Chapter 2
2
HOPE
I jump on one leg to put on my second shoe. “C’mon, Evan, you’re gonna be late for your first day!” I call out as I fasten the last buttons of my work shirt.
Mom’s better at keeping Evan on time, but I wanted to take him on his first day of middle school. She’s such a godsend, looking after him, so I can open the salon each morning. I don’t know how I’d manage without her.
“I’m coming!” he shouts down the stairs.
By the time I’ve grabbed my purse, he’s puffing and panting at my side. “Let’s go.”
We climb into the car, and I load up Evan’s favorite playlist to hopefully make him smile. His nerves fill the interior of our car like a suffocating cloud, and I want him to start his day in a better headspace. We pull up to the kiss-and-drive section, and he releases his seatbelt, ready to climb out as soon as we stop.
“Hey, have an awesome day. I love you, big guy, and I can’t wait to hear all about your first day when I pick you up.” When I stop, I lean back as far as I can to plant a kiss on his cheek, but he climbs out of the car, leaving me hanging.
“Thanks, Mom. See you later.” He slams the back door and races toward the gate.
I exhale a long breath and shake my head. Where’s my baby gone? Why does he have to grow up so fast? I blink away the sting at the back of my eyes and suck in a shaky breath, then put my foot on the gas and drive out of the drop-off section, heading to work, all the while wishing Wyatt were here for this milestone.
Blinking, I swallow the lump in my throat and press my lips together to stem my emotions. I’m so tired of being an emotional wreck. I turn up the music as a distraction and direct my focus outward instead of inward; it’s something I learned at the coping with grief group I attend when I’m really feeling low.
With a few minutes to spare before I need to be at work, I drive through Starbucks to grab coffee for myself and the girls. I’m sure Sophie will need one too, since James started second grade today. I take a deep breath and push my shoulders back to hide my emotions and breeze through the back door. After dropping my purse in the cupboard, I head out front, where Sophie and Lucy are already working with clients.
“Morning, ladies.”—I hold up the coffee—“I brought you guys a treat.”
Sophie shimmies and blows me a kiss as she wets my client’s hair, ready to shampoo. “Thanks, lovely!”
Lucy makes grabby hands. “Gimme, gimme, gimme!”
I chuckle at her theatrics as I deliver the drinks to the girls, setting Sophie’s at the reception desk and placing Lucy’s on the small gold table closest to her chair.
“How nervous was our boy for his first day?” Lucy asks.
She stops mid-cut, waiting for my answer, and I shrug. “He jumped out of the car before I could kiss him goodbye.” My lip trembles as I share my disappointment, but I take a deep breath to regain my composure. After years of practice, I’m a pro at pushing my tears away in public.
“James was the same. What’s wrong with these boys? Don’t they know we need momma hugs?” Sophie chuckles and I force myself to do the same.
Mrs. Davies pipes up, “I was always so grateful to send my boys off to school after summer vacation. My sanity was barely hanging on by a thread, and I was desperate for peace and quiet.” Sophie rolls her eyes as she massages her scalp, and I know exactly what she’s thinking. Mrs. Davies’ boys were probably just as happy to be at school—and away from her.
Sophie finishes up and grabs her coffee from the reception area. She’s our receptionist, and I’m not sure how we managed before she started working here a few months ago because she steps in wherever she’s needed. It feels like she’s always been part of the team. I know she won’t be here forever; she has different dreams from working in a hair salon.
The phone rings, and Sophie answers it as I lead Mrs. Davies to my chair. I run the wide-tooth comb through her shoulder-length bob and catch her eye in the large, gold-framed mirror. “What would you like done today?”
A twinkle appears in her eye, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “I thought you could surprise me. I’m ready for a change.” She smiles broadly and sits up straighter in her chair.
Ugh . I hate it when clients do this, and Mrs. Davies has done it before. She ended up hating what I did to her hair, even though it looked amazing. I raise my eyebrows with a fake grin—another thing I’ve mastered—as I run my fingers through the fine, wet strands. “So, you won’t mind if I dye it hot pink and give you a mohawk?”
