Austin still dropped Winnie off at school, hair windswept, his hoodie rumpled like he’d been in a rush—because he always was. Construction all day, then school pickup, then maybe dinner here if the timing worked out. Sometimes he’d lean against the kitchen counter and eat leftovers with a fork straight from the Tupperware. Sometimes he’d stay long enough to steal the remote and flip through channels until my feet found his lap.
There was a familiarity in the way time slipped between us now, stretched thin by work and responsibility and the pieces of his life I wasn’t part of. Not yet.
And still, every day, I found myself listening for the sound of his boots at the back door. I wondered whether his texts—brief and busy and laced with humor—meant what I wanted them to mean.
I didn’t need constant reassurance. I didn’t. I just liked knowing he was still out there, thinking of us too.
He texted often. Brief and sweet, but busy.
Hope today’s not a shit show.
Save me a bite of that soup.
Miss your face.
They often weren’t long messages, but they were warm. Warm enough that I reread them more than I probably should have. Warm enough that I felt pathetic for missing him while he was still orbiting my life like he always had.
What we had wasn’t a relationship. Not really. But on quiet nights, and smiles over dinner, and in the space between kisses, it certainly felt likemore.
The washer clunked to a stop. I reached for another shirt from the basket, the cotton still smelling like dryer sheets. Outside the window, the tree in the front yard danced in the breeze, its last few leaves clinging for life before they drifted to the ground.
Winnie padded back into the room, one boot on, one off, holding a sequined cardigan against her chest. “Does this go with the dress?”
“It doesn’tnotgo,” I said, tilting my head. “Let’s see.”
She slipped it on and turned in a circle.
“I think it’s a win,” I said. “You look like a star.”
Her smile bloomed, bright and immediate. “Do you think Austin will like it? I hope he sits in the front row, like he said.”
My fingers froze in the middle of a hem. Just long enough to feel the sharp little tug behind my ribs. She wasn’t asking about whether her dad would show up or like her outfit; she was asking about Austin.
I forced my face into something gentle. “Yeah, baby. He said he’d be there. He wasn’t around today because I was, remember?”
She nodded like that was enough. I hoped it was.
When it came to Austin, I wasn’t asking for everything. I just wanted a little piece of the future to feel steady. I picked up the next towel and folded it slowly, methodically. The domestic rhythm of it calmed my hands even if it didn’t quiet my thoughts.
Behind me, Winnie went back to humming, trailing into the kitchen. The floor creaked under her little feet. The afternoon pressed in softer around the edges, dusky light slipping through the windows like a secret.
I sipped the cold tea and didn’t bother reheating it.
The school gymbuzzed with too many bodies and too much sound—squeaking sneakers, folding chairs scraping against polished wood, the shriek of a mic being tested at the front. It smelled like popcorn and some kind of janitor’s cleaner, with an underlying tang of cafeteria food still clinging to the air.
Winnie tugged at my hand, her excitement vibrating through her small frame like she might float right off the ground. I gave her fingers a gentle squeeze before letting go, and she darted off through the crowd toward the long hallway that led backstage.
I lingered a moment, watching the wave of sequins on her dress catch the overhead lights as she disappeared into a sea of tiny performers, all lined up and jittering like wind-up toys. Their show was going to be brief, each grade level singing a song or two to celebrate autumn and their music program. Excited giggles filled the hallway, and my cheeks pinched when Winnie’s head popped out and she gave me a delighted little wave.
I waved back before finding a spot in the gymnasium. Rows of chairs spread across the gym floor in chaotic half rows. I spotted my parents near the third row—Dad in his good flannel, Mom with her purse clutched in her lap. Elodie and Cal sat beside them, their hands knotted quietly between them. Levi slouched one seat over, earbuds tucked in until showtime. Kit waved me over from the end of the row, already halfway througha handful of candy corns and beaming like she’d been appointed Head Cheerleader of the Night.
I dropped into the open chair next to her, then immediately thought better of it and stood again, draping my coat across the one beside me.
Austin’s seat.
“Where’s your hot nanny?” Kit asked, not bothering to keep her teasing voice low.
“He had work,” I said simply, smoothing my hands down my dress before sitting again. “But he said he’d be here.”
