Me too #2
Elle’s hand is tucked into mine as we step up to the counter, and her eyes light up. She’s more interested in the display case than anything else.
“Hello, beautiful Miss Elle!” Rose calls from behind the counter.
“Hi, Mrs. Potts.” Elle smiles back.
“What am I getting you this morning?”
Elle leans over the cabinet, studying the rows. Then she looks up at me. “Can I get the pink one, Daddy?” she asks, pointing to a glazed donut thick with icing.
“You can get the pink one.”
We take the table near the back wall. I choose it automatically—sightline to the door, wall at our backs, view of the tables and chairs and the washroom door. Elle swings her legs under her chair and spreads out the paper and crayons Rose gave her.
“Why are we here again?” she asks, selecting a blue crayon.
I pause, considering my words. “Someone is coming to meet us.”
“Who?”
I hold her gaze. “Stacey.”
Her head tilts slightly. “Is that the lady from outside school?”
“Yeah.”
She nods once. “She knew my name.”
“She did.”
Elle nods once, absorbing that. She swipes her fingertip through the donut icing and licks it off thoughtfully.
“Is she your friend?”
“No.”
She frowns faintly at that, and I draw a slow breath, keeping my voice steady. “Stacey is your mom, bug.”
Elle goes still for a second, the blue crayon hovering above the paper.
“My mom?”
“Yeah.”
She looks toward the door, then back at me. “But I call her Stacey?”
“You can call her whatever feels okay.”
Her brows pull together, and I hate every second of this. “Do I have to hug her?”
“No,” I say immediately. “You don’t have to hug anyone you don’t want to. And I’ll be right here the whole time.”
She watches me with her clear blue eyes, then nods.
“Okay,” she says after a moment, turning back to her drawing. “But can I still eat my donut?”
A hard breath moves through my chest. “Yeah, bug. You can still eat your donut.”
Ten o’clock comes and goes, and Elle licks icing off her fingers and looks toward the door when it opens each time. She’s curious more than excited. Trying to match a name to a face she barely remembers.
At 10:12, the bell rings over the door, and Stacey walks in. She has sunglasses pushed up in her hair and a big smile already in place. She orders quickly, then makes her way over.
“Hi,” she says brightly when she reaches us. “Hi, sweetheart.”
Elle looks at her carefully. “Hello.”
Stacey leans in for a hug, and I feel my shoulders lock before I can stop it. Elle doesn’t pull away, but her little arm wraps lightly and politely around her Stacey’s waist.
The perfume hits me as she straightens. Heavy and sweet and cutting through the smell of coffee.
“Traffic was insane,” she says easily, sliding into the chair.
I glance at the clock. 10:15.
“Made it just in time, then,” I mutter.
Her phone lands face-up on the table beside her cup. It lights almost immediately, the screen glow pulling all three of us for a split second before she snatches it up, checks it, then flips it over.
Elle pushes her drawing forward. She’s been working on a picture with penguins in thick blue crayon, one taller than the other, with an egg between them.
“Oh, that’s adorable,” Stacey says, glancing down. “Are those… uh, birds?”
“Penguins,” Elle corrects gently. “With an—”
“Right. Penguins. Cute, but kinda fishy smelling.”
Stacey smiles, her eyes moving to mine, then to the coffee Rose sets in front of her. She takes a sip and picks her phone up with her other hand, thumb swiping across her screen.
Elle’s fingers flatten against the edge of her paper, and she smooths it once, then slowly pulls it a few inches back toward herself.
Stacey asks about school, then forgets her teacher’s name halfway through the sentence, even though Elle just said it. She laughs it off, then checks her phone again.
“I can’t stay long,” she says after barely ten minutes. “I’ve got an appointment.”
“With who?” Elle asks.
“Just… grown-up stuff.”
Her move eyes quickly to mine as she stands, then back to Elle. She leans in like she might kiss the top of her head, but at the last minute, she only pats her hair.
“I’ll see you soon, okay?”
Elle frowns. “Okay.”
We’re walking out by 10:27, and Elle doesn’t let go of my hand. She doesn’t run ahead or balance on the curb, or sing about penguins or pancakes or pebbles.
The paper bag with the rest of her donut swings from her other hand, and after half a block, she holds it up slightly.
“Do you think Penny likes pink donuts?”
The paper crinkles softly between her fingers, and I have to clear my throat before I answer.
“Mm,” I hum. “I bet she loves them.”
After another block of quiet walking, I squeeze her hand lightly. “You okay, bug?”
“Yeah…” Elle nods once, walks another few steps in silence, then looks up at me. “Was that lady really my mom?”
My steps falter for a moment, and I take a breath, considering what to say. But honesty has always been the most important thing to me, especially when it comes to my daughter.
