My plan was to run the hill behind the house. Fromthere, I wouldn’t lose sight of the structure. As I headed out, I relished the early morning chill on my skin.I get to do this, I told myself.I choose to push myself. A strong mind requires a strong body.
Quickly, I stretched, then I took off.
Rather than focusing on the run, I spent every second worried about the kids, so after thirty minutes, I headed back to the house, sweaty and panting but feeling slightly better.
The house was quiet as I flipped on the coffee maker and did my squats, lunges, and pushups. Thank God for Chloe. She’d insisted on buying a pound of fancy coffee for me from the café we stopped at on the way here. If not for her, I would have forgotten, and I would have been cursing myself this morning since I truly couldn’t function without it.
The cup was halfway to my lips and I was milliseconds away from taking my first glorious sip when footsteps pounded down the stairs.
“Happy birthday, Mom,” my kids shouted when they came into view. All at once, they threw their small arms around me and hugged me tight.
“Thank you.” One at a time, I kissed them on the forehead. “I love you.”
“Here.” Maggie held out a handmade card. On the front was a portrait of the four of us wearing huge smiles. Inside it read “You are the best mom in the world. I love you so much. You’re awesome and cool and pretty.”
“Thank you,” I said, my throat getting thick.
My sweet girl bounced on her toes, beaming.
Julian had disappeared, and when he returned, he held a new Lego cake. Pink, square, and decorated with green Legoicing. “I didn’t bake it,” he said proudly. “It’s raw, but it should still taste good.”
A laugh bubbled out of me as I ruffled his shaggy hair. “Thank you, baby,” I said. “I love it.” I pretended to take a big bite of the side, making him giggle the way I hoped he would.
“Here.” Ellie held out another card. She’d drawn a huge bunch of balloons on the front. As I opened it, I expected to find a simple “happy birthday” and nothing else. The last few years had been hard for her, and she rarely made a show of affection anymore.
Instead I found three full sentences.
“Thanks for not giving up. On us or yourself. You’re all we’ve got, but we’re damn lucky.”
I looked up at her, tears in my eyes. “Language,” I laughed.
After a short, simple hug, she backed away. That was it.
The day couldn’t have started any better. The celebration had been small, but it had been meaningful. Exactly our speed. Emotions pummeled me as I took in my kids. For years I’d gone without birthday cards or any real acknowledgment, yet here were these perfect little creatures making me feel more valued than I ever had.
“I’ll be back in one sec.” Skirting them, I headed for the stairs so I could put the cards and small cake in my mom’s jewelry box right away. Not only so I could keep them forever but so I could give myself a minute.
Once I’d stashed them in the box, I darted into the bathroom, shut the door, and turned the sink on, just in case little ears were listening.
Then I let the tears fall. Sadness washed over me, alongwith a sense of grief, but also hope, all mixed together into an emotionally exhausting cocktail.
I gave myself a few minutes to cry silently, then splashed cold water on my face and breathed deeply, composing myself. This day had started beautifully, and while we had endless unpacking to do, along with errands and apparently a farm tour to get to, I had hopes that it could be one of the best days I’d had in a while.
I was doing it. I was still here. And maybe we really would be okay.
Eventually, I got that cup of coffee and a shower, then we headed out. The hardware store was our first stop. I needed batteries, light bulbs, extra sliding locks for the exterior doors, and laundry detergent. I was repeating my list to myself when we entered the store, the bells jangling above us.
“My goodness.” The man behind the counter perked up, his smile wide. “It’s the new family in town! Emma is gonna be so jealous that I got to meet you first. She runs the grocery store, but if you’d already been over there, she’d be bragging and I would have heard about it.”
He rushed around the counter, wiping his hands on his jeans before offering one to me.
“Walt Pierson.” The man was in his sixties and spry, with a white mustache.
I forced a smile, even as a little wave of discomfort rolled through me. This kind of scrutiny was not something I was used to.
“Celine LeBlanc,” I said, shaking his hand. “And these are my kids.”
“Such a pleasure. What can I get for you today?”
