Page 23 of Tailored for You

My arms, hands, and back were sore from days of being hunched over. My fingers were red and calloused from the needlework I’d been doing on a project. After some minor setbacks with fabric delivery and poor time management last week, I was ahead by one order.

None of that mattered as I eyed Harper’s reflection in the window.

She’d been quiet since Charles dropped her off after dinner two days ago. She kept looking out of the window, her hopeful gaze on the people below. She was searching for Charles, but he wasn’t going to pop up again.

I didn’t know how to address it, because there was no easy or kind way to tell a child that a parent didn’t care.

The more Charles randomly showed up, love-bombed her, and disappeared for weeks without a word, the more it took its toll on her. If I hadn’t resented Charles before, his habit of playing dad when it was convenient and disappearing when it wasn’t made me hate him.

I wish I had pushed harder on our custody arrangement. There was a small part of me that was scared to draw harsher boundaries, since I’d already won so much. If I had demanded more stringent rules, maybe Harper wouldn’t be as sad as she was.

“Here we go. More mac and cheese. Popcorn and Reese’s Pieces.” I placed the bowls in front of her.

“Thank you, mommy,” she whispered as she dug in on her second helping.

I ran a hand over her hair, bent down, and kissed her head.

My heart broke. Keeping her from her dad wasn’t an option, partially because I wasn’t that kind of person, but also, legally, I couldn’t. It was in our custody agreement that he could exercise his rights on certain afternoons, so long as he didn’t remove her or make her skip her activities.

This was the first time in nearly two years that he decided to take her for dinner.

“After dinner, want to take a bath with the bath bomb?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could.

Her eyes lit up. The knot in my chest eased.

“The pink one?” she asked before shoveling mac and cheese into her mouth. I smiled, nodding.

“Once we finish dinner, we’ll set it up,” I said, wiping down the table.

Opening the fridge, I was reminded, again, of how full it was. Fruits and delicious premade meals that required little effort from me filled the shelves.

All thanks to Enzo. How he knew what I liked and that I preferred premade meals was beyond me, but I appreciated it more than I could express.

I lived in New York City, on a fifth-floor walkup, with no elevator. Every time I thought about the distance to the grocery store, the bags, and doing all of that with Harper, I got exhausted.

“Done!” Harper yelled, climbing down from her seat and racing to the bathroom while trying to rip off her shirt.

I smiled, put her bowl in the sink, and followed her.

I’d do the dishes later.

I woke up with a jolt. My right arm was weighed down by Harper, so I rolled over, cocooning her as I looked out of the window.

It was dark out. Still.

I rubbed my eyes and sighed. I didn’t need to check to know that it was probably between two and three in the morning.

Like a switch went off in my brain, I started running through my to-do list. The skirt that needed hemming. The dress that was half drawn and needed approval. The dishes from dinner.

I’ll do the dishes. Maybe then I’ll be able to sleep for a few more hours.

It wasn’t likely, though. After I finished with the dishes, I’d head into my studio and work because sleep wouldn’t find me.

I slid out of the bed. Harper flopped over, her arms and legs spread out like a star, taking as much room in the bed as possible.

No matter how hard I tried to get her to sleep in her bed, she always ended up in mine.

I tiptoed out of the room, leaving the door ajar, and went to the kitchen.