It was how desperately I wanted him to stay.
5.Cole
Ihave spent my entire adult life perfecting the art of avoiding people. Now I was checking my phone like a teenager waiting for a text back from his crush.
Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.
The black device, which usually lived buried in a kitchen drawer for emergencies only, had taken up permanent residence in my front pocket. Every vibration sent a jolt through my entire nervous system. I'd yank it out with embarrassing speed, heart hammering against my chest, only to find a weather alert or spam or a reminder about a town council meeting I had no intention of attending.
"Uncle C, you're looking at your phone again."
I shoved it back in my pocket with what I hoped was casual indifference. "No I'm not."
"That's the fourth time since breakfast." Sarah didn't even look up from her cereal, just kept methodically spooning Cheerios into her mouth. "Are you waiting for something important?"
"I'm checking the weather."
"It's sunny outside. I can see it through the window."
Six years old and already calling me out on my nonsense with devastating accuracy. Rebecca would have been so proud of her daughter.
Emma's offer played on constant repeat in my head like a song I couldn't shake.I could do some light tutoring with her on Saturday mornings.I heard it in her voice every time—warm, gentle, like sunshine melting frost. I'd become the kind of person I used to mock mercilessly. Next, I'd be analyzing her punctuation choices and reading meaning into her emoji usage.
I told myself it was innocent. Purely professional. She was a dedicated teacher helping a student who could use extra attention. That was all this was.
The rationalization worked for about five minutes at a time. Then I'd remember the tear sliding down her cheek when she spoke of Lily. The feel of her hand under mine, small and soft. The way she'd looked at me like she actually saw me, not as some brute from the mountains, not Sarah's awkward guardian, just me. That hadn't been professional. That had been two broken people recognizing the same fractures in each other.
Wednesday afternoon, my phone finally buzzed with a text from the number I'd already painstakingly saved asEmma R.
Emma R.
Hi Cole, it's Emma. Looking forward to seeing Sarah on Saturday. I've invited a couple of other students so she won't feel singled out, very small group, very casual. 10 am. See you then!
I read it four times, analyzing every word like it contained hidden meaning.
Other students. A small group.
The initial surge of excitement overcame me.She texted me. She actually texted me. I immediately drowned in a cold wave ofdisappointment. Of course. It wasn't a personal invitation. It was a classroom extension. She was being strategic and thoughtful, ensuring Sarah felt comfortable among peers. Exactly what a good teacher would do. Exactly what I should have expected.
But right alongside the disappointment came an unexpected wave of relief. This was safe. Clear boundaries existed. I could drop Sarah off with the other kids, make polite, distant small talk if required, and leave like a normal functioning adult.
Cole
Sounds good. Thank you. See you Saturday.
Stared at the words. Added a period at the end. Deleted the period because it seemed too formal. Added it back because without it seemed too casual. Hit send before I could spiral any further into punctuation-based insanity.
"Uncle C?" Sarah appeared at my elbow, her brown eyes curious. "Why are you frowning at your phone like that?"
"I'm not frowning."
"Your face is doing the grumpy thing again. The one where your eyebrows get all scrunched together."
"This is just my face, Sarah. This is how it looks."
She patted my arm with exaggerated sympathy. "It's okay. Your face can't help it."
Comforting. Very comforting.
