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A few tiny fingers loop through your belt loops as you read through your shopping list and, absentmindedly, you run your hands through Merrick’s hair, just a shade darker than his father's. You frown in confusion, looking down at the little boy beside you. “Where’d your dad disappear to?” You huff.
He always does this. For someone who has their life together to almost a pristine degree, Gwilym can’t keep himself focused in the grocery store. It’s how you end up with his list half the time, and even more than you hate doing your own grocery shopping, you hate doing his.
Porter gurgles in her carrier and Merrick stands on his toes, still gripping your belt loops to look at her. You smile. A few moments pass where you listen to Merrick coo to your daughter and track your eyes over your list, half-heartedly pondering whether you should stay in place to make it easier for Gwil to find you or just finish your shopping. Luckily, the internal battle only lasts for a moment, because your head snaps up at the sound of something landing in your cart. There he stands, in a sweater that’s just a touch too big for him, his hair a bit longer in the winter.
He points to the diaper cream in your cart. “You said she was having a reaction to hers. That’s what we used with Mer, he never had an issue.”
Breathing out, you reach for it curiously. “Thanks, Gwil.”
It’s one thing your kids share: sensitive skin. Gwilym helps you with a lot of things—most things, really; you two are slightly codependent—but this is your favorite part of it all. He’s always ready with a tip or a product to avoid your girl breaking out into yet another rash.
You’ve known Gwil for a long time. At least, for a few years. For a while, Gwil was just your neighbor. He was handsome, intimidatingly so, but he was married when you met, so you had never really thought about it. And then, Gwil was a father. You hadn’t been close before, but then you were in completely different places in your lives, and there was no reason for the two of you to talk unless you were greeting each other casually while you were getting your mail.
Everything happened all at once, it felt like. Suddenly, you found out you were pregnant by a guy you’d been dating for a month, and then you were all alone. And then Gwil’s wife died, and he was left with a toddler and no mother for him. You made them dinner, just once, right after she passed, but other than that, there was no obligation for you to talk to Gwilym anymore, so you decided to let him grieve on his own. You had your own thing going on, trying to figure out how you were going to raise an actual child by yourself; you couldn’t really afford to focus on Gwil.
And then, one day, Gwilym showed up at your door, sweet little Merrick staring up at you from his side, their blue eyes matching perfectly as you raised your brows in surprise. “Hi, guys.”
Merrick had beamed up at you, his eyes crinkling in a way that reminded you of his mother. “Hi,” he said softly. Most things made you emotional at that point, but you could cry at the sight of him, not to mention that sweet little voice and the cutest smile you had ever seen.
“Hey,” Gwil had smiled nervously, shifting on his feet. Gesturing to your growing stomach, he cleared his throat and said, “Congratulations, by the way.” You fought the urge to scoff, but you smiled gently anyway.
“Thank you.”
He nodded once, sticking the hand that wasn’t holding Merrick’s in his pocket. “Right. So, if you haven’t bought a lot of stuff yet, I still have all of Mer’s stuff.” As though he was fidgeting, he pulled his hand back out of his pocket and rubbed the back of his neck. “Obviously, I don’t think I’m going to need them anymore, so if you’d like to, erm...pluck through it, I’d love for you to take some of it off my hands.”
And just like that, the two of you stuck together. Merrick liked you, and the three of you worked well together. It starts as a pair of parents working together—you watched Mer after work most days and Gwil would drive you to and pick you up from your doctor’s appointments—and ends up as a twisted little family unit. You each have a built-in babysitter, someone to ask when you need a favor, and a friend to drink wine with after a particularly hard day. It’s hard to deny that you’re both lonely, since Gwil only has Merrick and you have...well, no one, really. So, much more than he is your babysitter, Gwil is the person that keeps you sane.
Gwil hates grocery shopping more than anyone you know, and he claims you make it more bearable. If you make it more bearable, you can hardly imagine the amount of whining his son has to listen to when you’re not there. “Maggie always did our shopping,” he waves you off, as though it was an excuse for a full-grown adult to act the way he did.
When Mer tugs on your belt loops again, you glance down to those clear blue eyes, his lips turned down in the littlest frown. “M’hungry,” he says quietly, and you frown back, scratching his scalp gently.
