“I won’t.” My promise came out in a whisper, but it was enough for Tommy.
With a hard squeeze on my hip, he said, “See ya.”
As soon as he was gone, I pulled in my first easy breath of the day. Pouring myself a coffee and adding a splash of milk and sugar, I let out a loud sigh, something I wouldn’t dare do in front of Tommy.
Free for a day, I thought as Priscilla rounded the corner, a small duffel bag in hand.
“Hi, baby,” I said, and she rolled her eyes but didn’t insist that I not call her that.
“Hi, Mom.” She rifled through the fridge and grabbed a yogurt while I started packing her a lunch.
“What will you eat tomorrow?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s grilled cheese and tomato soup day. I was going to ask you if I could buy my lunch anyway.”
I paused for a moment, taking her in, with her hair twisted into a braid and the pink lip gloss on her mouth. It astounded me how quickly Priscilla was growing into a young woman. And an organized one at that.
“No problem.” Something unfamiliar started to beat in my chest. Priscilla growing up meant she wouldn’t be here forever ... and I could be free. Did I have to wait?
My brain rapid-fired questions while we prepared for the day in quiet contentment.
“Dad still here?”
“No, sweetie. You need him for something?” I asked. It was almost as unusual for Priscilla to ask after him as it was for him to care about her.
“No, I like when it’s just us. That’s it.”
I thanked God and Buddha and Allah that I wasn’t cutting her sandwich in half at the moment, or I might have sliced my hand in two instead.
“I like it too,” I said softly, then gave her a grin. “Girl power.”
“Yeah,” Priscilla said with a small smile.
With that, we continued to work quietly until we settled in the car and I dropped her at school, her overnight bag tucked slung over her shoulder, and my heart in my throat.
Back at home, I reveled in the quiet, making myself a second coffee and settling in to finish a piece on the best ads on Instagram. I lost myself in the tap-tapping of my keyboard, and before long, it was two o’clock. I submitted a fully edited piece to Jane and slapped my laptop closed to the rumble of my stomach and the ringing of my phone.
It wasn’t a number I recognized, and I immediately panicked it might be the school calling about Priscilla. “Hello?”
“Margo!”
The sound of my name spoken in Mick’s low, gravelly voice sent a zing down south, a feeling I hadn’t had in a long, long time.
“I’m sorry, who is this?” I said, not sure why I was playing dumb.
“Is it okay that I’m calling?” He lowered his voice, probably because it dawned on him that he was calling a married woman.
“Yes,” I said, ignoring my original plan to play coy.
“Forgive me for calling, but I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Sitting back in the kitchen chair where I’d been working, I looked out the window and saw the sun shining and thought about going for a walk.
“I’m fine, definitely,” I said. “I wasn’t even hungover. Wait, that came out wrong. I was heading off to pick up my daughter, so I didn’t even drink enough to have to worry about a hangover.”
Nervous, I ran my hand under my hair, over my nape where goose bumps were popping up.
“No judgment from me. By the way, it’s Mick, in case you still wondered who was calling.”