I nod, glancing down at her. “Yeah.”
She considers me, then looks down at the pavement as we keep walking. “I don’t think she knows penguins take turns looking after the egg.”
I hate that she’s right. And I hate that ten minutes across a café table was enough for her to know it.
“No,” I say quietly. “She doesn’t.”
Her fingers tighten around mine. “Penny knows.”
“Yeah, bug.” My voice comes out rougher than I want it to, and I have to look away for a second. “Penny knows.”
Cars hum past on the road beside us, and somewhere down the block, a dog barks behind a fence.
But my five-year-old walks silently, and I hate how loud that feels.
***
The park the following Saturday feels colder than it should for Spring. Elle’s been quieter since Flora’s.
The penguin facts dried up first. Penny even tried leaving Dr. Dahlia running in the background while she packed lunches each morning, and I tried asking whether emperor penguins or rockhoppers would win in a hockey fight.
Usually that kind of question would’ve earned me a ten-minute lecture and at least one deeply judgmental sigh. Instead, Elle had just shrugged and kept coloring.
I look at my watch as wind skims across the grass, and Penny jogs the outer loop of the park, her bright blue athletic wear flashing between trees every few minutes. She lifts a hand in an easy wave when she spots us, and Gus gallops behind her, distracted by a bird or a squirrel every few meters.
“Is she coming again?” Elle asks as she climbs the ladder to the slide.
“She said she would.”
“Is she late?”
“Yeah.”
Stacey arrives thirteen minutes later.
“Traffic was backed up for miles,” she says breathlessly.
Same excuse, different day. And still a lie. There’s no traffic this time of day in Maplewood, not in the way she’s suggesting.
Elle climbs down slowly when she sees her.
“Hello.”
“Hi, bab—” Stacey stops herself. “Hi. I brought you this.”
She hands Elle a juice box.
“Oh.” Elle studies it. “Thank you.”
She doesn’t like that juice and hasn’t in years, but she holds it carefully and uses her manners anyway.
A hard kind of pride settles in my chest because my kid has more manners and emotional intelligence than the adult she’s currently sitting down next to.
They sit on the bench, and Stacey suggests she push her on the swings. She’s loud and eager, too over the top for the quiet morning of the park.
Elle agrees, but the juice box stays unopened on the bench. She holds the chains of the swing tight, her shoulders slightly hunched as Stacey pushes too hard, too fast. I take one step forward before Elle digs her sneakers into the dirt to slow herself, her eyes tracking over my shoulder. To Penny.
She’s slowed her jog, and when she notices Elle watching, she gives a small, exaggerated thumbs-up, then flattens her arms by her sides for a moment, pretending to waddle like a penguin.
Elle’s mouth twitches as she watches her, finally breaking into a smile that reaches her eyes.
And I stand near the sandpit with my hands buried deep in my pockets and my heart in my throat, watching my daughter light up over a fake penguin waddle.
Trying not to look too long at the woman who knew exactly how to make my kid smile, even from fifty feet away.
Stacey’s phone buzzes, and she flips it over, then flips it back.
“I’ve actually gotta head out in ten,” she says. “Something’s come up I can’t miss.”
Elle looks to me, and I glance from her to Stacey. I nod, keeping my hands in my pockets so she can’t see them clench.
“Fine.”
Seven minutes later, Stacey says her goodbyes, and promises something vague about seeing us next time at the Maplewood Cup final. She’s already halfway across the grass when Elle jumps down from the swings and wanders over to me.
She doesn’t look back toward Stacey.
“Can we get hot chocolate, please?” she asks.
“Yeah, bug,” I say, pulling Elle in against my side. “We can.”
Penny slows fully this time as she loops past us and reaches up to tug her ponytail tighter, pretending she’d planned to stop anyway.
“Did I hear hot chocolate?” she asks lightly. “With the tiny marshmallows?”
“Yeah,” Elle says, looking up at her a little brighter.
Penny nods and falls into step beside us. “Well, count me in.”
She doesn’t look at Stacey retreating across the field either, and doesn’t comment on the juice box still sitting on the bench. After a few steps, Elle lets go of my hand and reaches for Penny’s fingers instead. Penny doesn’t react beyond curling her fingers gently around hers.
“Did you know penguins can drink salt water?” Elle says suddenly, looking up at Penny. “They have a special filter thing in their beaks.”
My throat tightens as Penny smiles down at her.
“I did know that.” Penny’s eyes flick to mine, then back down to Elle. “I wonder if they like their salt water shaken or stirred.”
Elle giggles, and for the first time all week, my daughter sounds like herself again.
***
Elle’s quiet at bedtime. I brush through the ends of her hair while she watches us in the mirror.
“Daddy?”
“Mm.”
“Is Stacey really my mom?”