Fall Into You (Seasons of the East Coast #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

SOPHIE

“ I really don’t want you to leave,” I say.

Saying goodbye to my only close friend, who moves countries every six months, has always been hard. But lately it’s been even harder. My grip on Avery is likely too tight for her comfort, but I can’t help myself. As soon as she’s gone, I’ll have to wrangle my three kids again.

Avery sighs against my shoulder. If she’s uncomfortable, she doesn’t say anything. “I know, Sophie. I know.” When she finally pulls away, she looks up at me with a reassuring smile.

“You’ve got this. You’re stronger than you know. And I know it’s not the same, but I’m always a video call away.”

She’s not lying. No matter where Avery and her partner Logan decide to work from, she always makes herself available if I need her. And I’m so happy that she finally got the family—and the life—she’s always dreamed of. But I miss the days when we lived a mere fifteen minutes away from each other. Even though she visits every two months or so, it’s not enough to pull me out of my loneliness.

I swallow back tears and twirl a strand of my golden hair as Avery grabs her son Nathan’s Click Connect carrier from the ground, opening the door to leave. At the same time, my toddler Heather’s tiny fists pull at the fabric of my leggings. “Bye, baby,” she babbles, her own voice shaky with tears. Oh, no.

“Be a good girl with your mom, Heather,” Avery teases her right before her eyes meet mine, a final spark of encouragement flashing through them. Then … she’s gone.

I glance down at Heather who looks back up at me with big grey eyes. Her chin wobbles and her bottom lip begins to pout. My heart sinks. There’s no avoiding this.

Before I’ve had time to process my own sadness at seeing my best friend leave, Heather explodes into tears. “Baby!” she cries, running to the front window to watch Avery walk to her car with Nathan’s carrier in the crook of her elbow.

“It’s okay, Heather,” Gwen immediately chimes in, running right up to her little sister to give her a hug. “There, there.” Normally, Gwen’s adorable big-sister attitude would be enough to cheer me up. I don’t know what’s got me so deflated this time. I’m used to seeing friends leave by now.

Another cry erupts from the nursery. My shoulders slump forward in disappointment; I just put Julian down for his nap. Hearing Heather’s cries must have woken him up.

Great. Just great.

I give Gwen and Heather a quick glance to make sure they’re okay, then rush to the nursery to grab my five-month-old. It’s right at the entrance of the hall on the right from the foyer, so I’m barely gone for fifteen seconds before I hear Gwen scream: “Ow, Heather, no!”

I rush back to my girls to find both facing off; Heather’s face is all red and puffy from crying, but Gwen is now on the verge of tears herself. “What happened?” I ask, holding Julian close to my chest as I sway back and forth.

“Heather just pushed me!” Gwen yells, pointing an accusatory finger at her sister. “I was just trying to help!”

“I know, honey, but maybe Heather doesn’t want help right now—remember what I told you?” Without wasting a second, I whip my attention to Heather who’s still wailing: “And what did I say about gentle hands?”

But there’s no sense trying to discipline or talk logic to a two-year-old having a meltdown, and I only remember that fact when Heather stomps her foot down and screams: “No!”

Meanwhile, Julian is still crying against my chest, and Gwen’s looking up at me like a sad puppy. I want to cave and call Mom, but she’s at work. I know she’ll call off work if she thinks she can be of help to me, but I’ll have none of that. If she could wrangle three kids as a single mom, so can I. I changed my first diaper at seven years old when my brother Orlando was born; I was trained for this.

Only, Mom had Aunt Francine, Aunt Diane, and Grandma to help out almost any time she needed a hand, while I just have … Mom. On the days I’m lucky.

Today is not one of those days.

“Gwen,” I start, my voice clipped, “go to your room.”

“What?” Gwen is outraged. “But I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I’m not punishing you, honey.” I try to stay calm while Heather shrieks in the background and Julian cries against me. I just need to get my two girls separated before the world falls apart. “Please, just do what I tell you and I’ll come speak to you soon, okay?”

Gwen grunts and stomps her foot. For a moment, I fear she’s not going to listen, which would force me to bring Julian back to his cot and let him cry it out while I wrangle my two girls. But I breathe a sigh of relief when she instead turns and heads downstairs to her room.

One down, two to go.

I crouch down to Heather’s level while keeping a solid hold on Julian. Heather thrives on physical contact, so I use my free arm to press her against me. Her screams then melt into sobs, and slowly but surely, she returns the hug as calmness sets in.

I regulate my own breath so that she can co-regulate with me. But there’s a limit to how much we can both regulate when I’m still holding a screaming baby.

“Let’s move onto the couch,” I say, scooping Heather up with one arm. If I wasn’t in shape, there’s no way I could pull this off; at two and a half years old, this toddler is starting to get heavy for one-arm lifts. With both kids secured in each arm, I make my way to the living room and carefully sit back on our grey sectional couch.

“There you go.” I adjust Heather’s position so she’s leaning against me instead of sitting on me. With both arms free, I start to focus on Julian. The easiest thing to settle him will have to be the breast. In just a few seconds, I manage to free one breast from my breastfeeding shirt and bra; my entire body relaxes when Julian latches and stops crying.

Okay. I’ve got this.

Even though she’s calm, Heather is still crying softly against me, but I use my spare arm to stroke her hair. It’s just a matter of time before she relaxes, which will allow me to have a conversation with her to remind her about gentle hands. Then, I’ll have to talk to Gwen. I feel bad for sending her to her room, but it was all I could do to separate the girls.

Pretty soon, Julian is asleep at my breast. I carefully stand and let Heather know I’ll be right back, then bring Julian back into his crib. Luckily, he doesn’t wake up when I let go of him.

