“We had a great time,” he says. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Waffles,” I say.
Harper cheers so loudly in my ear, I’m sure I’ll have permanent hearing loss. She wiggles to be free, and I set her down.
“What did you do to the sunroom?” Mom asks.
“A friend helped me build a gym to keep Marmalade busy. Why don’t you and Harper check it out?”
“Do I know this friend?” Dad asks, studying me way too intensely. I did ask Deacon, but he said he’s never worked with my father’s company.
“Nope.” My phone buzzes on the counter and my heart stops when a familiar name flashes across the screen.
It has to be a butt dial. I let it go to voicemail, doing my utmost best to ignore it as I finish mixing the batter for the waffles.
Seconds after it stops, it starts again. I power off my phone. I can’t deal with this right now. Not while Dad’s here. He’d be livid if he knew my ex-husband, Harper’s father, who I haven’t heard from in four years, is calling.
“So who is this friend?” Dad asks, his bright blue eyes alive with curiosity. His hair might be white, and he might move slower than he used to, but he’s still as invested in my personal life as ever.
I stir the batter far longer than it needs to be stirred. “He’s new to town,” I say. “A nice guy.”
“A nice guy, huh?” he asks. “You could use a nice guy.”
I glare at my father over my shoulder. He’s constantly pushing me to date, to find a guy who’ll treat me and Harper right. I know he means well and just wants to see me happy, but it’s annoying as hell.
“I don’t want a nice guy,” I say. “If I get this scholarship, I won’t have time to date, anyway.”
“Have you heard?” Mom asks as she walks back into the kitchen, Harper’s little hand in hers. Mom and Harper move at about the same speed these days. It’s Mom’s bad knees that slow her down.
“No,” I say. “What did you two think of the cat gym?”
“Marmalade is happy,” Harper says in a tone that means she knows what she’s talking about.
“It’s lovely,” Mom says, patting her gray bob. “Your friend does good work.”
“He’s new to town,” Dad says as Mom sits next to him.
I tune them out as I ladle batter onto the sizzling waffle iron. I can’t stop thinking about that missed call. Why would Bryson be calling me now? I haven’t heard from him in over four years.
Maybe he’s just calling to catch up. He signed away his parental rights to Harper years ago. He can’t think he’s going to take her away from me.
I pause and take three box breaths. It’s okay. I’m okay. My thoughts are spiraling, and there’s no good that comes from that.
“You okay?” Mom asks.
I realize the kitchen has gone silent. “Just anxious about the scholarship.”
She hums in acknowledgment.
I learned box breathing from a classmate in high school. When she talked about her anxiety, it made me realize I struggled with the same thing. We couldn’t afford for me to go to therapy, and my parents’ insurance was crap at the time. My friend shared all the coping mechanisms she learned with me, and box breathing is my favorite go-to whenever I feel that familiar anxiety creeping in.
Five breaths in, hold for five, five breaths out, hold for five over and over until I’m calm. It’s amazing how well it works.
The four of us have breakfast, and Mom and Dad leave. Harper and I spend the morning at the park. We swing and slide and run into some friends. It’s a good day.
But the specter of Bryson and why he’s calling sits like a brooding, predatory dragon in the back of my mind.
It’s not until the birthday party, when Harper runs off with her friends and I’m able to sneak to a quiet area of the children’s museum, that I call him back.
