I show up at the shop early and stay late, I keep my temper buried where it belongs.When Zora mentions Ivy has a school project due, I offer to help cut cardboard and color maps.When she says Ivy needs picking up from school because she is swamped with clients, I volunteer.
And when Ivy spots me outside the classroom, her smile lights the entire hallway.
“Mav!”she squeals, barreling into me with Bun-Bun bouncing against her side.
The teacher blinks at me, wary at first, until she calls Zora to confirm.Then it is just me, standing there with a six-year-old wrapped around my waist, feeling more like a man than I ever have.
She spends time with me at the shop, drawing in my sketch pad while I work.And when Zora arrives, I drive them home, quiet and steady, carrying Ivy’s backpack inside while she chatters about spelling words.
Every little thing—the way she tells me her favorite color has changed three times this week, the way Zora watches me buckle her into the car with that cautious, wary look—it all chips away at the wall between us.And I know it is time.If we are going to co-parent, we can’t keep circling each other like ghosts.We have to try.To talk.To remember how to be around each other without the fire consuming us.
After Ivy is in bed and the dishes are drying in the rack, I lean against Zora’s counter while she wipes down the table.
“Zora,” I say quietly.
She looks up, cautious.“Yeah?”
I rub the back of my neck, nerves burning.“I think we should go out.Just us.On a date.”
Her brow furrows.“Mav...”
“Hear me out.”I push off the counter, stepping closer but not too close.“We’re going to be in each other’s lives no matter what.For her.And if we’re going to make this work, as parents, as people, we need to figure out if we can still get along.Without the yelling.Without the past dragging us down.”
She stares at me, cloth twisting in her hands.
“I’m not saying we have to fall back into old habits,” I add quickly.“I’m not asking you to forgive everything overnight.I’m just asking for dinner.One night.To talk.To get to know each other as we are now.Not who we were.”
Her lips part, eyes burning with conflict.“And if we can’t?”
“Then we keep showing up for Ivy,” I say firmly.“But if we can, maybe it gives her more than just two parents who hand her off like a baton.Maybe it gives her a family.A real one.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy but alive.
Finally, she exhales, shaking her head slightly but not in refusal.“You don’t give up, do you?”
I let a grin tug at my mouth.“Not when it matters.”
Her gaze drops, then lifts again, soft and wary all at once.“One date.That’s all I’m going to commit to right now.”
Relief crashes through me, fierce and hot.“That’s all I’m asking.”
I don’t touch her.Don’t push.I just let the promise hang between us like a spark waiting for air.Because for the first time in years, we aren’t just circling the wreckage.We are trying to build something new.And for Ivy, I’ll fight like hell to see it through.
