19. Jordan
JORDAN
The building set is spread across Alexa’s coffee table like the blueprint for a small city. Tiny plastic beams and connectors are sorted into neat piles, and what started as a simple project has evolved into something that looks like it could withstand a minor earthquake.
“Just five more minutes?” Ash pleads, holding up a section of the partially constructed bridge we’ve been working on for the past two hours. “We’re so close to finishing this part.”
“It’s already past your bedtime,” Alexa says gently, glancing at the clock on her mantel. “We can work on it more tomorrow.”
“But we’re at the tricky part! If we stop now, we might forget how we were doing it.”
I look at the intricate construction we’ve built together and have to admit he has a point. We’ve created something pretty impressive for an evening’s work, and the engineering principles involved are actually quite complex.
“He’s right about this being a challenging section,” I tell Alexa. “But your mom’s also right about bedtime. The bridge will still be here in the morning.”
Ash sighs dramatically but starts gathering up the loose pieces. “Can we work on it right after breakfast?”
“We’ll see,” Alexa says with the diplomatic response of an experienced parent. “Now go brush your teeth.”
After Ash trudges off to the bathroom, I help Alexa carefully move the partially constructed project to a side table where it won’t get bumped.
Henry has been asleep in the portable bassinet in her guest room for over an hour, and the house has that peaceful quiet that comes when children are finally settled for the night.
“I’ll just get him tucked in and be right back,” Alexa says, following the sound of running water toward Ash’s bathroom.
Left alone in her living room, I take a moment to really look around.
This house feels so different from mine.
Where my place is pristine and minimally furnished, Alexa’s home is lived-in and warm.
Family photos cover the mantel, books are stacked on every available surface, and throw blankets are draped over chairs like they’re actually used for comfort rather than decoration.
The kitchen draws my attention, and I notice her tea cabinet is slightly open, revealing an impressive collection of boxes and tins.
On impulse, I put the kettle on and start exploring her options.
Chamomile, Earl Grey, green tea, something called “Sleepytime,” and at least a dozen others I’ve never heard of.
By the time Alexa returns, I’m standing at her counter with two steaming mugs and a grin.
“You made tea?” She looks genuinely surprised and pleased, which makes something warm settle in my chest.
“I figured, after all that engineering work, we could use some caffeine-free relaxation.” I hand her one of the mugs. “Though I have to say, your tea collection is impressive. Do you actually drink all fifty varieties in there?”
She laughs, settling onto the couch with her mug cradled in both hands. “Not fifty. Maybe forty-seven.”
“What’s the difference between ‘Bedtime Bliss’ and ‘Nighttime Serenity’? Because I’m pretty sure they’re the same thing with different marketing.” I take a seat on the other end of the couch, wanting to be close to her but also making sure to keep my distance.
“Completely different,” she says with mock seriousness. “One has lavender, the other has chamomile. Totally different levels of serenity.”
“My mistake. Clearly, I’m not sophisticated enough to understand the nuances of therapeutic tea blending.”
“It’s a habit I picked up from my grandmother,” Alexa explains, her expression softening. “She had this massive tea collection, and whenever I was upset or worried about something, she’d make me a different kind of tea and tell me stories until I felt better.”
There’s something wistful in her voice that makes me want to know more about this grandmother, who clearly meant so much to her.
“She sounds like a wonderful woman.”
“She was. She’s really the one who raised me.” Alexa takes a sip of her tea, looking thoughtful. “My parents were… complicated. But Grandma was always there.”
“Family isn’t always about blood,” I find myself saying, though I’m not sure why I’m sharing this. “Amy and I aren’t actually related, but she’s the most important person in my life.”
Alexa looks up from her mug, clearly surprised. “Really?”
“We grew up together in a group home for orphans. Best friends from the day we met when we were seven and eight. Our adoptive parents took us both when I was eleven and Amy was twelve.” I settle back into the couch, surprised by how easy it is to talk to her about this.
“Most people don’t know we’re not biological siblings. ”
“That’s beautiful,” Alexa says softly. “That you found each other and stayed together.”
“Amy made sure of it. When the Hadleys said they wanted to adopt her, she told them it was a package deal. Either they took both of us, or neither of us.”
