“That’s fine. I’ll probably take him back to my house again. Ash will want to see him when he gets home from school.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Alexa. Really.”
A few hours later, I’m sitting on my kitchen floor with Henry, showing him the sensory board I stayed up making last night. Colored ribbons, different textured fabrics, a small mirror, and some simple wooden shapes attached to a piece of cardboard. It’s nothing fancy, but Henry seems fascinated by the variety of things to touch and explore.
“Careful with that knife, Ash,” Esme says from the counter, guiding his hands as he slices mozzarella for the lasagna. “Nice, even pieces.”
I couldn’t sleep last night, my mind too busy replaying every interaction I’ve had with Jordan over the past few days. The way he looked when he left yesterday evening, withdrawn and tired. The careful way he avoids talking about Henry’s mother or where he disappears to in the afternoons. The mystery of what’s really going on in his life.
So, I’d gotten up and made a sensory board, thinking it would help Henry’s development and give my restless hands something to do.
“Alexa, this is amazing,” Esme says, glancing down from where she and Ash are layering pasta and cheese. “You made this last night?”
“Couldn’t sleep. Figured I might as well do something productive.”
Ash chatters happily as he works alongside Esme, telling her about his day at school.
“Can Henry watch us cook?” Ash asks, carefully spreading ricotta across a layer of noodles.
“As long as you’re careful around the stove,” I tell him, settling into the corner with Henry on my lap.
Watching Ash and Esme work together makes my insides happy. This feels like family in a way that’s both comforting and slightly heartbreaking. Since my grandmother died, all I really have are friends. God knows I’m not about to call my parents up for anything.
I don’t even know where they are at this point. For all I know, they aren’t even in Boston anymore. Maybe they aren’t even alive.
The thought is sobering but not worth my time. Ash is what’s important, and he needs more adults in his life who care about him—and Esme has always been wonderful with him.
The awkward moment at the park today keeps replaying in my mind. That woman assuming Jordan and I were a family, that Henry was our son. My face had heated up while Jordan had smoothly thanked her and moved the conversation along. But I can’t help thinking about what she saw—two adults caring for a child together, looking like we belonged that way.
The lasagna is in the oven when Jordan knocks on the front door. I can see him through the window, looking tired again but trying to hide it.
“Perfect timing,” I say, opening the door. “We’re just about to eat dinner. Join us.”
“I don’t want to intrude?—”
“Jordan!” Ash appears behind me before I can finish the invitation. “Stay for dinner! Esme and I made lasagna.”
Jordan looks at me questioningly, and I nod. “Seriously, there’s plenty. And I’d like you to meet my best friend.”
“If you’re sure…”
“I’m sure.”
Dinner is easier than I expected. Esme charms Jordan with questions about his work that aren’t too personal, and Ash keeps everyone entertained with stories from school. Jordan seems more relaxed than he was yesterday, laughing at Ash’s impression of his math teacher and asking thoughtful questions about Esme’s life.
“So you’re in oncology?” Esme asks, passing the breadsticks to Jordan. “That must be incredibly challenging work.”
“It can be,” Jordan agrees, serving himself some greens. “But it’s also rewarding. When treatment works, when patients beat the odds…” He pauses, taking a bite. “It makes the career worth it.”
“Do you miss it?” I ask, then immediately worry that the question is too personal. “Being at work, I mean. You’ve been off for a few days now.”
Jordan’s expression shifts slightly, becoming more guarded. “Sometimes. I miss my patients, my colleagues. But Henry needs me right now.”
“Jordan knows everything about comic books,” Ash announces, clearly eager to steer the conversation toward more interesting topics. “He has first-editionX-Mencomics.”
“Really?” Esme looks impressed. “Those must be worth a fortune.”
“They’re worth more to me for sentimental reasons,” Jordan says with a small smile. “My sister and I collected them when we were kids. They remind me of better times.”
