Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
On Monday, I texted Hallie asking if she could get Emma off the bus, but I didn’t get a response. Instead, an hour later, I got one from my mom, telling me she’s on Emma duty that day.
The same happens on Tuesday. I got into an argument with Emma that day about cleaning up after herself, which ended with her slamming her door and not coming out for an hour. After, she apologizes to me tearfully, and we sit on the couch to watch a movie together.
I’m a glutton for punishment, saying “fine” when she picks In a New York Minute.
I don’t see Hallie on Wednesday or Thursday.
On Friday, I got a text from my sister saying she’s picking Emma up from school to spend the afternoon together.
For a moment, I think maybe Hallie is meeting them there, but when I drive past her place on the UTV and see her car in the same place it had been all week, I assume that’s not the case.
I fucked up.
I got angry, and then I pushed too hard, too fast, when I needed to go slow, to ease her into the idea of giving this a chance between us.
Despite what she wants me to believe, I don’t think she’s as opposed to the idea of us being together as she wants me to believe she is; she’s just absolutely terrified for some reason.
In fact, on Friday, there was a moment where she almost said yes, almost took the plunge, and then thought better of it.
I’ve gone over it a dozen times, trying to understand, but haven’t been able to figure out where I went wrong.
And without that knowledge, I can’t figure out what to do next.
I get home late, spending more time out on the farm this week than I have in a while, trying to keep myself distracted, so when I make it home, Wren already has Emma in bed.
“How was she?” I ask quietly, assuming Emma is probably still reading in her bed, and my sister shrugs.
“A little moody.”
“It’s been a pattern this week,” I say with a deep sigh, running a hand over my face.
“Hallie said she was fine when she was watching her.” I shrug as if I didn’t notice it, though I did.
And I’ve noticed the stark difference now that Hallie isn’t here again and how she seems to have reverted to her earlier attitude.
She might be feeding off of my own shitty mood, but either way, without Hallie around, the house is far less peaceful.
“Maybe she was being extra good for her. I have no idea.”
“Or maybe she just really likes her, and they get along,” Wren says, and I shrug as if that never crossed my mind. “Maybe she’s acting out because she misses her.”
“Yeah, well, Hallie’s been busy.” My sister looks at me skeptically, head tipping to the side as she leans her ass on the table, crossing her arms on her chest. I try not to pay attention to her, knowing that look is her assessing one, the one she gives parents and students alike when she thinks they’re not being entirely truthful.
“Is there something going on with you two?” she asks, tipping her head to the side.
“No. Why?” I quickly respond. Probably too quickly, if I’m being honest.
“Uh, because that was weird as could be at The Mill?”
“I acted the same way I would if you brought Adam home and I could tell he was a fuckwad.”
Wren’s nose scrunches up, annoyance taking over her face before she sighs and confesses.
“Don’t tell her because she’s really mad at you and wouldn’t want to hear it, but Adam said the same thing.”
I nod. “That’s because Adam’s a good guy with a brain in his head.” Relief washes over me as she seems to accept my statement, standing and shaking her head.
“You three are miserable.”
I shrug and don’t speak, not even as she stares at me, waiting for me to crack. Unfortunately, while Wren is good at guilting people into talking, she was taught by our mother, whom I have also learned to shield myself from.
Eventually, she sighs and stands. “Anyway, I should get home.”
I nod with relief, then walk my sister out and head back inside, checking the fridge for dinner and grabbing a leftover container from the freezer.
I don’t let myself think too hard about the fact that it’s a meal Hallie and Emma made together, or that Hallie had the foresight to make individual portions with the leftovers and freeze them for later.
I eat standing, straight out of the microwaved container, as I move through the house, cleaning up a bit and tidying up things before heading to my room for the night.
As I’m wiping the counter, the light on Emma’s phone flashes from where it’s charging on the kitchen counter with a new text from Mommy.
When I catch the first few words, I groan, then open the text, the dread sinking deeper as I scroll to the top of the most recent conversation with her mom.
Hey, baby! I want to throw you a birthday party this year with a bunch of your friends! I’m going to rent a bunch of hotel rooms. How many friends do you think you’d like? What about a theme?
I groan, wishing I had seen this earlier so I could fucking delete it, but Emma already responded with a dozen exclamation points and three GIFs of dancing cats, then told her ten friends would be good.
They’ve gone back and forth a few times with dates, with both the weekend before and after her late March birthday in the running.
If it were anyone else, I’d think it was just a kind gesture, but with Kim, I always mentally prepare for things to fall through.
I think sometimes she genuinely has good intentions, but when kids are involved, you can’t just run on good intentions, especially not when the chances of her actually following through with this party are slim to none.
This is exactly what I feared when I realized Kim and Emma would have a direct line to one another, without me as a buffer to filter out the chaos and protect her from disappointment.
Mentally, I plan to call Kim sometime this week to see just how real these plans are and to try to come up with a way around it—how to plan a party for Emma without stepping on toes.
I sigh, marking the message as unread for Emma to see in the morning and closing out of the screen, and I’m about to shut it down when I spot another name on the message screen: Hallie.
Hallie’s been ignoring me for the past week since our blowup, but thankfully, she hasn’t been ignoring Emma, who has been texting her nightly.
I hesitate for only a moment before opening the conversation thread. It’s not something I usually do. Emma has never done anything to make me feel like she doesn’t deserve privacy or trust, but seeing Hallie’s name is like a beacon I can’t resist.
I find myself smiling at the incredibly wholesome conversations about hair and makeup, and music. Emma sent her a couple of pictures this past week, and Hallie sent her one of the deer she must have taken.
Can we have a girls’ day again?
Absolutely. We’ll set something up with Wren.
Can you have dinner at my house again soon?
That answer took a bit longer to come, and when it did, it was less promising.
We’ll see. Did you do your homework yet?
As I scan over their conversation, it’s clear Hallie’s been keeping tabs on Emma’s life, asking about tests and girl drama that I skim over, not wanting to learn anything my daughter hasn’t told me about, but with each conversation, my heart warms in my chest and the realization hits yet again, though this time it settles even deeper.
Hallie is perfect for me.
She’s not just perfect for me, but perfect for us, for this tiny family Emma and I have.
I want Emma to have this—to have Hallie, a woman who, unlike anyone else in her life, understands what she’s going through and the complicated relationship with her mother and could probably hold her hand through it all.
Despite what she wants to believe, Hallie belongs here.