I sweep up strands of her hair from the floor, staring at them like they might offer some kind of answer. But they don’t. They neverdo.
I sit for a while in the silence of the empty salon, surrounded by mirrors that reflect every part of me except the one I’m most afraid to face—the girl who still dreams of Cole, even when she says she doesn’t.
When I get home, I stand in front of my door for a moment, noticing something strange. A bouquet of hibiscus sits on the doorstep, its bright purple and pink petals vivid against the stone steps. My breath catches as I bend down to pick them up.
I know those flowers. Cole’s always known how much I love hibiscus.
He hasn’t forgotten.
I walk to the door, holding the flowers to my chest, my mind spinning. There’s a small note inside the ribbon:
For my Sunshine
With all my love,
Cole
I feel my heart skip, and for a moment, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. The flowers feel like a reminder of everything I’ve been trying to avoid, but also a reminder of everything I’ve missed. Cole hasn’t changed in all these years. He’s still Cole. The guy I once thought would always be in my life, the guy I thought I would grow old with. But things are different now.
I push the door open and step inside. Cohen is in the living room, his head buried in a comic book, his wild blonde curls bouncing with each excited page turn. The house is quiet except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan.
I excuse the sitter and head to the kitchen to grab a vase. Cohen notices me, his eyes lighting up when he sees the flowers.
“Are those for me?” He asks, his voice hopeful as he scrambles to his feet.
I smile,the sudden rush of affection for my son warming me from the inside out. “They’re not for you, honey,” I reply, kneeling to hand one of the hibiscus flowers to him. “But you can have one.”
He grins, holding the flower up to his nose and taking a dramatic sniff. “It smells good. Who sent them?”
I freeze for a moment, feeling the weight of the question.Who sent them?The only person who knows just how much I love hibiscus. Cole is the one who would remember my favorite flower even after all these years. But I can’t tell Cohen that. Not yet, at least.
“I’m not sure,” I say softly, ruffling his hair. “Maybe just a little surprise from someone who wanted to brighten my day.”
Cohen gives me a knowing look, then shrugs. “Okay. They’re pretty, like you Mom. Do you like them?”
I stand up, smiling as I say, “I love them.” I want to say more. If I could, I’d tell him they remind me of when his dad and I were very close.
I set the flowers on the counter and go to the sink to fill the vase with water. Cohen is already back on the couch, completely absorbed in his comic book, so I take a moment to let my thoughts settle.
But he doesn’t stay there long. A few minutes later, I feel a tap on my leg. I turn and there he is, his eyes soft and lips twitching into a shy smile.
“Mom?” he says, voice quiet. “Can we do a movie night? Just us?”
I melt immediately. There’s something about the way he asks, like he’s offering comfort more than requesting it. As if he can sense I’m not okay, even if I haven’t said a word.
“Of course we can,” I say, setting the vase on the counter. “Go pick something, lovebug.”
Cohen’s face lights up as he scrambles toward the TV, flipping through the options with his usual dramatic commentary. “Okay, okay, okay. Hear me out. What if we watch Big Hero 6 again?”
I laugh. “That’s the third time this month.”
He shrugs completely unfazed. “But Baymax is my spirit animal.”
“Fair enough,” I say, heading to the couch and grabbing the cozy blanket off the armrest. He hops up beside me, curling into my side. His small body is warm and familiar. I wrap the blanket around us both, and he immediately wraps his arms around my stomach.
As the movie starts. Cohen’s hand reaches for mine without saying a word, and I feel his thumb softly tracing circles against my palm. It’s a little thing, but it hits me hard. This boy is everything good in my world.
We don’t speak for a while. He laughs at the funny parts, gasps at the action scenes, and every once in a while, looks up to check if I’m watching too. I always am. But it’s not the movie I’m focused on. It’s him. His long eyelashes. His perfect little nose. His father’s dimples when he smiles.