“She sounds fierce.”
“She is. She’s always been the one who fights for what matters.” The words come out before I can stop them, and suddenly I’m thinking about Amy lying in that hospital bed, unable to fight for anything right now.
Something in my expression must have changed, because Alexa leans forward slightly, her eyes concerned.
“Jordan? Are you okay?”
And maybe it’s the tea, or the comfortable warmth of her living room, or the way she’s looking at me like she actually cares about the answer, but I find myself telling her the truth.
“Amy’s in a coma.”
The words hang in the air between us, and I watch Alexa’s face process what I’ve just said.
“Oh, my God, Jordan. What happened?”
“Car accident. Three weeks ago. She was rushing to pick up Henry from daycare.” I stare into my tea, unable to meet her eyes. “That’s where I go in the afternoons. That’s why I’ve been so distracted. She’s been unconscious since the day I brought Henry home.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I find myself unable to go on.
“Jordan…” Alexa’s voice is full of compassion, and when I finally look up, there are tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I couldn’t.” The admission comes out rougher than I intended. “I’ve spent so many years having people feel sorry for me. The foster kid, the orphan who bounced around the system. I can’t stand that look people get when they think your life is tragic.”
“You don’t have to carry this alone.”
“I’ve been carrying things alone for most of my life. It’s what I know how to do.”
She sets down her mug and turns toward me fully. “That must have been so hard, growing up in care.”
“It was. But having Amy made it bearable. She was my constant, the one person who never left.” My voice cracks slightly. “I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t wake up.”
“She will,” Alexa says with quiet conviction. “And until she does, Henry has you. And you have people who care about you, whether you want us to or not.”
Us.
The kindness in her voice almost undoes me. “I barely lasted one day taking care of Henry without help. How have you managed all these years on your own?”
“You do what you have to do. There’s no choice when you’re responsible for someone else’s life.
” She looks toward the hallway where Ash’s room is, probably making sure he isn’t sneaking back out here.
“When Ash’s father left, I was terrified.
No support, no money, a baby who depended on me for everything.
But you figure it out because you have to. ”
“How old was Ash when he left?”
“Three months.” The words are quiet, but I can hear years of hurt beneath them. “He said he wasn’t ready to be a father, that it was all too much responsibility. Just packed up and left one day while I was at work.”
My stomach feels like it twists in on itself. “I’m sorry. He’s an idiot for walking away from you and Ash.”
“His loss,” she says, but I can see that his abandonment still affects her. “It was hard for a long time. Really hard. But we made it work.”
“You did more than make it work. You raised an incredible kid. Ash is smart, kind, and confident. That doesn’t happen by accident.”
“Thank you for being such a good role model for him. He’s never had a man in his life who showed genuine interest in what he thinks and feels. It means more than you know.”
We’re sitting closer now, though I’m not sure when that happened. The space between us feels charged with something I’m not sure I should name.
“You mean more than you know,” I tell her, and suddenly I become aware of her every eyelash, of her soft inhales and exhales.
“Jordan…” she whispers, and I can see in her eyes that she feels it too, this pull between us that’s been growing stronger every day.
I lean forward slightly, my heart pounding as she doesn’t pull away. Her lips are slightly parted, and I can smell her shampoo and nearly taste her mouth.
Just as I’m about to close the distance between us, Henry’s cry crackles through the baby monitor on the side table.
We spring apart like we’ve been electrocuted, both of us breathing hard and staring at each other with something that might be relief or disappointment. Maybe both.
“I should…” I gesture vaguely toward the guest room.
“Of course. He probably needs a diaper change.”
I stand up too quickly, nearly knocking over my tea mug in the process. “Thank you. For listening. For… everything.”
“Jordan.” Her voice stops me at the hallway entrance. “We should probably talk about what just almost happened.”
But Henry’s cries are getting louder, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that conversation yet.
“Tomorrow,” I tell her. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
As I head toward the guest room to take care of Henry, I can’t stop thinking about how close I came to kissing her. How much I wanted to kiss her. How much I still want to kiss her.
And how complicated everything is about to become.