CHAPTER 1
SOPHIE
“Ireally don’t want you to leave,” I say.
Saying goodbye to my only close friend, who moves countries every six months, has always been hard. But lately it’s been even harder. My grip on Avery is likely too tight for her comfort, but I can’t help myself. As soon as she’s gone, I’ll have to wrangle my three kids again.
Avery sighs against my shoulder. If she’s uncomfortable, she doesn’t say anything. “I know, Sophie. I know.” When she finally pulls away, she looks up at me with a reassuring smile.
“You’ve got this. You’re stronger than you know. And I know it’s not the same, but I’m always a video call away.”
She’s not lying. No matter where Avery and her partner Logan decide to work from, she always makes herself available if I need her. And I’m so happy that she finally got the family—and the life—she’s always dreamed of. But I miss the days when we lived a mere fifteen minutes away from each other. Even though she visits every two months or so, it’s not enough to pull me out of my loneliness.
I swallow back tears and twirl a strand of my golden hair as Avery grabs her son Nathan’s Click Connect carrier from the ground, opening the door to leave. At the same time, my toddlerHeather’s tiny fists pull at the fabric of my leggings. “Bye, baby,” she babbles, her own voice shaky with tears. Oh, no.
“Be a good girl with your mom, Heather,” Avery teases her right before her eyes meet mine, a final spark of encouragement flashing through them. Then … she’s gone.
I glance down at Heather who looks back up at me with big grey eyes. Her chin wobbles and her bottom lip begins to pout. My heart sinks. There’s no avoiding this.
Before I’ve had time to process my own sadness at seeing my best friend leave, Heather explodes into tears. “Baby!” she cries, running to the front window to watch Avery walk to her car with Nathan’s carrier in the crook of her elbow.
“It’s okay, Heather,” Gwen immediately chimes in, running right up to her little sister to give her a hug. “There, there.” Normally, Gwen’s adorable big-sister attitude would be enough to cheer me up. I don’t know what’s got me so deflated this time. I’m used to seeing friends leave by now.
Another cry erupts from the nursery. My shoulders slump forward in disappointment; I just put Julian down for his nap. Hearing Heather’s cries must have woken him up.
Great. Just great.
I give Gwen and Heather a quick glance to make sure they’re okay, then rush to the nursery to grab my five-month-old. It’s right at the entrance of the hall on the right from the foyer, so I’m barely gone for fifteen seconds before I hear Gwen scream: “Ow, Heather, no!”
I rush back to my girls to find both facing off; Heather’s face is all red and puffy from crying, but Gwen is now on the verge of tears herself. “What happened?” I ask, holding Julian close to my chest as I sway back and forth.
“Heather just pushed me!” Gwen yells, pointing an accusatory finger at her sister. “I was just trying to help!”
“I know, honey, but maybe Heather doesn’t want help right now—remember what I told you?” Without wasting a second, I whip my attention to Heather who’s still wailing: “And what did I say about gentle hands?”
But there’s no sense trying to discipline or talk logic to a two-year-old having a meltdown, and I only remember that fact when Heather stomps her foot down and screams: “No!”
Meanwhile, Julian is still crying against my chest, and Gwen’s looking up at me like a sad puppy. I want to cave and call Mom, but she’s at work. I know she’ll call off work if she thinks she can be of help to me, but I’ll have none of that. If she could wrangle three kids as a single mom, so can I. I changed my first diaper at seven years old when my brother Orlando was born; I was trained for this.
Only, Mom had Aunt Francine, Aunt Diane,andGrandma to help out almost any time she needed a hand, while I just have … Mom. On the days I’m lucky.
Today is not one of those days.
“Gwen,” I start, my voice clipped, “go to your room.”
“What?” Gwen is outraged. “But I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“I’m not punishing you, honey.” I try to stay calm while Heather shrieks in the background and Julian cries against me. I just need to get my two girls separated before the world falls apart. “Please, just do what I tell you and I’ll come speak to you soon, okay?”
Gwen grunts and stomps her foot. For a moment, I fear she’s not going to listen, which would force me to bring Julian back to his cot and let him cry it out while I wrangle my two girls. But I breathe a sigh of relief when she instead turns and heads downstairs to her room.
One down, two to go.
I crouch down to Heather’s level while keeping a solid hold on Julian. Heather thrives on physical contact, so I use my freearm to press her against me. Her screams then melt into sobs, and slowly but surely, she returns the hug as calmness sets in.
I regulate my own breath so that she can co-regulate with me. But there’s a limit to how much we can both regulate when I’m still holding a screaming baby.
“Let’s move onto the couch,” I say, scooping Heather up with one arm. If I wasn’t in shape, there’s no way I could pull this off; at two and a half years old, this toddler is starting to get heavy for one-arm lifts. With both kids secured in each arm, I make my way to the living room and carefully sit back on our grey sectional couch.
