But even as the thought passes through my brain, I know better. The tree farm is the whole reason we didn’t last.Of course, he’ll be there.
Those trees are his pride and joy.
He chose them—chose that life—over me, and I’ve never forgotten about it. But I tried to move on, even though somehow, the Ridge pulled me back.
I’ve never truly understood why. I also hate that a part of me still measures myself against a field of trees.
“You didn’t forget, did you?” Her voice trembles with disappointment.
It wouldn’t be the first time, unfortunately, that I’ve overlooked something amid the chaos of adulthood. But that’s rare.
Thankfully, that’s one ball I didnotdrop. She’s just misinterpreting my spiraling mental state.
“No bug, I didn’t forget. It’s right here.” I turn my phone screen so she can see the enormous block of green labeledfield trip with Phoebe, and the smile that erupts across her face could light up the entire downtown area of Storywood Ridge. “Itslipped my mind with all the chaos of my weekend, but I’ll make sure I have everything ready to go.”
“You’re riding the bus too, right? I’ve never seen a real live tree farm before! Do you think Santa will be there?” Excitement pumps off her in waves, and tension slips a little from my shoulders.
“Yes, I’m riding the bus. Tree farms are awesome, you’ll see tomorrow. And I’m not sure if Santa will be there. He doesn’t usually make visits untilafterThanksgiving, and that’s still a little over a week away. But,” I squat down to her eye-level, “I do know that he’s always watching. And he’ll want to know that a certain little girl made sure her room is clean, took a shower, and got into bed by bedtime. That’s super important before a big day like a field trip.”
Her eyes grow wide, and she nods. “Good call. I still get a bedtime story, right?”
“Of course.” I wink. “Maybe we can read an extra chapter tonight if you’re in bed early enough?”
“Yes!” She fist pumps and races toward her room to get busy.
I settle back into my chair and prop my elbows on the table, leaning into my hands. For Phoebe’s sake, nothing else matters tomorrow.
There’s no snow predicted until sometime tomorrow afternoon, so hopefully, we’ll have a beautiful morning to enjoy in the pine trees. But I’ll shove gloves and an extra hat in my bag, just in case.
She’s drawn to snow like a moth to a flame.
With no below-freezing temperatures for at least twenty-four hours, I have alittlemore time before I have to worry about pipes freezing and potentially making the leak worse. I’ll just take some extra precautions when I run by the studio tomorrow afternoon.
It’ll all be fine. It has to be. There’s no backup plan, no massive savings account, and no husband-shaped solution waiting in the wings.
Just me, my camera, and a leaky ceiling. And I’ll make it work like I always do.
It’s the only option.
I leave the kitchen to hunt for Phoebe’s fuzzy sweater, mentally following a map of the usual places. She tends to abandon clothes wherever she takes them off, so it could technically be anywhere. I cross my fingers, hoping the sweater is in the clean laundry pile in my room, not under her bed or behind her closet door.
That means extra work on top of tonight's editing sessions.
“And what areyougoing to wear?” I mumble. Then hate myself a little for caring.
There’s a giant pile of clean clothes on a cozy blue chair in the corner of my room, but I remind myself it could be worse. They could still be sitting in the washer, needing to be run through another cycle because they smell from sitting so long.
Or in the dryer, needing to run through a freshening steam cycle because they’ve sat crumped up for so long they’re a mess.
I might cut corners in a lot of places, but the very first thing I splurged on once getting settled here was a higher-end washing machine. They’ve never let me down.
“Ah ha!” I yell in triumph as I yank on the sleeve of her cranberry colored fuzzy sweater.
Notunder her bed or in a dark corner of her closet. Maybe my Tuesday still has room to turn around.
For good measure, I yank out a pair of thermal leggings for her to wear under her jeans and a pair of boot socks from another smaller pile.
Maybe one day I’ll use the blue chair for reading, as I intended. That’s why I fell in love with it in the cute little secondhand store I visited.
