His mom, who isn’t well, sends Ava birthday and holiday cards and always signs Chad’s name, but I know it’s from her and not him. Ava used to ask about Daddy at first. But then, she asked less and less, until she didn’t ask at all. I know I’ll have to explain all of it to her someday, but that day isn’t today. And yes, I still hold out hope that he’ll change his mind and be the parent he should be. And maybe that will happen too.
I decided to move near my sister. She’s not much help, but she’s family, the only family we have left. Well, at least the only family that remembers me. Our parents both have dementia and are in a nursing home for memory care patients. So, Anne is my last family member that I talk with regularly, aside from our aunt and uncle and a few cousins that we see once a year.
When I decided to relocate here, I was crashing on Anne’s sofa bed with Ava until my principal heard I needed a place and told me her friend, Al, had a great apartment that he was looking to rent. Oddly, Cam had also mentioned it at our Pilates class. And that’s how I came to live at one-eleven Hearts Lane.
“All done,” Troy calls out as he walks back to the kitchen.
“Thank you. I owe you one,” I say with a sigh as he sets a wet Mr. Pickles on my counter. I grimace. I swear that stuffed donkey is going to be the end of me.
I sit down after tucking Ava into bed. Letting my head fall back against my sofa cushions that have seen better days, I look up at the ceiling. My eyelids start to droop. I should get our laundry out of the dryer and fold it, but I’m exhausted. I close my eyes for a moment when a knock at my door abruptly pulls me from my semi-conscious state. I glance at the clock in the hall. It’s eight thirty. Too early for bed, too late for visitors.
With a groan, I walk over to the door and peek through my peephole.
Bray stands there, holding up a bag of food from our favorite Chinese restaurant.
I fling open the door.
He grins. “I knew Asian Dragon would get you to open the door!”
I give him a small laugh. His eyes search mine as he steps inside and sets the food on the table.
“You OK?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah, just tired. Someone decided to potty train Mr. Pickles again.”
He winces as he starts pulling food out of the bag.
“We’ve got to get her a new hobby.”
“You’re preaching to the choir,” I state as I sit and open a carton of lo mein, digging into it with the wooden chopsticks from the bag. Then I frown.
“I thought you were working until midnight?”
He shakes his head as he chews on some Mongolian beef. I watch his throat muscles as he swallows. For a man who is busy, he certainly does keep up his workouts.
“Harry switched with me, but his mother-in-law showed up early for a visit, so he pretended I needed him before midnight,” he says with a laugh. “And having us both there was getting too complicated, so I left a little early.”
Bray’s schedule at the local hospital’s emergency room has usually been the night shift. Which means, he’s been around during the day when I need help with Ava. So, he’s my go-to after-school care. But a few days ago, when I realized Ava’s summer camp wasn’t available any longer, he volunteered to switch his schedule to a four-to-midnight shift so he could be home with Ava during the day. I swear, I have no idea what I’d do without him.
“Well, thanks for the food. I managed to scarf down half a grilled cheese with Ava before she decided we needed to go do her new puzzle,” I say as I wave a hand toward the coffee table, where half a puzzle is put together.
Bray reaches over and gives my shoulder a rub. It feels amazing, and I relax a little.
“Come here. Your back is in knots,” he states as he pats the chair next to him. I walk around the table and turn to sit, pulling my hair to the side to give him access to my sore muscles.
He begins to massage them, and I moan. “You are a magician. How did I get so lucky to have you as my neighbor?”
He chuckles. “We’ll blame Al for that,” he teases. Al O’Brien, who owns our apartment building, one-eleven Hearts Lane, is like the building’s grandfather. Bray’s mentor at work was friends with Al’s late wife. And when he needed a place, Al offered him an apartment. And she also knew my former mentor, so when Ava and I needed a new home, Al made sure that we had one.
I grin at the memory of moving into my place.
“What?” Bray asks, his hot breath warms my neck while he continues to massage my shoulders.
“I was just remembering when we moved in,” I admit.
Bray laughs, and I can tell it’s his real laugh, not the polite one, not the forced one, not even the automated-response one, but a true belly laugh.
I turn, and he keeps laughing.
