My heart sinks another level.
Nobody is around.
“You know,” I pull out my phone, “I’ll request an Uber. That’s what those things are for. Then while we get a ride to school, I’ll have someone change my tire.” I force an I’m-not-phased smile as a visible shiver runs through Bella’s arms, and I nod toward the building. “Let’s wait in the lobby.”
We scramble back inside, bustling through the door at the same time. Anxiety courses through me. With my forehead pressed against the glass, I leave one hand on the door handle, watching for our ride.
This is not how I wanted this day to go.
“Why don’t you call Dad to give us a ride?” Her question hits me like a cold bucket of ice water dumped over my head. Even my eyelids refuse to blink as if I’m frozen. I never know what to say in these situations. I’m trying hard not to discouragetheir relationship, but if there was ever a person who proved he wouldn’t be there for me in this life—it was Chase.
“I’m sure he’s at work already.” I grit my teeth as I really have no idea if he even shows up to his job site. It seems to me that being a drywaller would be a flexible gig, but the last thing I ever want is to owe him any favors. He’s the kind of guy who only helps when there is something to “transaction” with, and it always has to be in his favor. Her lashes lower to her cheeks the way they do when she’s in trouble. “Bella, if you’re worried about the field trip, don’t be. We’ll get there.”
She pulls Little B closer to the center of her chest, hugging her tightly. “Nah, I was actually thinking about Dad.”
“Oh.” I don’t want to ruminate on all the ways I had a baby with the wrong guy.
I know I made a mistake.
I’m not calling him to help me.
Not today.
Not any day.
But again, I try hard to support her relationship with him. “What about him?”
Her lashes rise, fluttering unsteadily as if she’s doing everything to hold back her emotions. I slide my hand around her shoulder and pull her close. “Baby, what’s on your mind? Did something happen when you were at Dad’s house?”
“It’s just . . . Don’t take this the wrong way, Mom, but…” the pause she inserts in the middle of her sentence pings at my heart. Somewhere in the last year when she turned seven, she warped into this weird age where she’s still seven, but going on thirty-five. “Sometimes I need a hug from Dad. You know, when I can’t see him.”
I fight hard to keep my brows steady and not frown. “That’s okay if you feel that way. He’s your dad.” My words are soft as ifthey are meant to float in the air all day. I’m about to add how proud I am of her, but she breaks the silence.
“But I don’t think he ever needs a hug from me.” Her eyes, clear as crystals, latch onto mine, as if waiting for some words of wisdom.
My heart putters hard against my rib cage, and I run my tongue over my lips as I grapple to find the right words to say.
I knowexactlyhow she feels.
It’s the same way I felt when we were in a relationship. I never in a million years wanted my daughter to feel that way too.
She isn’t talkingonlyabout hugs, either.
It’s so much more than that.
It’s how Chase only ever thinks of himself. “Well,” my voice cracks, but I push through. “You know how he is. He’s not much of—” I drop my sentence as the sound of car tires driving over compact snow pulls my attention. “That must be our ride,” I mumble, straightening my overstuffed mom bag over my shoulder.
Bella steps forward, places one hand on the door handle, and we push it open. I’m not done with our conversation. I hate that my words don’t come as fast as I want them to. I drop my hand to her shoulder. “Honey, you know I always have a hug for you, don’t you?”
Her head turns up, and she latches her eyes on mine as we stride toward the car. “Sure, Mom. I know.” She reaches the car first, opens the back door, and slides in. She scoots all the way over, removes her backpack, and sets it in the middle seat. When I slide in, I plop my purse next to the backpack and shut my door as quickly as possible.
“Good morning,” I greet the driver, an elderly man who looks like he’s almost too old to drive. “We need a ride to Mapleton Elementary today.” I’m about to add a second stop at the collegebut decide I can easily walk to the campus from her school. It’s only a few blocks, and I can save a couple of bucks.
“Is that the school downtown by the bookstore?” His voice is soothing, and I relax in my seat. My heart rate finally begins to slow. It’s been a grueling morning, and it’s not even eight yet.
“Nah.” I shake my head, picturing downtown. “That’s the private school. We need to go to the public school. It’s on Applecart Avenue.”
“Applecart,” he echoes, still not pulling forward. My gaze drops to check the time on the phone clenched in my hand. Not late yet. We’ll be cutting it close. It’s not hard to navigate Mapleton. It’s a small town with fewer than ten main roads. We need to leave now.
