Chapter 11 - Lena
LENA
I wake up in full crisis mode, which is honestly rude because I went to bed with the clear goal of unconsciousness.
My eyes open, and my first thought is not coffee or breakfast or "where is my child?
" It is: Did my neighbor just accuse me of having a sugar daddy?
Followed by: Do I technically have a sugar daddy?
Followed by, even worse: Would having one be the worst idea in the world right now?
With a groan of despair, I bury my head in my pillow.
Jace kicks me in the ribs because at one point, he came to my room after a nightmare and we stayed up awhile reading from his favorite book of jungle animals.
He somehow turned sideways in his sleep and now claims ninety percent of the bed.
I poke his foot, to which he wiggles but does not wake up. Classic.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling like it owes me answers. It does not. I get none. Instead I get a running list in my head.
Gabe saw my son.
The neighbor saw Gabe.
The whole street probably heard her.
Jace has a toy truck now.
I fucked Gabe like a starving woman.
My life is a mess.
I need coffee.
I drag myself out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom, doing the standard morning routine while mentally screaming into the void.
My reflection in the mirror looks exactly how I feel—hair everywhere, shirt crooked, and face showing the stress of someone whose past walked straight through her front door and said hello to her future.
"Perfect," I mutter. "Beautiful. Thriving. "
I splash cold water on my cheeks until I can pretend to be functional.
Halfway through brushing my hair, the doorbell rings and makes me freeze.
No one rings my doorbell this early unless it is a package.
Or, God forbid, a person. Risking the exact look of a cartoon burglar, I tiptoe to the door and peek through the peephole.
The sight makes me squint, because it looks to be a grocery delivery comprising a mountain of bags, the kind of haul you'd get if you were planning to feed a family of twelve.
With a frown, I open the door and step outside. The delivery guy lifts a clipboard.
"Order for Lena M.?"
"That's me," I answer, confused.
He hands me the bags one by one. Fresh berries. Cheese. The brand of pasta I love but refuse to buy because it is too expensive. A box of cereal Jace adores. Milk. That fancy oat bar brand I only buy on my birthday. Nuts I'm not allergic to. The exact jam I use on everything.
"Wait," I say, shaking my head in bewilderment. "This is a mistake."
He checks his little screen. "It says paid online. Special instructions say to handle the dairy bag gently."
"That is very specific."
He shrugs. "People have their quirks."
"Who placed the order?"
"Notes say it was from a Gabe."
My stomach drops like it is trying to run away.
Of course it was.
He stands there patiently, waiting for me to sign. I do it with a shaking hand. He waves and heads back to the van.
I stare at the bags.
It is not just a random grocery haul. This is curated, tailored, thought out.
He got Jace's favorite fruit yogurt, my favorite chips, the exact brand of frozen dumplings I hoard.
Which means he looked, read, scrolled through years of photos and captions and comment threads.
"Unbelievable," I whisper. "The man did research. "
I haul the bags inside, set them on the counter, and lean on my palms.
This isn't a sugar daddy thing. It's something a lot more careful because it involves genuine effort, and the idea of that makes my pulse pick up in a way that annoys the hell out of me.
Footsteps patter behind me. Jace shuffles into the kitchen, hair wild, eyes half-closed.
"Mama," he says, rubbing his face. "Breakfast."
"Yeah," I reply quietly. "We can do breakfast."
I pull out eggs and bread. He climbs onto his little stool and watches me like he is supervising. I hand him the berries and let him pick out the "best ones", which mostly means he eats half of them.
While the toast pops, he tugs at my shirt. "Mama, can we ride my bike later?"
"Maybe after preschool," I say. "We'll see."
He nods and points at the new cereal box. "Can I have that too?"
"Pick one," I say. "You're not having both."
He picks both.
I sigh. "Fine. Small portions."
He grins and climbs down to get his bowl.
I make my coffee, plate the toast, and try not to think too hard about the man who sent us groceries like he already knew the shape of our morning.
Ten minutes later, his shoes are on the wrong feet, his hair is sticking up in five directions, and I am chasing him with a wet wipe because somehow, syrup found his elbow.
The morning moves fast after that. Snack box packed. Water bottle filled. Backpack zipped.
When I finally grab my keys and open the door, he runs past me toward the stairs.
"Preschool time," he yells.
I take a breath, grab the grocery receipt from the counter, shove it in my bag, and follow him out.
