Chapter 35 Alex
ALEX
Iwas trying to scramble eggs, toast bagels, and convince Leo to wipe up the galaxy of jam he’d smeared across the table when the knock came.
Three quick raps.
My heart did a full somersault.
“DAD!” Leo yelled from the living room, where he was currently half-dressed and wearing last night’s tutu. “ARE THEY HERE?”
“I—I don’t know,” I said, even though I absolutely knew. My entire nervous system knew. This was different. This wasn’t just a playdate or a pickup or a shared rehearsal hallway.
This was . . . brunch. With both kids. And Eleanor. Together. Like a unit.
And Leo knew we were dating. Ava knew too. Becca and Mel both definitely knew and had not so subtly been giving up time alone.
But inviting Eleanor and Ava over like this felt huge. Terrifying. Good, but terrifying.
The knock came again.
I wiped my hands on a towel, tried to push down the fluttering in my chest, and told Leo, “Wipe the table first, please.”
“But I want to say hi!”
“Table,” I said, pointing. “You can say hi in exactly thirty seconds.”
He groaned theatrically but started wiping, scattering more crumbs in the process. Progress, sort of.
My palms were sweating. Why were my palms sweating? I knew her. I’d kissed her. Done a lot more than kiss her.
Still, the idea of opening the door made my pulse jump like I was seventeen again.
I inhaled once, exhaled, and opened the door.
And there they were.
Eleanor, holding a bag of something, probably a “sorry we’re arriving with chaos” offering, knowing her. Hair tucked behind her ear on one side, blue streaks catching the morning light. She looked tired, but happier than last night, like some of the hurt had settled into something steadier.
Next to her stood Ava, gripping the strap of her backpack, her newly evened-out blue hair glowing like a crown. She looked quietly proud.
It hit me so hard I forgot how to breathe for a second.
“Oh,” I said, which was not at all the smooth greeting I’d rehearsed in my head. “Wow. You two look—uh—amazing.”
Eleanor flushed a little. “We tried to get the dye even.”
“It’s perfect,” I said, too fast. “Really perfect.”
Ava nodded solemnly, as if validating my answer.
I stepped aside quickly. “Come in. Leo’s very excited. Possibly too excited.”
“He usually is,” Eleanor murmured as she stepped past me, and oh God, the smell of her shampoo, the warmth radiating off her, the streaks of blue brushing her cheek, my brain short-circuited just a little.
Ava walked in behind her, immediately scanning the room like she was cataloging details. The tutu-clad blur of Leo came skidding out of the kitchen.
“Ava! You look like a magical warrior!”
Ava considered this. “Thank you.”
Leo turned to Eleanor. “Did you do it too?!” His eyes widened when he saw her streaks. “YOU MATCH!”
Eleanor laughed, this soft sound that hit me somewhere low in my chest. “We do.”
I took the bag from her hand. “What’s this?”
“Donuts,” she said. “Insurance. Just in case brunch goes sideways.”
“With these two?” I nodded at the kids, who were now discussing the structural integrity of a cereal-box castle. “It definitely will. But in a cute way.”
Her smile reached her eyes. A small, fragile, perfect thing.
Something that felt right.
The kids had disappeared the moment Eleanor sat down, Ava trailing behind Leo like a small, blue-haired shadow. Their voices drifted faintly from his room, already deep in imaginative world-building. Probably involving tentacles. Or magical squid queens. Or both.
Which left the kitchen quiet.
I plated the last of the eggs and set the spatula down harder than I meant to. I wasn’t sure what to say, whether to ask, whether she wanted me to ask. Last night, she’d sounded wrecked on the phone. And this morning, she looked steadier, but still frayed around the edges.
I wiped my palms on a dish towel and finally just sat across from her.
“You okay?” I asked gently. “After everything yesterday?”
She let out a long, full-body sigh, the kind that sounded like it came from the very bottom of her lungs.
“No,” she said honestly. “But I’m upright. That’s the bar today.”
I nodded. I understood that bar. I lived at that bar for years after my own marriage fell apart.
“I thought about you all night,” I admitted before I could second-guess it. “Worried, mostly. I just . . . I wish I could help more.”
She smiled in that way that always knocked the breath right out of me. “You already did.”
I wanted to believe that. But the truth was, as I sat there watching her stir a packet of sugar into her coffee with tired fingers, something in me clawed upward.
It was an urgency, protectiveness, and longing.
A desire to give her and Ava something better.
Something safe. Something separate from the pressure cooker she was living in.
