Chapter 13
Heather
It’s been a busy week at New Horizons, but the good kind of busy. I’m finishing updating intake forms for three new residents, and that means we’re making a real difference in women’s lives.
I’m still adjusting to the new responsibilities that came with my promotion, but I can genuinely say I love every minute of what I do.
Today alone, I’ve helped a woman navigate the maze of housing assistance applications, connected someone else with a job training program, and spent an hour on the phone with a lawyer who is taking on a custody case pro bono.
And it isn’t even lunchtime yet.
The work I do matters. These women matter. And maybe because I’ve been where they are—desperate, scared, and convinced there’s no way forward—I can offer something more than just resources and referrals.
Something like hope and reassurance that they’ve made the right call at the right time, and things will get better from here.
My phone buzzes, and my stomach reacts with that familiar fluttery feeling that’s become almost Pavlovian whenever I see Grant’s name pop up on the screen.
GRANT: I thought you might like this. The Denver Zoo just announced they’re expecting a baby elephant.
Below the message is a link to a news article and a photo of the expectant mother standing majestic and beautiful in the shade of her enclosure.
And because I have zero impulse control when it comes to seeing, talking about, or learning about elephants, I immediately click through to the article.
Elephants have a twenty-two-month gestation period, longer than any other mammal, and this baby isn’t expected until next spring. But the zoo is already making preparations and consulting with specialists from around the world.
I’m not sure if my smile is from reading the article or the fact that Grant not only thought of me but took time out of his day to send me the link. Either way, I’m beaming as I text him back.
ME: That’s so exciting! April is going to be over the moon. I definitely need to plan another zoo trip for her soon.
We’ve settled into an easy rhythm of casual texts over the past few days, whether it’s a funny meme, a question about groceries, or the occasional update about April’s progress at school.
It all feels natural and comfortable and safe, which is exactly what I was hoping for after my mortifying apology in the kitchen.
I was so worried that kissing him had somehow ruined everything, but thankfully, it really does seem like we’ve put it all behind us.
We’re back to being friendly roommates, nothing more complicated than that.
But even as I have that reassuring thought, a traitorous part of me feels almost disappointed. Because the truth is, that kiss was amazing. The way he took charge and cradled my face like I was the most precious thing in the world made my entire body come alive in a way that it never has before.
His touch did that. He did that.
I shake my head, pushing that particularly wonderful thought to the back of my mind so I can concentrate on the computer screen in front of me.
This is exactly the kind of thinking that almost got me into trouble the other night.
My wild fantasies got the best of me and the next thing I knew, I was nearly dragging him into the bathtub with me.
For all his bluster and the way he grimaces and frowns at everything, he’s been nothing but generous and kind to April and me. The last thing I need to do is complicate things by getting my feelings involved. Especially because we still have to move out of his house at some point.
I’m trying to get Grant off my mind and concentrate on work, at least for a little while, when I remember I actually do need to text him about something.
ME: I might be slow to answer calls or texts this afternoon. I have a meeting with April’s teacher, and I’m not sure how long it’ll last.
His reply comes quickly.
GRANT: Is everything okay?
ME: I think so. Just a check-in about how she’s adjusting. She’s still having trouble making friends.
GRANT: That’s tough. New schools are hard.
His simple acknowledgment eases some of the tension I’m feeling about the meeting. Because he’s right. New schools are hard. It’s not a problem that’s unique to April or a complete failure on my part as a parent, even though it sometimes feels that way.
ME: I just want it to get easier for her. It’s been a few weeks now and it’s hard not to worry.
Again, he seems to know just what to say.
GRANT: Give her time. She’s a great kid, and the other kids will figure that out.
I love his faith in April. It makes me smile even though I’m still worried.
ME: Thanks. I hope you’re right.
GRANT: Do you want to talk about it when you get home tonight?
His casual offer is so simple, but it still catches me off guard.
ME: You don’t have to do that.
GRANT: I know I don’t have to, but the offer still stands.
I stare at the message on my screen for a solid minute, unsure how I should answer. If it had come from anyone else, I’d just assume they were being polite.
But Grant doesn’t say things that he doesn’t mean. I knew that much about him even before we lived together. He’s offering to let me talk and vent because he wants to be there for me and my daughter.
It’s a good feeling, but so unexpected that it’s almost overwhelming. Still, he deserves an honest answer.
ME: Thank you. I’d like that.
By the time my lunch break rolls around, I’m feeling nervous and anxious all over again. My stomach is clenched so tightly on the drive to April’s school that I’m seriously tempted to call or text Grant again, just for a last-minute boost of moral support.
But he’s busy and the objective part of my brain knows I’m overreacting. I’m not in trouble for anything, and neither is April—at least, not as far as I know.
This is just a meeting. A check-in. I should be looking forward to meeting with her teacher and discussing her progress.
Okay, maybe that’s a bit too optimistic. Still, I shouldn’t have to dread the meeting.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m across from Mrs. Samson, April’s teacher, in a classroom decorated with colorful alphabet posters and student artwork. The principal, Mrs. Delgado, has joined us.
Both women are probably in their late forties or early fifties, and both are so disarmingly kind that I immediately feel silly for worrying so much on the way over here.
“April is doing really well academically,” Mrs. Samson begins.
She opens a folder and takes out a stack of April’s quizzes and tests, showing me perfect score after perfect score.
“Her math skills are above grade level, and her reading comprehension is excellent. She is clearly a very bright young lady.”
“But?” I prompt, because there’s definitely a ‘but’ coming.
The two women exchange a look, then Mrs. Delgado continues with a kind smile. “April seems to be having some difficulty connecting with her classmates. She hasn’t been participating much in group activities, and she spends most of her lunch breaks reading alone.”
