She waves me off. “That’s why someone wise invented ‘Back in five minutes’ signs. They don’t need to know I left half an hour ago.”
I hurl a napkin at her. “I really need you to just support me quietly in this right now. I appreciate that you’re trying to make this funny, but it is not funny. At all.”
They both sober immediately.
“You’re right,” Vivian says gently, exchanging a look of solidarity with Charlie. “We’re sorry.”
I know they are. This isn’t pity or awkward damage control. These are my people. The ones who show up with coffee, casseroles, and enough honesty to keep me from lying to myself for too long.
They’re here to be my backbone when mine feels like it’s held together with paper clips and optimism. To nudge me out of the mental spiral where I start revising the past like it’s a draft I can still edit. They can’t turn back time. They can’t undo choices or magically smooth out the fallout.
However, they can help me face forward. Help me build something new. Something sturdier. A future that isn’t defined by what went wrong, but by what comes next.
Right on cue, the bell at the front of the shop jingles.
Theo’s voice bursts through the space, bright and unfiltered and blissfully unaware of my internal monologue.
“Dad!”
Every muscle in my body locks. Not in a tragic way, more like a “well, this is happening now” way.
My shoulders tense. My breath stalls halfway in. My heart drops—then immediately scrambles back up like it’s late for an appointment.
I square my shoulders, paste on something that passes for composure, and turn toward the sound, fully aware I have an audience of two paying attention to my every move.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I say, already moving, “I’m going to go handle this.”
Charlie half rises. “Should I?—”
“No,” I cut in. “You two stay here. I’ll be right back.”
I walk toward the front of the store on legs that feel like they were borrowed from someone braver. Or at least someone with better balance.
Theo is bouncing. Full-body, unchecked enthusiasm. David stands just behind him, tall and composed in a suit I don’t recognize, smiling like he hasn’t just short-circuited my nervous system by existing in my space again.
“Juliette—”
He steps forward and opens his arms.
Every instinct I have saysnope. Sidestep this hug. Handshake only. Keep your distance.
But then I see Theo watching us. Waiting. Face literally glowing and lit up.
So I make a choice…I let David hug me.
It’s quick and very polite. Carefully contained. The kind of hug meant for public consumption only. I step back first.
“Hi,” I say, pleasant and composed, because this is me modeling functional adulthood. For my son.
Theo, meanwhile, has noticed none of the emotional nuance happening three inches from his face. He barrels forward, wrapping himself around David like this is the best day of his life.
I inhale slowly.
Parents can divorce.
Parents can still get along.
Even if one of them (me…I’m one of them) is smiling through gritted teeth.
