Chapter 15
Theo
I smile, watching her. She has her new favorite book clutched to her chest, the one we picked up from the library yesterday. It’s filled with pages on octopuses—colorful photographs and fun facts and diagrams of their anatomy—and she hasn’t stopped talking about it since we checked it out.
Apparently octopuses have three hearts and blue blood, can change colors in milliseconds, and are smart enough to unscrew jars from the inside. I’ve heard these facts approximately forty-seven times in the past twenty-four hours, and I’m not even a little bit tired of it.
I spot Victoria’s Audi pulling into the lot and Chloe bounces in her seat, the seatbelt straining against her small frame.
“Yay! Mommy’s here!” She’s already fumbling with the buckle, trying to free herself before Victoria even finishes parking. “Daddy, can you help me? It’s stuck!”
“Hold on, hold on.” I laugh, getting out and walking around to her side.
I pull open the door and help her with the seatbelt, grabbing her backpack and slinging it over my shoulder.
The thing weighs about thirty pounds because she insisted on packing half her stuffed animal collection, plus her colored pencils, plus the stack of drawings she made this week that she wants to show her mom.
I tried to talk her down to a more reasonable amount, but she gave me those big brown eyes and I caved immediately.
Victoria steps out of her car wearing dark jeans and a cream-colored sweater, her long brown hair pulled back in a low ponytail.
The Pacific Northwest air is crisp and cool, early afternoon sunlight filtering through the clouds, and she shields her eyes with one hand as she spots us across the parking lot.
Her face breaks into a wide smile when she sees Chloe.
Chloe takes off running, her little legs pumping, the octopus book still clutched tight against her chest.
“Chloe!” Victoria drops down, arms open wide, and catches her in a hug. “Oh, I missed you so much, my love. So so much.”
“Mommy, I missed you too!” Chloe’s voice is muffled against Victoria’s shoulder. She pulls back just enough to shove the book toward her mom’s face. “And I brought so much stuff to show you! Look, look, this is my new book from the library!”
Victoria’s eyes go wide with exaggerated amazement, giving Chloe her full attention. “Oooh, that sounds so cool, baby. I can’t wait for you to tell me all about it. We can read it together tonight before bed, okay? You can teach me everything.”
“Okay!” Chloe beams.
I hang back and watch them, Chloe’s heavy backpack digging into my shoulder.
This is the part that always gets me. Victoria can be flaky, but when she is actually with Chloe, when she’s present and focused and not distracted by whatever her husband needs, she’s a great mom.
Attentive. Fun. Genuinely interested in whatever Chloe wants to share, no matter how small or silly.
It’s the in-between that’s the problem. The times when Chloe isn’t right in front of her.
Those are the times Victoria seems to forget she has a daughter at all.
I’ve made peace with it, mostly. We have a custody arrangement that works, lawyers who helped us figure out the details, a co-parenting relationship that’s civil and functional if not exactly warm.
I don’t hate Victoria. I don’t even dislike her.
I just wish she was more consistent, for Chloe’s sake.
Victoria looks up at me over Chloe’s head, still crouched on the ground with her arms around our daughter. “Hey, Theo. It’s nice to see you.”
“Hey.” I walk over, giving her a small wave. “Good to see you too. She’s been excited about this all week.”
“Me too.” Victoria stands, brushing off her jeans, and her smile is genuine.
It took us a while to get here—the first year after the divorce was tense and awkward—but we’ve found our footing.
“I’ve been missing this one way too much.
” She looks down at Chloe and tickles her side.
“The house is too quiet without you, you know that?”
“Mommy, stop!” Chloe giggles, squirming away. “That tickles!”
Victoria relents and I hold out the backpack. She takes it and immediately her arm dips with the weight.
“Chloe, honey.” She adjusts the strap, eyebrows raised. “What is in here? Did you pack rocks?”
“No, stuffed animals,” Chloe says, like this should be obvious. “And my drawings. And my special blanket. And snacks.”
“Snacks?” Victoria raises an eyebrow. “You snuck snacks in there?”
“Just in case,” she says, completely serious.
Victoria catches my eye and we share a look, the kind of look that only parents who have negotiated packing lists with a seven-year-old can really understand. Some things transcend divorce.
“Same pick up plan as usual?” she asks, settling the backpack on her shoulder.
“Yep, I’ll be here.”
She nods, then looks down at Chloe. “Say bye to Daddy, sweetheart.”
