"Hey, Maggie. I have to take this. Carly, Luke's mom, is calling on the other line."
"Call me later. I can't wait to hear about Robin Roberts."
"Will do. Love you." I click over before she can respond.
"Carly! Did y'all make it in?" My voice softens instantly as I switch calls, the festive noise of the city fading into background static.
Carly's voice comes through warm but tired. "We just got checked into the hotel. The kids are wiped." A muffled sound of children arguing filters throughthe connection. "Luke's excited but exhausted. His sister won't stop bouncing on the bed."
My gaze drifts back to the rink where Woody now pretends to chase Sanders, both gliding across the ice with surprising grace. Jesus, don't they ever get tired?
"Have you eaten yet? There's a cute little restaurant I saw about a block from the hotel." My tone shifts to practical.
"We ate something not too long ago, but I think after some rest, we might be up for that.
"Okay, we will probably be back that way in about an hour or so. It's nothing fancy, but I noticed it when we walked by, and it looked like a perfect spot for us to duck into. We can get some real food for the kids and talk about tomorrow. We have our big interview."
"That sounds perfect." Relief floods her voice. "Luke needs to take his evening meds anyway, and I should probably feed them something besides airport pretzels."
"Don't worry about dressing up. We've been skating, so we'll be just as rumpled."
Carly laughs softly. "Perfect. Text me when y'all head back."
We say our goodbyes, and I pocket my phone, eyes drawn back to the ice. Woody has Sanders by the hands now, spinning him in a half-circle. Their laughter erupts over the Christmas music—pure, uninhibited joy. Sanders throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut, completely trusting his father won't let him fall.
My heart twists painfully in my chest. For all our history, for all the nights I cried myself to sleep waiting for him to come home from the hospital, this is the version of Woody I fell in love with.
I wish Sanders had always known this connection. Present. Engaged. Putting our son before everything else.
Something shifts inside me, a wall I've maintained for God knows how long starts to crumble just enough to let light through the cracks. I'm not ready to examine what that means.
I cup my hands around my mouth and shout as they glide past. “Are you two skated-out yet?”
Woody glances up, eyes locking with mine. His smile softens, turning private, something meant only for me.
I look away first, afraid he’ll read too much. He slows at the rail, grin tugging at his mouth, breath steaming in the cold. His voice drops low, pitched for my ears alone. “I’m exhausted. But I can’t let our nine-year-old show me up out here.”
“Pretty sure he already did,” I shoot back.
Sanders skids into the wall in front of us, clutching his chest like a wounded soldier. “Hot chocolate. Immediately,” he groans before collapsing onto the bench at my side.
"So dramatic."
I laugh, looping an arm around him. Woody pushes off again, eyes glinting. “One more lap, for my pride,” he calls. “I gotta prove I still got it.”
Oh, you’ve still got it, all right. That’s the problem.
The restaurant humswith Midtown energy. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, Formica tables gleam under the too-bright glare, and a checkerboard floor gives the place a time-warp feel, like something out of the 1950s.
At the counter, a row of chrome stools is filled with bundled-up strangers, shoulders hunched over late-night pancakes. I slide into a booth by the window, Carly pressingin beside me.
It reminds me of Monk's Cafe from Seinfeld. I keep looking around forRuthie Cohen, the cashier.
Woody takes the booth across the table, stretching out like it’s his personal real estate. The kids claim the table behind him, grinning at the thrill of being “on their own” in the city. From here, Carly and I can watch them without hovering.
“This place is drippy,” Sanders declares, elbowing Luke as he snatches a menu. I think I could totally live in New York City.
Luke’s tired eyes brighten. “Actually? Looks old to me. I wanted neon lights and Travis Scott on the speakers.”
