I’m going to do it. I’m going to carve out time for this again. Make space for something that’s just mine. I look around at my workbench, considering which tool to start with.
My phone buzzes.
I pull it out automatically, still looking at the black walnut, and then I see the name on the screen and my stomach tightens.
Victoria.
The text is long. Longer than her usual one-line messages about schedule changes or pickup times.
Victoria:Hey, I wanted to let you know my cousin Lucy just had a baby. So I’m going to be in Dark River for a few weeks staying with family. I’d love to see Chloe more while I’m back, not just the usual short weekend. Let me know if that works? Sorry for the short notice.
I read it twice, feeling that familiar tension settle into my shoulders. The weight that always comes with anything Victoria-related.
Part of me wants to say no immediately. Just shut it down, protect Chloe from another round of Victoria’s unpredictable parenting. I consider myself a calm person. I try to be kind, tobe reasonable, to set a good example for my daughter about how to treat people even when they frustrate you.
But nothing makes me angrier than watching someone hurt Chloe. Especially her own mother. Especially when Chloe doesn’t understand that it’s not her fault, that some people just aren’t built for consistency, that loving someone doesn’t mean they’re capable of showing up the way you need them to.
But I can’t refuse this. Victoria is Chloe’s mother, and wanting extra time while she’s in town isn’t unreasonable on the surface. I need to be the bigger person. If Victoria’s serious about this, if she actually follows through, then more time with Chloe would be good.
I stare at the phone, trying to figure out how to respond, when another text comes through.
This one’s from Alex.
Alex:Dishwasher’s down and the repair guy can’t make it until Tuesday. Sorry to do this on your day off but any chance you can take a look? I tried but I think I made it worse.
I almost laugh. Of course. The one Sunday I have free, the one morning I was actually going to do something for myself, and the universe immediately intervenes.
I look at the black walnut. At the tools on my workbench. At the project I was finally ready to start. Then I look at my phone—Victoria’s text still waiting for a response, Alex’s message asking for help.
That’s life as an adult, I guess. I pull the tarp back over the wood carefully, making sure it’s covered completely. Protected from the dust and the elements and however long it’ll be before I look at it again. I pull out my phone and type my reply to Victoria.
Theo:That should work. Let me know what days you’re thinking and we can figure out a schedule.
Then I grab my keys and head out to the restaurant.
That evening, I’m in Emma’s apartment, standing at her small stove searing steaks while she grades papers at the kitchen table. Chloe’s at a friend’s house for a sleepover, so Emma and I are spending the night at hers. It’s become one of my favorite things, cooking for her while she works, the quiet domesticity of it, the way she looks up every few minutes to smile at me or share something funny that a student wrote.
“So,” Emma says, setting down her red pen. “How do you feel about Victoria coming to town?”
I flip the steak, watching the butter foam in the pan. “Conflicted,” I admit. “Part of me is glad she wants to be more involved. Chloe misses her, loves spending time with her. But part of me...”
I trail off, prodding at the fingerling potatoes roasting in the other pan.
“Part of you doesn’t trust it,” Emma finishes.
“Part of me doesn’t trust it,” I confirm. I reach for the rosemary, strip a few leaves off the stem, scatter them over the potatoes. “Victoria gets excited about being a mom and shecanbe a great one. But then something comes up, or she gets busy, or the reality of parenting becomes inconvenient, and she’s gone again. Back to Seattle, back to Derek.” I sigh. “It’s not that I want to keep her from Chloe. I would never do that. Victoria’s her mother, and that relationship matters, no matter how complicated it is. But I’ve watched this cycle so many times.”
“That sounds really hard,” she says. “Co-parenting with someone you can’t rely on. Having to balance Chloe’s hope against your own experience.”
I look over at her. She’s leaning back in her chair, sipping a soda, red pen dangling loosely in her hand. Student papers are scattered across the table, covered in her neat handwriting, encouraging comments in the margins, gold stars on the ones that earned them. She looks relaxed and beautiful, her hair pulled up in a bun, wearing one of my old t-shirts that she stole weeks ago and never gave back.
“It definitely can be,” I say, turning back to check the steaks. “And I know I need to be the bigger person, but I’m tired of Chloe getting hurt and sometimes I want to just say no.”
“You’re allowed to be tired,” Emma says gently. “You’re allowed to have feelings about it, even if you can’t act on them.”
I nod, moving the steak to a cutting board to rest. She’s right. And it helps, somehow, just hearing her say it. I start plating the potatoes, giving myself something to do with my hands while I figure out how to say what else is on my mind.
“I’m not sure how Victoria feels aboutuseither,” I say after a moment. “I texted her a while back to give her the heads up. I didn’t tell her your name or anything, just said I was seeing someone and we should talk on the phone when she had a chance. She just said she’d call later.” I shrug. “I’m not even sure if she actually read the message or just saw my name and fired off a response. She never followed up.”
