Eight clients today, and eight hours of kneading muscles, digging my thumbs into knotted shoulders, and working tension out of bodies while my own arms ached for mercy. The last booking was a businessman who carried his stress like armor and tipped me five dollars like he was doing me a favor. My hands will ache for hours.
But the bus is slowing, and through the rain-smeared glass I can see Rosa’s street, and none of it matters anymore. Because in thirty seconds, I’m going to see my son.
I’m off the bus before anyone else, ducking through the rain to Rosa’s front door. I get my key in the door and open it as a small figure hurtles into view.
“Mama!”
Leon wraps his arms around my knees. I scoop him up, ignoring the protest in my shoulders, and bury my face in his hair. He smells like crayons and grape juice, and every good thing in my life.
“Hey, baby.” I hold him tight, my aching arms be damned. “Were you good for Auntie Rosa?”
“I drawed you a picture!”
“You did?” I pull back just enough to see his face, his bright eyes, and the smear of what looks like grape juice on his chin. My heart clenches the way it always does. Four years, and I still can’t believe he’s mine.
“It’s a dinosaur eating a truck.”
“Yes, I see that. It’s wonderful.” I smooth a dark lock of hair back from his forehead.
“The dinosaur wins.”
“Obviously.” I kiss the tip of his nose, and he giggles. “Dinosaurs always win.”
I squeeze him closer, and he lets me, his small arms wrapped around my neck. He’s four years old and still lets his mother hold him like this, but I know it won’t last forever. Someday he’ll be too big and grown-up for cuddles in the doorway.
But not today.
Rosa appears behind him, flour in her hair and Carly on her hip. My niece is two and her face is covered in what looks like pasta sauce.
“How was he?” I ask, craving all the details about my son’s day without me.
“He was an angel,” Rosa says, wiping Carly’s face with a damp cloth. “Played with Mason all afternoon. They built a fortress out of couch cushions.”
“A really big fortress,” Leon adds. “With a moat.”
“Did the moat have water?”
“It had lava.”
I laugh and press a kiss to his cheek. “Much better than water.”
Rosa’s boy Mason hovers behind her, three and a half years old and shy, peeking out at me with his father’s serious eyes. I wave at him, and he smiles and waves back. He’s much shyer than my bold, friendly Leon.
“You want to come in for coffee?” Rosa asks.
“I should get this one home.” I shift Leon on my hip. “It’s getting late.”
Rosa hesitates, and there’s something in her eyes. She glances at the children, then back at me. My insides do a little flip as I wonder what she has to tell me.
“Leon, baby, why don’t you play with Mason?” I set him down gently. “I need to talk to Auntie Rosa for a minute.”
He scampers off without argument, already chattering to his cousin. Mason trails after him, drawn along by my son’s big personality. Carly squirms to be put down and toddles after the boys on unsteady legs.
The moment they’re out of earshot, Rosa’s smile fades.
“So.” She keeps her voice low. “Mom called today. It’s happened. He asked about you.”
My stomach tightens. I don’t have to ask whoheis.