I crouch down and Chloe crashes into me, her arms wrapping tight around my neck. I hold her close. These goodbyes never get easier, even though it’s only a few days.
“I love you, bug,” I murmur. “Be good for Mommy, okay? Have so much fun.”
“I will.” She pulls back and looks at me. “I love you too, Daddy. To the moon and back.”
“To the moon and back,” I repeat. It’s our thing, has been since she was old enough to talk. “And all the stars in between.”
She giggles and squeezes me one more time, then pulls away and grabs Victoria’s hand. “Come on, Mommy! I want to show you my drawings!”
Victoria shoots me an amused look as Chloe drags her toward the Audi. “I’ll text you when we’re heading out for pick up.”
I nod. “Drive safe.”
I watch them cross the parking lot as Victoria pops the trunk and tosses in the backpack, then opens the back door and helps Chloe climb in. She buckles her seatbelt, says something that makes Chloe laugh, and presses a kiss to her forehead before closing the door.
They pull out of the spot and Chloe’s face appears in the back window, her hand pressed flat against the glass, waving frantically. I wave back, keeping my hand up until the silver Audi turns onto the highway ramp and disappears from view.
And then they’re gone.
I stand there for a moment in the quiet of the parking lot, hands in my pockets.
A truck rumbles past on the highway. A bird calls from somewhere in the trees lining the rest stop.
The hollow feeling hits me then, the one that shows up every time I watch her leave.
That ache in my chest that won’t quite go away until I have her back again.
I head back to my car and climb in, pulling out my phone before I even start the engine. The screen lights up with a long thread of texts from Emma and I smile just seeing her name.
It’s been four days since that first night at her apartment and we’ve barely stopped talking since—texts at all hours, phone calls that stretch past midnight.
I’ve never been like this with anyone. This constant pull toward another person, this need to know what she’s doing, what she’s thinking, whether she’s smiling.
I scroll through her latest messages and type out a quick reply..
Me: Just dropped off Chloe. Heading back to town. Dinner at my place tonight? I’m cooking.
The dots appear almost instantly.
Emma: Aww sweet Chloe. Hope she has a good time with her mom!
Emma: And yes please. What are we having?
I lean back in my seat, smiling. I’ve already planned the whole evening.
It’s been bothering me that I’ve slept with her multiple times now and we still haven’t had a proper date.
She deserves more than that. She deserves to be wined and dined, romanced the right way, not just fucked in every way imaginable and fed omelettes the next morning.
So tonight I’m doing it right. Handmade tagliatelle with chanterelles and brown butter. A bottle of Luna Terza chardonnay that my brother Alex brought back from Napa and won’t stop raving about. Roasted artichokes with lemon aioli to start. Panna cotta with honey and fresh berries for dessert.
Although Alex is the true artist in the kitchen, I’ve got some game, too, and I want to impress Emma. I want her to know this isn’t casual for me.
Me: It’s a surprise. Just show up hungry.
Emma: Oooh mysterious. I’m intrigued.
Emma: Should I dress up? Candlelit romance vibes or casual?
Me: Casual. But wear something underneath. I want to finally see what was in that Simone Pérèle box at the post office the first day we met.
Emma: Oooh bossy. I like it The Simone Pérèle can be arranged.
Me: Good. Because I plan on taking my time with you tonight.
Emma: God don’t tease me. 7 o’clock already feels too far away.
Emma: What should I bring?
Me: Just yourself.
Emma: And my devastating charm and good looks?
Me: Those are a given.
Emma: See you at 7
I set my phone in the cupholder and start the Subaru, the engine humming to life. The drive back to Dark River is a couple hours, winding highway through forest and farmland, but I don’t mind. I’ve got a menu to prep, a table to set, and a woman I can’t stop thinking about waiting at the end of it.
My kitchen smells like roasted garlic and brown butter, chanterelles sizzling in the pan, fresh pasta drying on the rack by the window.
The sun has dipped below the horizon, painting the sky over the sound in shades of orange and pink and deep purple, the view stretching out through the floor-to-ceiling windows that sold me on this place the moment I first walked through.
I check the artichokes in the oven, golden and crisp, almost done, and give the pasta water a stir.
Everything is on track. The table is set with candles and cloth napkins, the bottle of chilled Chardonnay on the counter.
Most people serve white wine at refrigerator temperature, around 40 degrees, which is too cold for a great bottle like I’m serving.
Halfway between room and fridge temp is ideal, and I want tonight to be perfect.