Chapter 10 Eleanor
ELEANOR
By the time we pulled into the driveway, the sky was streaked with pink and gold, the kind of evening that looks like it should be bottled and saved for later.
Ava was half-asleep in the passenger seat, her cheeks flushed and her hair a wild halo of tangles. She had grass stains on her knees, ketchup on her shirt, and a snow-cone stain that looked suspiciously like war paint.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror and winced. My hair was frizzy from the humidity, one elbow was scraped, and my knee sported a brand-new bandage courtesy of Alex. My mom was going to have opinions.
We barely made it through the front door before I heard her voice.
“Oh my goodness, what on earth happened to you two?”
There she was, standing in the entryway in her pressed linen slacks and pearls, looking at us like we’d crawled out of a swamp.
I smiled tiredly. “Hi, Mom.”
“Don’t you ‘hi, Mom’ me,” she said, eyeing Ava’s shirt. “Are those . . . food stains?”
“Possibly,” I said. “It was a picnic.”
She blinked. “A what?”
“A picnic,” Ava said brightly, her voice bubbling over with excitement.
“With the Grim Reapers! They’re roller skaters!
Belle invited us, and there was music and pork chops, and I met Leo, and he has a tutu and Dad—” she caught herself, glancing at me before continuing, “—and Mom fell down, but it was really funny, and everyone laughed, and it was the best day ever!”
I watched her, heart swelling. The words tumbled out of her so fast she could barely breathe between them, her hands waving for emphasis. She hadn’t talked like that in months.
My mom, meanwhile, looked horrified.
“You were roller skating?” she asked, like I’d confessed to joining a motorcycle gang.
“Just around the park,” I said. “It was fun.”
“Fun?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Eleanor, you’re a grown woman. You have a child. What on earth possessed you to do something so—so—”
“Undignified?” I supplied gently.
Her mouth snapped shut, but the answer was obvious.
Ava didn’t seem to notice the tension; she was still chattering. “Mom was really good at first! And then she fell, but Leo's dad fixed her knee, and he was nice, and Belle said we could come to another skate sometime!”
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart,” I said, smiling. “Now, how about a bath before we turn into pumpkins?”
“Can we watch a movie after?”
“Absolutely.”
She darted off toward the stairs, humming something that sounded suspiciously like “Impossible” from Cinderella.
When she was gone, the silence stretched.
My mom crossed her arms. “You really think it’s wise, gallivanting around on skates like a teenager? What if you’d broken something?”
I sighed. “Then I would’ve gotten it fixed.”
“This isn’t a joke, Eleanor. You need to think about the kind of example you’re setting.”
“I am,” I said quietly. “And I think showing Ava that her mom can try new things and laugh when she falls might be a pretty good one.”
She frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know,” I said, brushing past her toward the kitchen. “But it’s what I meant.”
She followed me halfway down the hall. “You’ve changed.”
I paused, turning just enough to meet her gaze. “Good.”
For once, I didn’t say it like an apology.
Later that night, the house was finally calm again. The only light came from the soft glow of the TV and the string of fairy lights Ava had insisted on hanging above the headboard.
We’d piled into my bed with a blanket that smelled faintly of fabric softener and summer grass. Ava had chosen the movie, Coraline, of course, and was curled against me in her pajamas, damp hair leaving a dark spot on my shoulder.
She was still buzzing, her voice sleep-slurred but unstoppable.
“Mom, did you see when Belle skated backward and didn’t even fall?”
“I did,” I said, smiling. “She’s very good.”
“And Leo said he’s been skating since he was five. He said his dad works at the City Hall.”
“City Hall?” I asked, amused. “Is that right?”
“Uh-huh. That’s what he said.”
I smiled faintly. “Well, maybe he was joking. Remember the man who patched up my knee? That was Leo’s dad.”
“Really?” I said, brushing her hair back from her forehead. “He’s a very nice man.”
Ava nodded, satisfied. “He is. Did you know Leo has one dad and two moms?”
“I did not,” I said, smiling. “That sounds like a very loved kid.”
“It’s cool,” she murmured. “He said they all live next door, and they have pizza night every Friday. They don’t even fight.”
“Sounds wonderful,” I said softly, my chest tightening a little.
Ava yawned, shifting closer. “I wish Dad could’ve been there.”
The words hit like a small, sharp ache right under my ribs.
I swallowed hard. “Me too, sweetheart.”
Her breathing began to even out, the slow rhythm of sleep taking over, but I stayed awake, staring at the flicker of the TV on the ceiling.
Leo’s family.
Alex’s smile.
The easy way he’d looked at me—like I wasn’t someone broken, just someone real.
It had been so long since anyone had looked at me that way.
I ran my thumb over the bandage on my knee, the one he’d wrapped so carefully, and thought about what it meant to start feeling something again.
It wasn’t betrayal. It wasn’t forgetting.
It was . . . life. Sneaking back in around the edges.
And it scared me almost as much as it comforted me.
I turned off the TV, pulling Ava closer as the room slipped into darkness.
“Goodnight, baby,” I whispered.