“I think I’ve got a granola bar in my purse. You want that until we get lunch?” You ask, already reaching for your bag. You’re almost done, really. You’ve got just about everything on your list, and beside yours, Gwil’s cart is looking rather full as well. It soothes you slightly; it looks like you’re nearly out of here. Even so, Merrick always gets so grumpy when he’s hungry, so it’s easier to feed him a granola bar than to hope that Gwilym is almost done shopping.
Gwil takes control of his basket just as you’re opening the package. “Alright everyone, I’m done. Y/N, are you done? Are we ready for lunch?”
You huff at your friend, handing Merrick the granola bar and looking up to his father. “What the he—heck? You’re done?”
Shrugging, Gwil says, “I’ve been done.”
“Yeah, I figured as much. I just wonder what we’ve been standing around for if you’ve been done,” you gripe, pushing your hair from your forehead.
A smile dances across his lips. “I think you’re getting a bit hangry, too. Shall we get to lunch?”
You follow him as he begins to push his cart, but it doesn’t stop you from pouting. “I am not hangry.”
He hums a laugh and you roll your eyes, glancing down at Merrick to see him happily chowing down his granola bar, the wrapper crinkling in his little hand. Truthfully, you didn’t mind it as much as you led on. You like spending time with Merrick, and you like the way Merrick adores Porter, and you enjoy the extra time with your best friend when he isn’t wandering away from you. Some weeks, grocery shopping is the only time the two of you get to see one another, aside from quick drop-offs of the kids at one another’s places, so you try to enjoy the time together when you get it.
Down the aisle, an older lady watches you all, a small smile pulling at her lips, and you feel your stomach curdle. They were meant to be compliments, you know, those little approving smiles and how they mention what a beautiful family you have. In all reality, Merrick doesn’t look like you at all, and maybe Porter could pass as Gwil’s, with that thick dark hair, but they don’t seem to notice those things. They notice two adults with two young children and they assume.
You don’t mind the thought much, yourself.
You worry it makes Gwil uncomfortable, though. He’s never mentioned that it does; in fact, he’s often the one to thank them instead of correcting them. “It’s just easier,” he’d smile, left eye dropping in a wink. Still, he hasn’t dated since Maggie passed. Hasn’t even mentioned anyone. You never push the subject; every once in a while, when he’s got Porter sleeping on his chest in between the aisles at a grocery store, you’ll point out a woman who gives him a sidelong glance for just a beat too long, but he just smiles bashfully, shaking his head.
So, it’s just you and Gwil. And the kids. And you like it that way. You like your life. A wife would change all of that, so, selfishly, you leave it alone.
Gwilym has become a real professional when it comes to switching car seats back and forth between your cars, and today you’re in yours, which is easier for you. It has a bigger trunk to put all the groceries in, and Gwilym’s bass always gives you a headache, so you really do prefer driving. Additionally, Merrick has gotten much better at not digging his feet into your seat, something he does so regularly in Gwil’s car that the fabric on the back of the passenger seat has begun to wear, and you appreciate the effort on his part to save your back. As soon as the groceries are secure in the trunk, Gwil returns your carts as you begin to buckle the kids.
You can’t blame the women in the stores for thinking you’re a family. You certainly feel like a family sometimes. It’s easy to fall into that steady rhythm; you know the ins and outs of Merrick’s needs and Gwil is the same with Porter. You’ve been a constant figure in Mer’s life for nearly a year and he was so young that to him, it must have seemed you were always there. Then, it occurs to you that your daughter has never lived a life without Gwilym and Merrick in it. It makes sense, then, that Gwilym soothes her when she’s fussy whilst you shop, and why Merrick clings to you when you’re in public instead of his dad.
In your own weird, binding way, you suppose you are a family. If they weren’t family, you wouldn’t love them so unconditionally. You wouldn’t be so patient with Gwil when he complains in the store, and you think it would bother you more that Merrick sings to the radio even when he doesn’t know the words, and how they both stick their things in your purse and forget them. No, it wasn’t traditional, but it was what you had. You didn’t mind it.
Gwil fiddles with your radio as soon as he slips into your passenger seat, and as you back out of the parking spot, you ask, “Whatcha thinkin’, guys? Drive through? I want to get home soon.”
“Yeah,” Merrick sighs, and you watch him glancing out the window in your rearview mirror. You can’t help your smile.
