Page 69 of Sweet Distraction

“Don’t apologize.” I look around the room. Willow has done her best to make the space softer, more welcoming for a toddler. Stuffed animal chairs. A mini table with plastic chairs and an organizer of some sort on the top. A stack of books in the corner. How stupid was I not to think of it before? “Is there anything else you need for her? Not that I’m not late to the party or anything,” I joke.

She smooths a hand over Poppy’s curls and smiles softly. “Thank you. It’s been fine so far. She’s comfortable in her space, and that’s important for when I eventually leave.”

Leave. The word is like a knife to my chest. I’d like to the think it’s merely because of the panic factor of doing this all on my own, but I know better than that.

My house feels different. My life’s been altered. And it’s not because I have a new roommate.

It’s because of her.

“Rocket? You okay?” she asks.

“Yeah. Fine.” I offer a smile. “We’re not talking about you leaving unless you want me having a heart attack. Anything else you need though?”

“Maybe just more of you.” Her voice is soft, knowing, and more than anything, searching. Am I still going to try harder like I said I was the other night? Am I still willing to be what’s expected of me?

Our eyes hold, and I nod. “I’m here right now.”

“You are.” She tilts her head and studies me. “You can come in, you know.”

I take a step forward. Then another.

Poppy stirs when I get close. Her eyes flutter open, sleepy and sluggish, and land on me. For a second, I think she might cry. Instead, she lifts one tiny hand, fingers reaching out toward me, fingers flickering in a wave as the slightest smile ghosts her lips.

It’s a barely-there smile, but it punches a hole through my ribs and makes my heart feel so different.

Then she lays her head back on Willow’s chest and sighs, already drifting again.

My tongue feels heavy in my mouth, and thoughts I’ve never had before seem to own my mind.

“She asked for Olivia again,” Willow says, interrupting my thoughts. I welcome the change in topic but not the heaviness of the new one.

“Was she okay?”

“Hmm. I don’t know that she’ll ever be okay—her mom was her world—but we can do our best to support her.”

“I know you said the therapist said she was making progress, helping her cope better. Is it still working?”

“Two days a week isn’t going to take away the pain, but it’ll help. Her therapist said to expect the nightmares to lessen but that they’ll pop up every now and again. She said to try and keep her mom alive for Poppy as much as possible . . .”

“Which is hard since neither of us really knew her.”

“True, but I’ve pieced together the life I think she had from pictures I found on social media. From talking to her mom’s best friend, Jackie, who I’d love to let Poppy see. I show the pictures to Poppy, and when she’s in them, I ask her if she remembers that day. I try and talk about her so that Poppy isn’t afraid to when she finally speaks.”

“You’re amazing,” I whisper. All this for my daughter, someone she’s not even related to, while I sat and debated and stood idly by.

“Not amazing.” Her smile is soft and flips my stomach. “Just trying to help your tiny human.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, feeling overwhelmed. “For that. For this. For . . . just thank you.”

She nods and jokes, “That’s what you pay me for.”

“Funny thing is, Wills, I think even if I didn’t pay you, you’d still try and do it because that’s just who you are.”

“You might be right.” Her cheeks flush and eyes blink. She pats the bed beside her. “Come. Sit.”

I hesitate.

She raises an eyebrow like she knows I’ll do it anyway.