“Ruh-roh. Did Michelle forget what functioning adults look like?”
“Looks more like child labor to me.”
“They’re union,” he said, easily. “Snack breaks are included.”
I smiled. An actual one. It felt strange, almost wrong. Like a betrayal of my missing child.
“What is happening here, Scott?”
“It’s called progress.”
“I’d say… your parents are here. I don’t remember that ever happening.”
Under Scott’s strict orders, any visits with JimSuey, the kids’ nickname for their grandparents, were done at their house, not ours. But now they were here—with their yappy little dog, Doris.
“There’s a story there,” Scott said. “I’ll tell you once you’re looking… a little less feral.”
“Can’t wait,” I mumbled.
“Go get some coffee while I bring a little order back into our lives.”
“By inviting your ex over? Bold move.”
“I invited Mitch,” he said. “April arrived as a bonus.”
“Uh huh.”
I moved past him and went straight to Mitch. No need for small talk. I hugged him, hard. We stood in silence for a long moment before he eased back just enough to look at me.
“How are you doing, Sunny?”
Tears welled instantly. He hadn’t called me that in so long. Somewhere along the way—after he moved to Arizona—we’d lost the easy closeness we once shared.
“Oh, Mitch, to be that carefree girl again,” I said wistfully. “How I want to earn that nickname back.”
He smiled, but sadness lingered in his eyes, a McKallister through and through. “You will,” he said. “Give it time.”
I hugged him again, tighter. At twenty-one, Mitch had grown into a steady, grounded adult. Exactly the kind of presence the house needed right now.
“I don’t know why your dad called you,” I said, “but I’m really glad he did.”
I left him to his lightbulbs and headed down the hall to the kitchen. April had abandoned the vacuum and was at the sink now, sleeves rolled up, working through the dishes. Our eyes met. It had been years. Once Mitch was old enough to fly alone, he came to us without her, and April and I had rarely crossed paths after that. She set the dish aside and walked straight toward me.
I straightened without thinking, shoulders back, bracing for whatever version of her I remembered: the tight smile, the silent judgment, the decades-long standoff that never quite ended. But it never came. She stopped in front of me and wrapped her arms around my neck. Just held on. And I let her. After years of tension and resentment, of history pressing in from every side, April was the first woman since this nightmare began who made me feel safe enough to let go.
I sagged against her, my forehead against her shoulder. She said nothing. No expectations; only strength and solidarity. One mother to another. Our worst nightmare made real. In that moment she wasn’t Scott’s past or my rival. She was simply another mother who hurt for me.
April guided me to the table and cooked me breakfast. It was the first warm and solid food to hit my system in days. Then she sat across from me and we talked quietly, while the rest of the house moved carefully around us, giving us space.
Oh, the tears I spilled baring my soul. But April made it easy. She didn’t try to fix me or offer solutions. She just listened.
After I’d talked myself raw, I thought to ask her. “How’s your daughter?”
April and Tony had had a baby around the time Grace was born. I’d never met her. I hoped we could change that.
“She’s good. I left her home with her dad. I didn’t want to bring her up because…” April paused, grinning. “I wasn’t sure how we were feeling about Melanies in general right about now.”
I caught her eye, and we shared a smile.