“Agreed,” Gwil says, glancing back at the kids in the backseat. It’s a boring day, the kind you both cherish the most. It was always wonderful when nothing unexpected came up; it made your days easy, especially when you had both kids.
The drive to the restaurant soothes your daughter to sleep and Merrick’s own eyes are heavy by the time you get there. Your best friend raises a brow at you at the sight of his son, a smile growing on his face. That was something you would never get used to. The moments where you felt like Merrick’s mother. When you and Gwil share a look, and you feel more like partners than usual, like you shared the toddler and the babe in the back. Your heart pounds just a tad faster and you shake your head.
“He’ll be upset when he wakes if we haven’t gotten him anything,” Gwil chuckles.
“Poor thing, he must be exhausted if he’s falling asleep so early in the day,” you sigh, glancing over at the menu. “We’ll still get him something, it’s only right.”
Gwil foots the bill, since he claims you had gotten the last one (you hadn’t—you can’t even remember the last time you had), and you two finally find reprieve from the music Mer insists you all listen to.
You hate to prove Gwil right, but you’re already eating fries as you pull away from the restaurant, and you begin to feel considerably better within moments.
“I told you,” he sings, a bright grin on his face. “I know you. Mer was grumpy because he needed a nap, but you just needed some lunch.”
“Shut up,” you laugh. It’s quiet for the first time all day. The classic rock on the radio plays lowly to keep the kids from waking, and you’re surprised to see Gwil already looking at you when you turn to him. “What?” You ask casually.
For a moment, he continues to stare, but then he shrugs and turns away. “Nothing.”
“Nothing,” you repeat with a shake of your head, in part to tease him and in part because you don’t believe him. The drive home isn’t entirely miserable; traffic is sparse and once you finish your fries, you’re in a much better mood. Merrick gets his habit of singing along to the radio from Gwilym, and though you had teased him about it before, you don’t mind listening to him. It soothes you, in a funny way, so you settle in your seat and listen to the way he sings under his breath, his head turned away from you and toward the window.
Both kids successfully sleep through the whole trip, and Gwil knows he really should wake Merrick up, but when you say, “D’you want to eat over at mine? After you put your groceries away?” Gwil purses his lips. Selfishly, he wants just a few more moments alone with you, and if that meant Merrick staying up a bit later tonight, well, that’s fine by Gwil, so he agrees.
Before he can do it himself, you’re pulling Merrick from his car seat gently, hushing him back to sleep with a soothing hand on his back. Gwil watches you carry his son into your house and releases a wistful sigh.
The day he had shown up on your porch, he never expected your friendship would turn into this. Hell, he hadn’t really expected a friendship at all, but you had accepted his offer, and then you had invited him to dinner in turn, and then it just kept happening, the three of you doing things together. He hadn’t expected you to love Merrick the way you do, and he hadn’t expected loving you, either.
The whole situation feels rather helpless, really, and it doesn’t help that you give him nothing to work with. Sometimes he thinks he’s finally getting somewhere; you’ll return his sidelong smiles and walk a little closer to his side and get flustered when he flirts with you. And then, it’s all shut down in a moment. You’ll hold Merrick a little too close to your side or the four of you get some offhand comment in line for seating at a restaurant about your family, and it’s like a wall goes up in your mind. He hates it, for a million reasons, but mostly because damn it, he thinks your family is adorable, too, whether or not you think of the lot of you that way.
It’s even less apt for him than it is for you. Maggie hadn’t even been gone two years, and he swore that he would never love anyone after her; he thought it would be just him and Merrick, and he was okay with that. And then there was you. And then there was Porter. He had never fallen in love so quickly, so helplessly. The worst part of it all is that he doesn’t want help. Gwilym enjoys being in love with you, even on the worst days, where you’re mad at him, or he thinks you’ll never love him. Even then, he wouldn’t change the way he feels.
He shakes his head and closes his car door. Thoughtlessly, he pulls Porter’s car seat from the backseat and begins making his way into the house. The little girl looks just like you. Her head is tilted to the side, only emphasizing her little double chin, and his heart aches. He steps inside, setting the car seat on the floor and crouching before her.
One of his fingers traces over her forehead, and down the gentle curve of her nose, which twitches under his touch. As much as he loves you, he loves her. God, he loves her, so deeply that it almost hurts. Porter breathes out softly and he smiles.