I have a quick talk with Heather before I go straight downstairs to see Gwen. After what feels like an eternity after Avery left, I’ve finally brought peace back to my household. All in a day’s work.

Hours later, I’ve put the girls to bed without too much trouble. I sit at the kitchen table and stare at my phone. I know Avery just left, but I’m already craving some company. Wrangling three kids is lonely work.

I send a text to Tania, one of my other closest friends.

Sophie

What are you up to tonight? Wanna come hang out?

I wait, my toes curling with anticipation. But I deflate when her answer comes in.

Tania

Can’t - having drinks with Sara and Jess.

She doesn’t bother inviting me, even though we’re both friends with Sara and Jess; she knows very well that I’ll decline. I’m not one of those moms who refuses to go out of the house with her kids.

Quite the opposite.

On some occasions, I’ve even woken up the girls to head over to a friend’s house and put them back to sleep there so I didn’t have to stay home alone. But having drinks isn’t really a family-friendly scene. So I’m out of options.

I groan and drop my face against my arms lying on the table. While I don’t expect my friends to change their lifestyles to accommodate mine, I’d like them to put in a bit more effort to be inclusive.

It wasn’t an issue before. If Matthew wasn’t already out, he’d stay with his daughters while I joined my friends for whatever outing they were having. Sure, he wasn’t the most helpful with diapers, feedings, or tantrums. Still—it was better than nothing.

But now …

Now, I’d rather suffer through eternity alone before having him back in this house. Almost ten years down the drain, and for what?

I wrack my brain to think of someone else to call. But before I’ve had the chance to think any further, Julian’s cries erupt out of his room.

I look at the clock above the kitchen table; yup, it’s 8:30 p.m. That sounds about right. As much as I’ve tried to set Julian down for the night earlier, he always wakes up around this time. It doesn’t leave me with a lot of time for myself. By the point he’s usually asleep again, I’m already exhausted and ready for bed. But I’ll stay up another hour and catch up on my reality TV shows out of spite.

I get to have time for me too, damn it.

A minute later I’m sitting on the couch with Julian at my breast. I don’t like watching TV when I’m breastfeeding him this late; the light disturbs his sleep. If I want to have a good night’s sleep, I need to put all the chances on my side to make sure Julian does, too.

Instead, I scroll my phone with my free hand. I’ve been doom-scrolling for a few minutes when a sponsored post catches my eye: Wish you could grow your business and spend more time with your family at the same time?

Huh. I keep reading, intrigued. The truth is, my party planning business is running pretty smoothly. I’ve got a full-time virtual assistant who works remotely and handles a lot of the admin stuff, but I also have a full-time planning assistant who’s in Montréal. I don’t feel that she’s ready to take on full plans on her own yet, but she does a lot of the heavy lifting. Both of them, Maya and Rosalie, have been a godsend, especially since Julian was born.

Despite this, I’m still stuck. Since I have custody of the girls every other week and have Julian full-time until I’m done breastfeeding, I have very limited time to invest back into my business. When our family was whole, everything was so much easier. But now I’m home most days.

Which isn’t always a bad thing. I love my kids to death. I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world. And I constantly crave spending more time with them. But it also means I’m bottlenecked. I can’t take on more than a few clients at a time. Yet I know it’s going to get better soon. The older Julian gets, the more time I’ll have to start focusing on my business again and bring home a bigger paycheck to give these kids everything they deserve.

I continue reading the ad. This seems to be some sort of consultancy for local businesses. Their offer is eerily specific to what I’m looking for; they work one-on-one with the business owner to get your shit under control so you can grow your business without overworking yourself to death. Okay, cool.

It’s certainly interesting. I can’t say I’m not tempted to book a meeting with them. But at the same time, I’m not sure I need them at all.

Yes, things are hard right now, and I’m feeling a bit worse for wear as I’m balancing the kids and my business. Yes, I could definitely have a better support system.

But I’m not helpless. I’m good at what I do. There’s a reason I’ve grown this business enough to hire two full-time employees. It’s the same reason clients have come back to me over and over again, for years on end.

I’m a damn genius at party planning, and I’m proud of it.

Every milestone I’ve hit was thanks to hard work, grit, and determination. Seeing the numbers go up—and reading my clients’ glowing testimonials for my work—makes me feel whole.

I was born for this. And I was also born to be a mom. So I’m not giving up yet. I can do this on my own.

Convinced, I click away from the ad and keep scrolling. I smile to myself. Even though I won’t be booking a meeting with this firm, I’m quite satisfied I came across their ad. Because now that they’ve planted this idea in my head, I won’t let it go.

I want to keep building this business. Maybe this challenge is just what I need to get me out of this spiral of loneliness. I’m not going to spend any longer feeling sorry for myself.

I realize Julian is no longer drinking. When I look down, his eyes are closed and he’s fully still. My little angel is asleep. There’s a pang in my heart. Some days, there’s too much love for me to contain it all, and it threatens to undo me.

Gently, so as not to wake him, I carry Julian back to his cot, then head to the kitchen to make myself some herbal tea. But I’ve only just turned my kettle on when there’s a knock at the door.

I look at the clock above the kitchen table; it’s a few minutes past 9 p.m. Who would visit me at this hour without any warning?

Before I head to the door, I give myself a quick look-over. I’m only wearing my thick, fluffy robe, but my boobs aren’t hanging out, so we’re all good. In a few strides, I’m at the door, still wondering who this could be.

I open the heavy black door, and my heart lurches. Standing in the doorway is the father of my children.

Matthew.