Page 76 of Goode Tidings

My stomach tightens, knowing it was something I did indirectly.

"Can you please tell me what it was?" I ask, softer now. "I can’t fix it if I don’t know."

Eden doesn’t answer right away. She runs her finger along the lid of her drink, then tugs absently at a loose thread on her sweater, as if she needs something to occupy her hands before she can find the words.

“I feel foolish,” she says eventually, so quietly I almost miss it.

"About something I did?"

"About how I feel about something you did."

The distinction matters. I can feel it even if I don’t fully understand it yet.

“Tell me,” I say, and this time I don’t push. I wait.

She stares down at her cup for a long moment, like she’s weighing how much of this she can actually say out loud. "I was a little sad when I saw you teaching Oliver to throw and catch yesterday evening," she says at last.

I don’t speak immediately. I’m not sure what I expected, but it was not that.

She keeps going, and it lands heavier than I think she realizes.

"The fact that he didn't already know, and you had to teach him... It made me feel like I had failed him," she admits, voice tightening as she speaks. "And I know that's ridiculous, but it just hit me. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try or how much I love him, I'm still going to get things wrong. Probably in ways I can't fathom."

She looks so damn sad. Crestfallen.

Something in my chest goes tight.

Not because I agree with her conclusion, but because I can hear how easily she believes it. Like she’s been carrying that thought for a long time and only just found permission to say it out loud.

And I don’t like it. Not one bit.

I want to move closer to her. To ease whatever this is in her head before it settles any deeper. I want to hold her and make her understand she's the best mom I've ever been lucky enough to meet. The best woman. I want to throw out every one of my thoughts that tell me Eden is off-limits, and all of hers, too. But not here. Not now. This isn't the time, or the place, and Eden's feelings are the priority.

"What did you do when you woke up yesterday?"

Eden sniffles. Her tears haven't slipped onto her cheeks yet, but they are there, barely held at bay.

"I got ready for the day, and then I made blueberry waffles for breakfast. And I put Oliver's shirt in the dryer because he was adamant he needed to wear a white shirt. Something about it being a pep rally and it was a white-out day."

"Ok." I nod like we're really getting somewhere. "And then what?"

"Oliver forgot his permission slip to watch a movie in class. I couldn't remember if he needed it for yesterday, or another day, so I brought it to school. Since I was in town, I stopped at the store to buy what I needed for that pot pie. And then I came home and had a video interview for a candle company."

This stops me short. "Are you into candle-making now?"

"Add it to my list of grandma hobbies." Eden manages a half-smile. "No, it was to design their backgrounds for the stickers that go on the candles."

"That's actually pretty cool."

"Yeah." Eden sips her drink. "We'll see. It wouldn't be bad, but it's not perfect."

I rub a hand through the shaggy mop on top of my head. I could really use a trim. No time now, though. Too much to do with the approaching maybe-storm. "Eden, yesterday you made Oliver breakfast, probably gave him lunch money even though you didn't mention it, brought him something he forgot, and made him pot pie. Something tells me there was also at least one pickup of a stray dirty sock."

"Probably," Eden admits, cup poised at her mouth.

"You did not fail Oliver."

"What if one day he thinks of everything he missed out on because he didn't have a dad? What if he blames me? What if he's resentful?" Her lower lip quivers. My instinct is to react similarly to the way I did when she pouted. Except this time, I long to kiss the pain away.