt? Was only a matter of time until it bloomed into something worse? Even though the smart part of Jon knew he was doing the right thing, and that every intention was good, there was another — more insecure — part of him that wondered if he was wasting weeks and working toward months, filling Emma’s life with some dream of a family that would never be.
    Jon took Emma’s hands in his. He smiled, and she smiled back, wide, like she always did when interested in what her new daddy was about to say.
    “It’s OK that you don’t miss your mom as much as you think you should, Emma. There is no wrong . Aunt Cassidy and I are here to make you feel better because we’re your family. Believe me, you don’t want to feel alone. There is no right answer or one formula for dealing with grief. There is no reason — one plus one equals everything, and two minus one can sometimes mean nothing. Just know that no matter what, Cassidy and I are here for you, and when the time comes when you do really miss your mom, which it will, we’ll both be here for you. OK?”
    A tear slid down Emma’s cheek. “OK,” she said, falling fully into Jon’s arms. He stroked the back of her head, running his hands along her hair as Cassidy smiled from behind with her eyes red and misty with understanding.
    The door opened behind them and Houser entered the living room moments later. He looked over at their tiny family, his mouth half-open as if he wanted to tell them all about his day. Then he shut it, seeing that he’d stepped into a family moment.
    “Did you want to talk?” Jon asked.
    “No, it’ll wait,” Houser said. He held a brown bag from Red Rockets in front of him, the fast food inside it pocking the paper with blotted grease stains along the bottom. “Besides, I’m starving. I’m gonna go watch some TV and pig out. We’ll talk later, or