“Aw,” you coo, coming up behind him. He hadn’t even noticed you come back, so he swings his head around to glance at you, a smile still on his face. “You love her,” you tease.
Standing, your best friend rolls his eyes. “Of course, I do.” He doesn’t give you a moment to react to his words before he’s motioning out the door. “I’m gonna run my groceries in.”
“Okay,” you say quietly, watching him step through your door. For a moment, you stay where you are, your head falling back as you tried to rein in your emotions. This is what you hate the most; when he makes your heart race. Sometimes it feels like he’s on a mission to get you to fall in love with him and by God, it’s hard to resist. There’s no way someone could spend so much time with Porter without falling in love with her, but still, the words sit heavy on your chest.
You step back into the winter chill to get your own bags from the trunk of your car, shrinking into your sweater as you rush to get everything finished. Gwilym manages to get all his groceries into his house in one trip, which you both admire and abhor. It always leaves him available to help you bring your own in, though, which you appreciate. Only a moment after you disappear through your front door with some bags, Gwil exits his house, dropping his keys in his pocket.
Easily, as though it’s only right, he grabs the rest of your items and closes your trunk. When he passes you on his way to your kitchen, he wiggles his brows just to hear your laugh, and when he gets to the kitchen, he begins to unbag your items, putting them away to the best of his ability. It’s all so domestic that his heart feels like it could pound out of his chest. This is similar to a life he once lived, putting groceries away while you retrieved food from the car, both of you careful of the sleeping children in the house. So similar yet so different.
You step in behind him, the bags with your food rustling in your hands. “Oh, Gwil,” you say, setting your bags down and leaning against the counter. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll get that all put away later.”
With a shake of his head, he continues unbagging your groceries. “If we don’t do it now, you’ll regret it later.” He’s right—you both know it—but you still give him a look, tilting your head. Opening your fridge, he sends you the same look back. “Why don’t you go put Porter down? I’ll probably be done by the time you finish and then we can eat,” he suggests, shrugging.
A quiet calm settles over the house. Porter settles into her crib with little fussing and Gwil moves about the kitchen, folding your bags again as he empties them. When you get your daughter settled, you make your way back to your best friend, sighing softly in content. Most of the groceries are put away, but you don’t mind the few things that remain on the counter, and it seems that Gwil doesn’t either, because before you’re even fully in the room, he’s grabbing the food bags off the counter.
“Let’s eat,” he breathes, raising his brows in a sort of casual excitement. You grin at him, leading the way to the living room. Most of all, these were the best times you spent together. The kids slept down the hall and the two of you each gather a blanket from the arm of your couch, settling together while you reached for the remote. “I can’t handle anymore Criminal Minds,” he admits, and you roll your eyes, nudging his side.
“Well, I’m bored of Schitt’s Creek.”
He rolls his eyes, raising a brow at you. “You’re just saying that to spite me.”
“Point being?” You shoot back, eyes sparkling when he breaks into a smile.
“We’ll find something else,” he says softly, turning back to the television.
You’re only a few minutes into an episode of Derry Girls when Merrick appears from the hallway, his eyes bleary from sleep. He’s silent while he walks toward you two, but you both notice him, unable to decide whether or not you should speak up. Finally, Gwil says, “Hi, buddy. You wanna come and lay with me?”
Merrick shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes. “No,” he mumbles tiredly, clambering onto the couch anyway. Instead, he rests his head in your lap and you shoot Gwil a smug look. “Wanna lay with mumma.”
Your mouth falls open and you look at Gwilym with panic in your eyes, but he’s looking at his son with just as much shock as you feel. “Mer…” you trail off, almost speechless. It makes no difference. The little boy has already fallen back asleep in your lap, leaving you and Gwil in a stifling silence. “O-kay,” you breathe, shaking your head. Anxiety courses through your veins and you try to turn to Gwil without waking his son. “Gwilym, I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head, face twisting in disagreement. “You didn’t do anything, Y/N,” he reminds you. “He just...he’s confused. It’s okay.”
“But—I mean, I don’t—”
“Hey,” he cuts you off, shaking his head. “It’s okay. You—” He pauses, finally looking over at you with a smile so small that you almost think you’re imagining it. “He thinks a mother is a woman who takes care of him as I do, someone who’s around all the time. As far as he knows, you are his mum.”