All the mom guilt I’ve been trying to ignore comes back full force until it feels like my shoulders are sagging under the weight.
“She’s always been a little shy around new people,” I say. “I’m still hoping she’ll warm up to her new classmates—and vice versa—once things are a little more settled at home.”
“That’s completely normal,” the principal says. “Moving to a new school is a big adjustment for any student, but we have some ideas that might help.”
Mrs. Samson nods. “We have a peer buddy program where we pair new students with kids who are well-established in the district. April could also join our after-school reading club. That might be a good way for her to meet kids who share her interests.”
“There’s also the option of having her work with our school counselor,” Mrs. Delgado adds. “Just to give her some strategies for making friends and building confidence in social situations.”
I’m taking notes and nodding along with their suggestions, but my heart is sinking with each passing minute. I’d hoped that quietly supporting April at home and taking her out for fun weekend activities would be enough to help her get through this rough patch. Clearly, I was wrong.
“The important thing is not to worry too much,” Mrs. Samson says. “April is adjusting. She’s just taking her time, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”
We wrap up the meeting and I thank them both for their time, but it’s hard not to feel like I’m failing at my most important job of all—being a good, supportive mom.
My thoughts spiral from how I moved us around so much in those early days when I was just getting out of the abusive relationship with her dad to the way I had to work so hard as a single parent just to keep a roof over our heads.
Maybe if I’d been better at handling everything life threw at me, my little girl wouldn’t be eating lunch alone every day.
Back behind the wheel of my car, I’m wishing I could just go home and crawl under the covers instead of facing the rest of my workday when my phone rings.
I assume it’s work, calling me to tell me—like some kind of sign from the universe—that I’ve been gone too long and really do need to get back to the office.
So when I glance at the screen and see Margo’s name instead, I feel an immediate sense of relief.
“Hey,” I answer, grateful for the distraction from my spiraling thoughts.
“Oh! I didn’t expect you to answer. I just got out of a meeting and was thinking about you. I’d planned on leaving a voicemail, but this works even better! How are things going with Grant? Are you and April settling in?”
“We’re settling in pretty well,” I answer automatically. “Really good, actually. He’s been way too generous with us.”
“Good, I’m glad. So things are going well between the two of you? It’s not still sort of awkward like it was in the beginning?”
I take a second to think back on those first few days and how different it feels now that we’re talking and texting back and forth on a daily basis.
“Yeah, we’re over that initial awkwardness. He’s actually pretty easy to talk to.”
There’s a second of silence on the other end of the line. “Easy to talk to? Grant Parker?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Are we talking about the same guy here? Because the Grant Parker I know barely says two words to most people. He’s like talking to a brick wall at team functions.”
She’s not wrong, but her knee-jerk reaction makes me feel irrationally defensive. “That’s different. You know how focused he gets when he’s in work mode. It’s different when he’s one-on-one.”
“Really? I guess I’ve only ever seen the quiet, grumpy, single-minded version.”
“That’s work mode. The Grant I know asks about April’s day. He offers to pick up groceries if there’s something we mention offhand that we might like to try. He even mended one of April’s shirts out of the blue one day, just to be helpful.”
“Wow.” There’s a long pause, then she adds, “So he’s like a completely different person when it’s just the two of you—the three of you, I mean.”
“No, not completely different. He still looks stern most of the time, and he still frowns more than he smiles. But we’ve also had some good conversations, and I feel like I understand him now in a way that wouldn’t have been possible if we weren’t living together.”
“Huh.” She sounds genuinely stumped by the idea that Grant isn’t as one-dimensional as she might have thought. “That’s kind of amazing.”
Hearing her reaction makes me realize for the first time how big of a deal it really is.
I don’t think Grant has changed at all—I think he’s probably always been the same kind, caring, compassionate person—but the fact that he’s let his walls down enough to let April and me see that side of him is as surprising as it is flattering.
Before I can say anything else, though, she changes the subject. “Speaking of amazing, I had my twenty-week ultrasound yesterday. Everything looks perfect with the baby.”
“That’s great news! I can’t believe you’re already halfway there.”
“I know, right? Noah has already started baby-proofing the house. There’s still so much time left, but it’s so cute that I can’t make myself rain on his parade.”
I laugh, trying and failing to picture the one-time ladies’ man so completely settled down and domesticated. But that just goes to show how different someone can be behind closed doors. Or how quickly they can change when they realize what truly matters in life.
“Have you picked out names yet?” I ask.
“We have a short list, but we’re trying not to—”
A grinding sound and some weird clicks from under the hood cut her off, and the steering wheel starts to feel stiff and jerky.
“Oh, shit.” I signal to pull over as the temperature gauge climbs into the red zone.
“Heather? What’s going on?”
“My car just made some noises that can’t be good. I have to pull over. I think the engine just died.”
“Damn, where are you?”
I look around, trying to get my bearings, then tell her the nearest cross-streets.
“Are you safe?” she asks. “Can you get out of traffic?”
“Yeah, I’m on the shoulder now.” The engine makes one last clicking and grinding noise, then goes silent with a shudder. “I think I’d better call you back. I need to figure out how I’m going to get home.”
“I can come pick you up. Give me just a few minutes.”
“No, don’t come yet. I should probably call a tow truck first. I’d rather not leave my car here on the side of the road if I can avoid it.”
“Okay, but don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything. I might be moving a little slower these days, but I’m not so frail and fragile that I can’t come pick you up.”
I manage a smile even though I’m worried and frustrated and already mentally calculating a towing bill, because frail and fragile are two of the last words I’d ever use to describe my sister.
“Thanks, I promise I’ll call you in a bit to let you know what’s going on. I love you.”
“Love you too. Be careful.”
I hang up the phone and squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, then heave a frustrated, exhausted sigh.
This is exactly what I didn’t need today.