Page 42 of Sweet Distraction

“Busy because your new boss is running you ragged and an asshole, or busy because you love your new charge and aren’t giving yourself any time because you’re so worried about her?”

“Neither.” I sigh. “More like I’m just plain ol’ tired. Teaching is one type of exhaustion. I think I forgot the whole other type of exhaustion that comes with being a nanny at a kid’s beck and call every second of every day.”

She chuckles, and I picture her settling into her chair in her reading nook and smiling. “Okay. Fine. I’ll give you that.” She pauses. “So things are good?

“Yes. My charge, Poppy, she’s adorable with all these curls and these big green eyes. We’re slowly figuring each other out, but yes, I’m already head over heels in love with her.”

“Like I expected anything less.”

“There was that little boy—Brad. I was not a fan of his. Remember?”

She laughs. “The stories you used to tell. I do remember. And the family you’re working for? They’re treating you well?”

“Just a single dad.”

She makes a noncommittal sound that borders on disapproval and concern. “Don’t let him take advantage of you,” she murmurs.

I open my mouth and then close it as images of Rocket earlier come to mind. Him standing on the porch in low-slung workout shorts and rivulets of sweat running down his chest. His hair in disarray, and those eyes of his guard every emotion his bobbing Adam’s apple and shifting feet hinted at.

“I know, Mom. He’s nice. He’s fine. He’s . . . it’s fine.”

“And you? You’re fine too?”

And there it is. The question I should’ve expected, but have been so wrapped up in making sure Poppy was thriving that I kind of lost track of time.

That’s a lie. I didn’t. But maybe this year it’ll hurt a little less.

“Yes. I know. It’s coming up,” I say, beating her to the punch.

A quiet stretch passes between us. No static. Just that comfortable silence that exists when the other person knows exactly what you mean without needing the words.

“Five years,” she murmurs.

“Forever and yesterday all at the same time,” I say.

“He’d be happy for you. I think of that often. James would be so happy for you and where you are in life. He was always your biggest cheerleader.”

She’s right. I know she is, but it doesn’t make it sting any less. He was my best friend, the man I had pictured sharing tomorrows with, and then he was just . . . gone. You can’t prepare for that sort of loss. You can only grieve, one day at a time, until the hole his loss created lessens. Dulls.

“I called his mom last week just to check in on her. They’re doing fine. Obsessed with their new grandchild. His sister named him James after her brother. Thank God for that for them.”

“Hmm,” I say.

“Didn’t mean to bring the conversation down. I was just . . . wanted to make sure you were okay.”

I let her words sink in. “It’s been three years, Mom. I loved him, but I don’t think about him every day like I used to, and for the longest time the guilt of that would weigh me down. But I can’t help that he went to bed in his dorm that night and didn’t wake up the next morning.” The emotions I felt that morning come back on the drop of a dime. Aren’t they supposed to fade with time? “Just like I can’t feel guilty for still being alive and wanting to make the most of it.”

“Oh, honey. I never meant to make you feel that way.” Her voice wobbles with regret.

“You didn’t.” I sigh and lean my head back on the chair and close my eyes for a beat. The scars James’s death left run deep. My ever-running and unfounded guilt that I should’ve seen something or known. How I’ve not dated or allowed myself to get attached to someone since. How it feels like our close friend—basically family—dynamic has changed.

“That was nice of you to call his parents. I’m sure they were happy to hear from you.”

“It was good to catch up. Now . . . tell me about what you’ve been up to otherwise, or else Dad will pepper me with questions when he gets home from the driving range, and I won’t have any info to give him.”

“Like I said, I’m just getting settled here. I’m thinking about starting back at getting my master’s again. I’ll have time on my hands for an online course or two—”

“Says the woman who just said she’s exhausted.”