Her whole body shakes as she chuckles. “Well, no … I mean yes, obviously, I don’t want anything like that. Be sensible, dear.”
I somehow suppress an eye roll. “How about bangs? Are you ready for that much of a change? I could layer the hair here”—I slide my fingers through a portion of hair on each side of her face—“so it frames your face. It would give you more movement and a fresh look.”
She draws her mouth into a thin line. “Hmm, that would mean I have to come back to see you more often to keep my bangs out of my eyes. I’m not sure I like that idea.”
“If I make them long enough for you to still pull back into a high ponytail, you wouldn’t need such regular maintenance. I know how busy you are,” I suggest.
She nods as her cheeks rise slowly. “Yes, I think that sounds perfect.”
“Great.”
I separate portions of her hair and twist them, holding them in place with sectioning clips, then start cutting an inch off the length. As I cut her hair, we chat about the latest episode of The Bachelor .
“That brunette girl … what’s her name?”
I rummage through my memory and the girls that are left. “Bianca?”
“Yeah, that’s her. I want her to win. She’s a real sweetheart.”
I grin. “She is, but I think he’s more interested in Candy’s boobs. He’s always talking to them.”
Mrs. Davies chuckles. “I think you might be right.”
Once I’m happy with the cut, I blow dry and straighten her silver-streaked hair, using my fingers to comb it into position. “There, what do you think?” She turns her head side to side, and I hold a mirror up behind her so she can see the layers I’ve added. “It’s still long enough to tie up for everyday convenience, but you now have some volume and movement for when you want to leave it down.”
“I love it, Hope. As usual, you’ve done an amazing job.”
I spend the rest of my day cutting, coloring, and styling, and as soon as the clock hits three p.m., Sophie and I walk out the door to collect our boys from school. I’m grateful Marina allows me to work around Evan’s schedule. It means I get to spend essential time with him. I’ve been with her ever since I started out as a stylist and have always considered myself extremely lucky to have her as my boss. She’s always been amazing and flexible with my work hours to accommodate my being a single parent. Let’s face it, even when Wyatt was alive, I might as well have been a single mom.
I spot Evan the moment I pull into the pickup line. He’s talking with a group of boys I don’t recognize, and I grin. I’m so glad he made some new friends today. He hasn’t noticed I’m here, so I quickly shoot him a text, then check my rearview mirror. Cars are lined up behind me, and I watch kids climb into them. C’mon, Evan. I can’t wait here all afternoon .
Sure enough, the woman behind me beeps her horn, and I wave to acknowledge her. Evan glances at his phone, leaves my message unread, and slides it back into his pocket. Damn it. I’m going to have to loop around the block.
Pulling onto the road, I drive around the corner and wait for ten minutes to give him time with his new friends. Then, I continue around the block and pull into the pickup line again. There are only a dozen or so kids left waiting, and the line is empty. Evan’s standing on his own, and when I come to a stop, he stomps toward my car, climbs in the back, and slams the door, startling me.
The vibe coming from my son is not what I was expecting, especially after watching him laugh with the group of boys I saw him with earlier. “How was your first day?”
He shrugs, looking out of the window. “You’re late!” he snaps.
I narrow my eyes, keeping my gaze on the road. “I wasn’t late. I was here on time. I even texted you, but you were busy with your new friends.”
He grumbles and slumps in his seat, dragging the seatbelt across his body and clicking it into place.
“What’s with the attitude?” I ask, turning on my blinker and glancing at him in the mirror.
We drive in silence, but the air in the car is stifling. I’m not sure what’s happened to put him in such a foul mood, but I don’t appreciate it. I know the first day of middle school can be overwhelming, so I’ll give him a pass. He’s probably had a big day, and his emotions are all over the place.
“I thought we could grab a milkshake before we go home. How does that sound?” I push as much enthusiasm into my voice as I can, but I’m really not feeling it.
“Whatever.” The single word drips with his surly attitude.
Oh-kay then. “Or … we can go straight home. Your choice.”