I had mentioned the empty half of the duplex last night, but it wasn’t the time. She wanted to do it on her own.
And I get that. I do. But it is there, empty. She and Ava could just move in and . . . and what, we will be this happy little family I’m envisioning?
Yes. That is exactly what I wanted. But part of what I loved about Eleanor was her strength to do it on her own. She wanted to carve her own path, and I would be here cheering her on. All the while still hoping she ended up next door, the perfect new additions to this weird little life I had.
“What’s the situation this morning?” I asked.
She rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. “She snuck out.”
I blinked. “Your mom?”
She nodded, letting her spoon clatter against the mug. “I woke up expecting Round Two, but she left early for church. Probably to pray for the blue-haired heathens in their home.”
I made a face. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” she said. Then her expression fell again. “But it’s temporary. She’s going to come to me about this again.”
I leaned forward. “You don’t have to go through that alone.”
“I know,” she murmured. “But I’m still going to have to deal with it.”
I wanted to argue. To tell her she didn’t owe her mother anything. To tell her she could walk out today. Instead, I reached across the table and touched the back of her hand lightly. Just enough to offer. Not enough to push.
She didn’t pull away.
“Whatever you need,” I said quietly. “Just tell me.”
She looked up, and that tired, grateful smile, the one that was becoming dangerously precious to me, appeared again.
“Thank you,” she said. “Really.”
There was a loud crash in Leo’s room, followed by peals of laughter.
“I don’t even want to know,” I said with a small shake of my head. Eleanor huffed a soft laugh.
I stood to get the plates, keeping my hands busy so I wouldn’t do something ridiculous like confess that I wanted her in my life permanently or that seeing her with blue hair had flipped a switch inside me.
“Breakfast is ready,” I said instead.
Which, for now, was enough.
We all sat down at the table, finally, and for a moment, I just took them in. Eleanor smoothed her hair behind her ear, Ava studying the fruit salad like it might reveal hidden truths, Leo bouncing in his seat with enough energy to power the entire city block.
I set the dishes down full of eggs, fruit salad, coffee, and the French toast casserole still warm in its aluminum pan.
Eleanor’s eyebrows lifted. “You made all this?”
I cleared my throat, suddenly self-conscious. “Uh . . . most of it. The casserole is from Bread Zeppelin.”
Her smile widened. “The bakery with the backroom?”
“Yeah.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Their French toast casserole is better than anything I could make, and I figured with tryouts today, the morning should be . . . easy. Or at least edible.”
“It looks amazing,” she said, and somehow that simple compliment hit harder than any kiss.
We passed plates around. Leo served himself enough fruit to qualify as a fruit avalanche. Ava took a precise number of strawberries and exactly three blueberries. Eleanor poured herself coffee, inhaling the steam like it was oxygen.
I watched her without meaning to.
There was a softness to her face this morning, still tired, still carrying weight, but lighter than yesterday. The blue streaks framed her cheekbones, making her eyes look brighter. She looked like someone stepping into her real self, step by tentative step.
Leo and Ava were already deep in conversation.
“So there’s only one week left of school,” Leo announced, wiggling in excitement. “Which means SUMMER.”
Ava nodded gravely. “I would like to create a list of activities.”
“Yes!” Leo gasped. “We could do the museum! And the splash pad! And the comic book workshop! And—oh!—the big play at the outdoor theater where everyone gets too hot and eats popsicles.”
Ava tilted her head. “We could also construct a haunted house in your garage.”
Leo slapped both hands on the table. “YES.”
Their plans spiraled quickly, with building cardboard crypts, writing scripts for spooky musicals, and painting each other green at some point. I didn’t follow all of it, but they understood each other perfectly, two little worlds aligning.
I glanced at Eleanor to see if she was listening too.
She was.
And when she caught my gaze, she gave me this soft, small smile full of relief and gratitude and something warm that lodged in my throat.
It hit me hard.
It could be like this.
All the time.
Kids laughing in the background. Coffee mugs on the table. Her sitting across from me with sleep-warm eyes and blue hair. The quiet, steady sense of belonging thick in the air.
I swallowed hard and looked away before I did something stupid like say it out loud.
Instead, I reached for the coffee carafe. “Top-off?” I asked her.
She slid her mug toward me. “Yes, please.”
Her fingers brushed mine.
A spark. A jolt. Something.
And in the background, Leo and Ava debated whether bats or owls made better familiars, and I couldn’t imagine a world where I wouldn’t want this to happen again.
And again.
And again.