You clear your throat, looking away from your best friend. There’s no escaping this conversation; in fact, you’ve been waiting for it since you realized how close the three of you were. In all actuality, you had imagined the conversation coming about in reference to Porter. Merrick had lived a life before you, but Porter was born with Gwilym waiting for her in the waiting room. She had only ever known a life with Gwil and in a weird way, Gwilym had spent a lot of time fathering her. But now Merrick sleeps, fists clenching in your sweater while Gwil waited for a response from you.
You push your hair from your forehead. “I don’t—I don’t want to take her place.”
Gwil sighs. A tentative hand reaches for yours, raising both of his brows in emphasis. “You won’t. You can’t.” His thumb strokes your hand and your heart races. It almost feels ominous—like this discussion is going to go somewhere bigger. “Maggie will always be his mother, but she isn’t here. And I think she’d be glad that Merrick has you. You’re good for him.” And then, after a long pause. “You’re good for us.”
You look up at him and all you see across his face is authenticity. Tired eyes watch for your reaction carefully, and you breathe out, nodding once. His calloused hand squeezes yours gently and he begins to smile.
“I’ll tell him he can’t call you that, if you want,” he offers. “I know it’s a little...odd, considering the circumstances. But I don’t mind if you don’t.”
Truthfully, you didn’t mind. It only serves the overarching fantasy of the four of you being a real family, but for the same reason, it was a dangerous line to toe. However, you just shrug, smiling down at Merrick. “It’s okay,” you finally assent. “You know I love him like he’s my own. Since you don’t mind, neither do I.”
Gwilym is silent for a contemplative moment and your brows furrow in confusion, watching the gears of his mind turn as he takes in the sight of you both. As though he’ll burst if he doesn’t say it, Gwil rushes, “I love you.”
The metaphorical wheels in your mind spin, but you aren’t going anywhere, too shocked to properly process his words. “Oh.”
“Oh,” he laughs, nodding and looking away from you. “Yeah. Oh.”
Shaking your head, you squint at him. “I just—I didn’t...see that coming.”
He rolls his eyes. “Really? You really didn’t see that coming?” It’s the honest truth, so you shake your head, watching as he stands from the couch. “Y/N, it’s...it’s just been you and I for almost a year. And watching you with him, it’s like—like you guys have known each other his whole life.” It feels like he’s trying to convince you of something, but it occurs to you that he doesn’t realize how often you think about the two of you. The four of you. “He loves you more than anything. More than me, sometimes. And I love Porter. I love you. We’re already a family, but I want you to want that. With me. I want you.”
It all seems so silly now. How anxious you get over women in the stores complimenting the four of you, when Gwil has considered you a family the whole time. When Gwil has already considered you his partner. Your heart pounds, soars, and sinks to your stomach all at once, and you stare at the man standing before you, his hands fidgeting nervously as he waits for a response.
“If you don’t want that,” he says slowly. “I understand. I’m not asking you to love me back. But I want you to know that it’s true. And I want you to consider this. Consider us, and the kids. It’s like...it feels like it’s how it was meant to be.”
Can you honestly say that you love Gwilym? Your best friend? You had spent the last year of your life actively pushing away any type of romantic interest you could have held in him, but now he stands before you, earnestly asking you not to. To look at him that way, or at least to try. It makes your palms sweat and your stomach flip and your chest swell. Of course, you could love Gwil. You reckon it wouldn’t even take much time for that to develop.
Gently, you slide Merrick to the side, removing his head from your lap and keeping him asleep. You stand, wiping your clammy hands on your jeans, and you stand with Gwil, face to face. He’s never looked so nervous; at least, you haven’t seen him look so nervous. It makes you want to reach out for him, to comfort him.
Taking his face in your hands, you look at him seriously, searching his face for any indication of regret. When you see none, you say, “I adore you. And you know I love Merrick. You would be crazy to think I wouldn’t consider us.”
“You want that?” He confirms breathlessly, and you can’t help your disbelieving laugh, still so confused about the turn your afternoon has taken.
“Of course, I do,” you sigh, pressing your forehead to his.
No, you don’t really mind that it isn’t conventional, because it’s yours. And that’s enough.