I watch him roll his eyes in the mirror. “If you want a shake, we can get a shake.”
“I’m asking what you want, Ev. You usually love Declan’s Diner , so I thought we could celebrate your first day. But if you’d prefer to go home, we can do that.”
“I just wanna go home.”
“Okay. Let’s do that.” I take the cue from him and shut my mouth. He’s obviously in a mood—which has been happening more often than not lately—and I find it best to give him some space when he gets like this. He usually snaps out of it pretty fast—well, he used to.
The second I turn off the engine, Evan climbs out of the car, slamming his door. He stomps up to the house and waits impatiently for me on the porch. As soon as I open the front door, he storms inside and upstairs, banging his bedroom door behind him.
I stand frozen and blow out a long breath. Some days I don’t recognize this kid, and I don’t know how to deal with him when he’s like this. There have been occasions over the last few weeks when he’s been moody—which I’ve assumed was due to being nervous about middle school, and I guess today’s been a big day—but this is beyond anything I’ve experienced with him so far.
Give him grace. Give him grace. Give him grace . I repeat the mantra to remind myself to stay calm and give him space when I really want to follow him upstairs and reprimand him for his behavior.
Pushing away from the front door, I hang my purse on the hook, head into the kitchen, and pull out the ingredients to make brownies. Maybe some chocolate will cheer him up. I know it’ll make me feel better.
As I’m pulling the brownies from the oven, footsteps sound on the stairs and I grin. Worked like a charm . He drags a stool out from the counter, and I keep my back to him, pretending he’s not there as I place the tray on the cooling rack and take out two plates. I toss some frozen berries, coconut milk, and ice cream in the blender to make a smoothie and pour it into two milkshake glasses.
Being a single parent is tough, though I should be used to it by now; I’ve been one for more than half of Evan’s life. It’s tiresome having to be both parents, and it’s not what I signed up for. I have nobody to bounce ideas off of or to get a second opinion about what I should do in different situations. I flounder with confrontation, and it would be great to have someone else here to be the tough guy sometimes. If Wyatt were here, he could be the one to speak with Evan about his behavior. But it has to be me. It’s always me.
My gut tenses and guilt grows. I hate how my thoughts narrow to blaming Wyatt for leaving me in this position. This isn’t his fault. He wouldn’t have left us willingly.
I draw in a deep breath and blow it out slowly, trying to cleanse my thoughts as I plate up two generous slices of warm brownie. I silently slide a plate and glass across to Evan, and then bring mine to the counter and sit beside my son—the one piece of Wyatt I have left. We don’t speak for the longest time, and I wonder if this is how it’s going to be from this point forward.
Evan swallows the last bite of his brownie, then uses his fingers to collect the crumbs. “Thanks, Mom. That was yum,” he says with a wide smile. “Can I have another piece?”
“You’re welcome, and sure, but make it a small one. I don’t want you to ruin your dinner.” Should I say something about his behavior? Do I risk asking him about his day now that he seems to have calmed down, or will my questions set him off again?
I feel like I never know the right thing to do.
He grabs a piece and returns to his seat. “I’m sorry I was in a bad mood,” he mumbles around a mouthful of chocolate, and I do my best not to grin. There’s my boy.
“Thanks for apologizing.” I glance at him, then return my gaze to my food. “I’m not the enemy, you know.”
“I know.” He stuffs another forkful into his mouth and chews.
I sip my smoothie to give us some time to breathe. “Anything you wanna talk about?”
“Nah.”
My heart sinks, and I struggle to think of what to say next. Lord knows I haven’t had the emotional strength to deal with much since losing Wyatt, but I need him to know I’m here whenever he needs me.
“Well, I’m always here if you change your mind.”
He grabs his empty dishes and carries them to the sink. “I know.” Without looking back at me, he leaves the kitchen and heads back upstairs.
I can’t be left alone with my thoughts, so I turn on the television for background noise and collect a load of laundry to do while I prepare our lunches for tomorrow. We’ll be back to our usual routine in the morning, so I need to be organized.