“Who’s, Charlotte?” A small voice from behind me scared the shit out of me.
Spinning around, I saw Isla standing in the doorway with her arms wrapped around her teddy bear looking all sorts of adorable. When she was like this I almost forgot that she could turn into teary terror at the drop of a hat.
“What was that?” I asked, patting the bed beside me and watching as she scrambled up on the bed and bounced across the mattress.
“Who’s, Charlotte?” she repeated. Part of me had been hoping I’d heard her wrong and this wasn’t the question she was asking, but that would’ve been too much to wish for.
I wasn’t about to lie to her. I promised myself I never would. But she didn’t need to know the whole truth either.
“Charlotte is a friend of mine,” I told her.
“Is she pretty?”
“Yes, she is,” I answered honestly. “But not as pretty as you.” I grabbed Isla around the waist and dragged her into my lap.
“Is she going to be my mom?”
Isla’s obsession with a mom was becoming harder and harder to navigate. I knew Charlotte was amazing with kids, but it was way too early to be thinking about the possibility if she wanted some of her own. With what she did for a living, being a pediatric oncologist, it wouldn’t be easy, and it would be completely understandable if she didn’t, but it was way too early to have that conversation.
“Sweetheart,” the look on her face broke my heart. She wanted a mom more than anything, and it was possibly the only thing I couldn’t, I wouldn’t give her. One day, maybe. But for now, it was just us. I had to be enough, but I was shitting myself that I wasn’t.
“Can we have a cookie?” Isla asked, her change of direction gave me whiplash.
Not caring if she ate too many cookies and ruined her dinner, I agreed, and she quickly wriggled out of my lap and skipped toward the kitchen.
Mrs. Neal was a lifesaver. When she knocked on the door on Monday morning with a container full of still-warm blueberry muffins, I almost asked her to move in. Yet again we were running late. Isla couldn’t find her shoes, and I was in trouble because I’d lost her favorite purple ribbon, not that I even knew she had a favorite purple ribbon, but it was enough to have tears and tantrums.
“Having a good morning?” She smiled as she nudged me out of the way in the kitchen and took over packing Isla’s lunch.
“Must be Monday,” I grumbled.
“That just means it can only get better from here,” Mrs. Neal offered, trying to stay positive.
Gulping down what was left of my barely warm coffee, I grabbed my watch and secured it around my wrist before heading into Isla’s room to help her find her shoe.
Pushing open the door, I ignored the mountain of toys and stepped into the room.
“Isla?” I called out, keeping my voice soft.
She was curled up on her bed, one shoe on, one shoe off and sound asleep. Reaching out, I touched her shoulder, shaking her awake. When her big eyes blinked open, she looked up at me through her sleepy haze.
“Hey there, sleeping beauty.” I smiled down at her. How could I not? This kid held my heart in the palm of her hand.
“Mmm,” she mumbled back.
“Are you getting up and going to school today?”
“Mmm.”
“Come on, sleepyhead,” I encouraged, pushing a curl off her forehead.
While she stretched and mumbled and woke up again, I picked up the toys, tossing them back in the toy box, and low and behold, there was the missing shoe. After double-checking she was awake and wasn’t going to crawl back into bed the moment I turned my back, I handed her the shoe, picked up her backpack, and headed back to the kitchen to finish getting ready.
“Everything okay?” Mrs. Neal asked as she closed the lid on Isla’s lunch box.
“She’d gone back to bed.”
“She must’ve been tired.”
