the doctor?
Me:Why?
Nate:Because it felt crumby.
Me:I’m blocking you.
Nate:You’re welcome. Also, don’t
linger in the doorway like a weirdo.
Knock, smile, shoes off if she’s
a shoes-off house.
Me:I hate that you’re useful.
Nate:It’s a burden.
I set the phone down, exhaled, and looked at the clock. Two days to overthink myself into a knot or get comfortable with the idea that this is real. That I want it to be real.
???
Saturday came with the kind of vivid blue sky that makes you suspicious. I checked the toy bags twice, the cookie boxes three times. I left early, because I always leave early, and then sat two blocks away for ten awkward minutes so I wouldn’t betooearly. I texted Nate a picture of the steering wheel as I waited.
Nate:Loosen up. You got this.
Me:If the five-year-old challenges me
to a duel, I’m calling you.
Nate:Just lose with dignity.
I laughed under my breath, shook out my hands, and drove the last two blocks.
Her building looked the same as the first night I pickedher up. Modest, clean, a row of porches where kids’ scooters leaned against the exterior walls. I balanced the cookie boxes in one hand, the small toy bag in the other, and tucked a simple bouquet under my arm as I walked up the steps.
I’d settled on the flowers on my way to her apartment. Nothing fancy, just a handful of bright daisies and sunflowers from the corner shop. They felt cheerful, something simple. Something that felt like her.
Before I could knock, the door swung open. Camille stood there barefoot in jeans and a soft T-shirt, curls pinned up, eyes bright.
“These are for you,” I said, holding out the flowers before I lost my nerve.
She blinked, then smiled. That small, startled thing that didn’t quite hide the sadness underneath. “Thank you,” she whispered, cradling the words close to her chest.
My chest tightened, a dozen words catching behind my teeth. But then…
“Mommy, who’s that?” A small head peeked around her leg. Zeke. Curly brown hair, solemn brown eyes, studying me like a tiny judge.
Camille smoothed his hair back gently. “Zeke, this is Hunter. He’s Mommy’s friend.” She looked up at me quickly, as if to check that the word didn’t sting. It didn’t. If anything, it steadied me.
I crouched down a little, careful not to crowd him. “Hey, buddy. I brought cookies. Two kinds.”
Zeke’s eyes flicked to the boxes in my hand. “Did you get chocolate chip?”
I grinned. “I did.” He gave a single solemn nod, like I’d passed the first round of questioning. Then from the hallway,twin squeals erupted. Avery and Chloe ran forward, curls in little pigtails bouncing, wide brown eyes locked on me.
Camille bent down, gathering them close. “Girls, this is Hunter. Can you say hi?”
