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“I think…” Maybe my thoughts were too dark for a girls’ night out. “Never mind.”

“No, say it.” Reese’s tone was gentle. She was the only person I’d trusted for a long time. Not because she told me what I wanted to hear but because she never judged me or my parenting skills. The truth was that no matter how big my smile was, there was always something lurking under the surface.

“I think I’m happy, but that happiness is tempered ’cause I’m kinda waiting for a shoe to drop—a loved one passing, or my irreparably fucking up Maple’s childhood.”

“You need to cut yourself some slack, Dial.” Reese was used to me expressing my doubts. That was why I loved her—because when things got ugly and messy and I was crying big tears, the kind that included snot bubbles, she never let me disappear, always pulling closer.

“After what I did, I don’t deserve forgiveness or consideration.”

“What are you talking about?” Fancy’s expression spoke of her rising alarm.

“I don’t know how to break it to you, Fancy, but I don’t have anything figured out. And if I’m being honest, I don’t think I deserve a second chance.”

“But you’re Dial.” Fancy’s features darkened as if she were just now realizing Santa wasn’t real. Her chair squeaked as she stood. “You deserve a second chance, the happily-ever-after, peace of mind, a safe space… You need to claim all of it.”

“Thanks, Fancy.” I grabbed her arm, pulling her back into her seat. “I’m working on it.” This was why when people asked me how I was doing, I responded with a smart remark or a clipped “Fine”—because if I said what I was really thinking, the room would get quiet, making things uncomfortable for all involved. The possibility of Oz filled me with excitement, but that was quickly drowned out by my brain warning me to be careful and not let my mask slip.

“I think what Fancy is trying to say is you’re allowed to feel these things,” Reese added. “We just don’t want to stay there.”

I tried not to linger in the feelings, which was why I was always so busy, with work, the city planning committee, and now school. They say idle hands are the devil’s workshop—if I wasn’t moving, I got stuck, and then I’d get to thinking about all the fucked-up shit I’d done or said. Sure, I was a good mom, but sometimes all I could recall were the mistakes.

Fancy added, “You are the baddest bitch I know, and I’ve met tons of famous people. Don’t you ever forget it.”

“Message received.” I hopped up, shaking out my limbs. “I’m gonna get us another round.”

It was nice being honest for once. I could get everything I wanted—the man, the happy family, and the picket fence—and I’d still feel… blah. My spark was gone because I spent so much time with my head underwater. In therapy they talked about baby steps. No matter how slow the going, you were still making progress. But I felt like the Great Wall of China, under construction for centuries with no end in sight. If I wasn’t enough, nothing else ever would be. And who wanted to love a work in progress?

Oz’s being out of town gave me a chance to reflect, and I didn’t like what I found. You can pour cement over a pile of trash and level shit out, but that doesn’t change the fact that there’s a bunch of garbage hidden underneath. For Ozzie and me to work, we had to excavate the scraps of our past to truly create something new.

Sitting in the cargo area of my Jeep, I waited outside of Ozzie’s house for him to return from the airport.

I wanted this to work. If we failed, this time I didn’t think I’d ever recover. We needed to have this particular conversation to truly move forward with a clean slate. He needed to know how deeply his actions had hurt me, and he needed to admit that I was the cause of his discontent. Ozzie wanted a very specific model of Dial Birch that was no longer in production. Honest conversations were difficult for me. Because when I got hurt, I got angry and said mean things, wanting to inflict an equal amount of pain.

Sometimes I didn’t recognize myself. My therapist claimed it was normal to feel disjoined. But I didn’t want to be normal—I wanted to just be myself. The woman whose laughs were genuine, who found peace in being alone, and who believed she deserved love, period, with no added disclaimer. I was ready for a life with Oz, but he had to be okay with loving who I was right now and not past versions of me.

It seemed like an eternity before his truck finally pulled up next to my Jeep. In the seconds it took him to cut off the engine, doubt creeped in. Maybe laying my cards on the table was a bad idea. I had the worst timing, and when something was gnawing at me I couldn’t rest until I’d said my piece—fuck the delivery.

He exited his vehicle, all smiles. “You just couldn’t get enough, could you?”

“No one likes it when you’re cocky.”

“I think you do, just a little bit.” He grabbed his dick through his shorts, which was already hard at the sight of me.

I could just abort the mission and lean into the desperately missing him excuse, claiming I simply couldn’t wait to fuck him again, which was true. Oz’s touch had consumed my every thought while he was out of town. I’d stalked the clock, demanding day turn to night, because it meant I was closer to his return.

Ozzie pulled me into a hug. “I missed you. Did you miss me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad you’re here. It saves me a trip, ’cause Daddy’s about to fuck the shit outta you.” He was fondling my ass and moving us toward the house.

“Wait, baby. I didn’t come here for that.”

Oz pulled away, examining my face. “Is Maple all right? Are you okay?”

“Maple’s fine.” I could feel the words clawing at the back of my throat, the ones I’d avoided for years, the ones that still tasted like failure. My chest was tight, breathing shallow, that familiar prickle of anxiety gathering under my skin. “Do you remember who I was before Maple?” I was looking at the stars, and Ozzie followed suit.

“Erm, yeah, you were a dynamo.” He led me to the porch and sat next to me, reaching for my hand.