Because at some point today, I need to decide what the hell I am going to do about Gabe.
The morning moves the way my mornings always do once we step out the door.
Jace chatters all the way to preschool, mostly about a girl in his class who "eats crayons, but only the safe ones.
" I drop him off with a hug and watch him run inside.
His backpack bounces behind him. He never once looks back.
I stand there for a second, then force myself toward the car.
I have a shoot today with a new café that wants pictures of their breakfast menu. It should be easy work, but I feel off balance the whole drive. I park outside the place and sit there longer than I should, staring at the steering wheel while my brain repeats one useless thought.
Gabe sent me groceries.
I shake it off and grab my camera bag. The café owner, a woman named Tara, waves me in. She has short hair that keeps falling into her eyes and a notebook full of scribbles.
"You must be Lena," she says.
"That's me," I answer. "Show me what you want shot and I'll get set up."
She leads me to the counter. Plates are already waiting. Eggs. Waffles. A big bowl of fruit. I start unpacking lenses and cleaning a smudge from my camera screen.
"You okay?" she asks, watching me a little too closely.
"I'm fine," I say. "Just a long morning."
She nods like she understands. I take a few test shots. The light looks good. Tara places a fork on one of the plates, and I adjust it without thinking.
"You're fast," she says.
"I try."
I focus the camera, but my mind keeps drifting. I shoot the waffles, but Gabe's voice slips in between the shutters. I shoot the eggs, but I keep thinking about him listening to Jace like every word mattered.
I have to blink hard to refocus.
Tara peeks over my shoulder. "These look amazing," she says.
"Good," I answer. "You'll get the full batch by tonight."
Two hours pass before I even check the time again. When I finish packing up, Tara hands me a free muffin for Jace. I take it with a thank you and head back to the car.
My stomach growls. I decide to stop by the small grocery store near my building to grab a few things. The aisles are quiet, which should be relaxing, but it is not. I toss yogurt cups and a loaf of bread into the basket. When I reach for a jar of sauce, a voice behind me cuts through the aisle.
"Well, well. Look who finally has free time."
I turn. Tom stands there with a basket full of protein bars and smugness. His eyes skim down my body in a way that makes me instantly annoyed.
"Hi," I say, keeping my tone flat. "I'm busy, so if you—"
He steps closer. "You look better today. The other night, you were in some mood."
"I was tired," I answer. "And not interested."
He smiles like he thinks he is charming. "You know, you could at least pretend to be polite. I tried to take you out. I tried to make it work. Most women would be grateful."
My jaw tightens. "I'm not most women, Tom."
"Right," he says. "You're a single mom with no time for anything fun. I get it. But you don't have to throw attitude around. There are men who will overlook all that, you know."
I stare at him. "Overlook what?"
He lifts a shoulder. "The kid. The weight. The schedule. I mean, I'm just being honest. You're not exactly easy to date."
Heat crawls up my neck. "You're right," I say, forcing my voice steady.
"I'm not easy to date. Because I don't tolerate disrespect.
Or selfishness. Or men who think they are doing me a favor by showing up.
I liked you at first, but you keep talking like you're above me. That's the real problem here."
His smile drops. "You're overreacting."
"No," I say. "I'm finally reacting."
He huffs. "Whatever. This isn't over."
"It is for me," I answer. "Move."
He blinks like he is waiting for me to back down. I do not. I push past him and head straight for the checkout. My hands shake a little as I pay for the groceries, but the relief hits fast. He is out of my life. He can stay there.
By the time preschool ends, I feel calmer. Jace runs to me the second he spots me.
"Mama, I drew a dinosaur," he says, waving a folded paper. "He has big teeth."
"I can't wait to see," I say, taking his hand.
He chatters the whole walk to the car. I listen, grateful for the noise that drowns out everything else.
At home, I unlock the door and let him run inside. He drops his backpack on the floor and goes straight to his toys.
"Snacks?" he calls.
"Coming," I answer.
I set the grocery bags on the counter and sigh. My day was long. My head is full. My son is singing some made-up dinosaur song in the living room.
I am halfway through rinsing Jace's paint cups when someone knocks. It is a steady knock, not hurried, and my stomach drops because I already know who it is. Jace looks up from the floor where he is lining his toy cars.
"Mama, someone's here," he says.
"I know," I answer, drying my hands.