The suggestion hung in the air between us. Take a five-year-old on what was supposed to be my second attempt at a first date with Jeremiah? In what gay universe was that acceptable?
“I don’t think that’s really an option,” I said.
“Oh. Right. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” Julia’s voice was small and guilty. “God, I really screwed this up for you, didn’t I?”
“It’s not your fault,” I assured her, though my chest felt tight with frustration. “Cars break down. Just be safe, okay?”
But even as I said it, I was mentally scrolling through my brief list of backup babysitters. Mrs. Rodriguez next door was visiting her sister in Savannah. My coworker Sarah was at her daughter’s soccer tournament. The college student who sometimes helped had gone home for the weekend to study for finals.
I tried calling Mrs. Patterson, a woman who lived down the street and had offered to help with Debbie in emergencies. Straight to voicemail.
I even tried Cuddles’s owner, Mrs. Chen, despite the fact that she was ancient and had made it clear that her babysitting days were behind her. No answer.
By twelve-fifteen, I was officially out of options.
With hands that felt unsteady, I scrolled to Jeremiah’s contact information and hit call.
He picked up on the second ring, and I could hear the ambient noise of honking cars and idling engines.
“Hey, I know. I’m super late. I’m so sorry. I-85 isn’t moving at all. I think there’s a crash or somebody broken down. This totally sucks.” When I didn’t respond right away, his voice shifted from frustration to concern. “Theo? Everything okay?”
The kindness in his voice made this somehow worse.
“Jeremiah, I’m so sorry,” I started, and I could hear my own defeat in the words. “Julia’s car broke down. She’s probably the reason you’re stuck in traffic. I . . . I can’t find another babysitter, and I know this is the second time I’ve had to cancel last minute, but I can’t leave Debbie alone.”
There was a pause that lasted approximately forever.
“Oh, okay,” he said finally, and I couldn’t read anything in that single syllable.
“I know how this sounds,” I rushed on, the words tumbling over themselves. “I know it seems like I’m making excuses or that I don’t want to see you, but I swear that’s not what’s happening. I was really looking forward to this, and I’m just—”
“Theo.” His voice cut through my rambling gently. “Breathe.”
I took a shaky breath, realizing I’d been spiraling into full panic mode.
“It’s okay,” he continued. “These things happen. You’re a dad first. I get that.”
Still, I could hear something in his voice—disappointment, maybe, or resignation, like he’d been expecting this to happen.
“I can try to find someone else,” I said desperately. “Maybe if I call—”
“Don’t,” he said quietly. “Don’t stress yourself out over this. We’ll just . . . find another time.”
The gentle understanding in his voice somehow made me feel worse than if he’d been angry. At least anger I could argue with. This quiet acceptance felt like giving up.
“Jeremiah—”
“I should probably focus on the road. It’s starting to open up a little, but I think I see cops and an ambulance ahead,” he said. “I’ll . . . let you get back to Debbie. Talk soon, okay?”
And before I could say anything else, before I could explain or apologize or beg for another chance, the line went dead.
I made it downstairs and slumped onto the couch, letting my head fall back against the cushions. The ceiling stared back at me, offering no solutions to the mess I’d just made of my love life.
Again.
From the living room floor, I could hear Debbie conducting an elaborate conversation with Sir Hornsworth about the proper temperature for dragon tea, completely oblivious to the fact thather daddy had just managed to screw up the best thing that had happened to him in years.
How long would Jeremiah wait?
