“Amy’s in a coma.”
The words hang in the air between us, and I watch Alexa’s face process what I’ve just said.
“Oh, my God, Jordan. What happened?”
“Car accident. Three weeks ago. She was rushing to pick up Henry from daycare.” I stare into my tea, unable to meet her eyes. “That’s where I go in the afternoons. That’s why I’ve been so distracted. She’s been unconscious since the day I brought Henry home.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I find myself unable to go on.
“Jordan…” Alexa’s voice is full of compassion, and when I finally look up, there are tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I couldn’t.” The admission comes out rougher than I intended. “I’ve spent so many years having people feel sorry for me. The foster kid, the orphan who bounced around the system. I can’t stand that look people get when they think your life is tragic.”
“You don’t have to carry this alone.”
“I’ve been carrying things alone for most of my life. It’s what I know how to do.”
She sets down her mug and turns toward me fully. “That must have been so hard, growing up in care.”
“It was. But having Amy made it bearable. She was my constant, the one person who never left.” My voice cracks slightly. “I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t wake up.”
“She will,” Alexa says with quiet conviction. “And until she does, Henry has you. And you have people who care about you, whether you want us to or not.”
Us.
The kindness in her voice almost undoes me. “I barely lasted one day taking care of Henry without help. How have you managed all these years on your own?”
“You do what you have to do. There’s no choice when you’re responsible for someone else’s life.” She looks toward the hallway where Ash’s room is, probably making sure he isn’t sneaking back out here. “When Ash’s father left, I was terrified. No support, no money, a baby who depended on me for everything. But you figure it out because you have to.”
“How old was Ash when he left?”
“Three months.” The words are quiet, but I can hear years of hurt beneath them. “He said he wasn’t ready to be a father, that it was all too much responsibility. Just packed up and left one day while I was at work.”
My stomach feels like it twists in on itself. “I’m sorry. He’s an idiot for walking away from you and Ash.”
“His loss,” she says, but I can see that his abandonment still affects her. “It was hard for a long time. Really hard. But we made it work.”
“You did more than make it work. You raised an incredible kid. Ash is smart, kind, and confident. That doesn’t happen by accident.”
“Thank you for being such a good role model for him. He’s never had a man in his life who showed genuine interest in what he thinks and feels. It means more than you know.”
We’re sitting closer now, though I’m not sure when that happened. The space between us feels charged with something I’m not sure I should name.
“Youmean more than you know,” I tell her, and suddenly I become aware of her every eyelash, of her soft inhales and exhales.
“Jordan…” she whispers, and I can see in her eyes that she feels it too, this pull between us that’s been growing stronger every day.
I lean forward slightly, my heart pounding as she doesn’t pull away. Her lips are slightly parted, and I can smell her shampoo and nearly taste her mouth.
Just as I’m about to close the distance between us, Henry’s cry crackles through the baby monitor on the side table.
We spring apart like we’ve been electrocuted, both of us breathing hard and staring at each other with something that might be relief or disappointment. Maybe both.
“I should…” I gesture vaguely toward the guest room.
“Of course. He probably needs a diaper change.”
I stand up too quickly, nearly knocking over my tea mug in the process. “Thank you. For listening. For… everything.”
