Chapter 22
ALEXA
Henry’s happy babbling fills the quiet of Jordan’s living room as I stack his wooden blocks into a tower that he immediately knocks down with delighted giggles. It’s our third round of this game, and his enthusiasm hasn’t waned, which makes one of us happy today.
The past week has been a careful dance of professional politeness and strategic avoidance.
Jordan leaves for his daily hospital visits just as I arrive in the mornings, and I’m usually back home with Henry before he returns.
When we do cross paths, our conversations are stilted and formal, all business, about feeding schedules and diaper supplies.
It’s exhausting, pretending that the air doesn’t crackle with tension whenever we’re in the same room. Pretending that I don’t replay that almost-kiss every night before I fall asleep. Pretending that his rejection doesn’t sting a little more each day.
The sound of his key in the front door makes my stomach tighten. I glance at the clock on the mantel. Right on time for the evening handoff.
“How’s he been?” he asks as he enters the living room, not quite meeting my eyes as he hangs his jacket on the back of a chair.
“Good. He ate all his lunch and had a solid nap.” I stand up, brushing imaginary dust from my jeans. “We’ve been working on his fine motor skills with the blocks.”
“That’s great.” His voice has that carefully neutral tone he’s perfected over the past week. “Thank you.”
We both look at Henry, who bangs a green block on the carpet. It’s easier than looking at each other.
“I wanted to remind you that I’m headed back to work tomorrow,” he says, finally meeting my eyes briefly before looking away again. “Have you had a chance to plan for the schedule change?”
“Of course.” I’ve actually been dreading this conversation. “I’ll be here by seven thirty, if that works.”
“Seven thirty is perfect.” He crouches down to Henry’s level, receiving an enthusiastic squeal and outstretched arms in response.
As he lifts Henry, I see some of the tension leave his shoulders.
“I’ve changed my schedule to more regular hours.
Ten hours max instead of the fourteen-hour shifts I used to pull. ”
“That’s good. Henry will appreciate having more predictable time with you.”
“I hope so.” He bounces Henry gently, and for a moment his expression softens. “I want to be around as much as I can. I know this transition won’t be easy for any of us.”
The way he says “us” makes my heart stutter. There is no “us” anymore, not the way there was before. Now there’s just Jordan the employer and Alexa the employee, with careful boundaries and professional distance. No more fun outings. No sitting up at night talking after the kids have gone to bed.
All of that turned to dust.
“I’m sure we’ll all adjust fine,” I say, gathering my purse and jacket while carefully avoiding any accidental contact with him. “I should head home. Ash gets out of school soon. He’s started riding the bus.”
But Jordan wouldn’t know that, wouldn’t know that Ash asked to start with the bus since some of his friends ride it. Wouldn’t know that because we’ve barely talked this last week.
“Of course.” He takes a step back, as if ensuring there’s adequate space between us. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow then.”
“Bright and early,” I confirm, the words feeling forced and unnatural.
The goodbye is painfully awkward. We both move toward the door at the same time, then both step back. He reaches for the door handle just as I do, our hands nearly touching before we both jerk away like we’ve been burned.
“Sorry,” we say simultaneously, then stand there in uncomfortable silence.
Finally, he opens the door, and I escape into the fresh air, feeling like I can breathe again only once I’m on my front porch.
I drop my purse on the foyer table and try to shake off the melancholy that’s been my constant companion lately. This is for the best. Jordan made his position clear, and I’m respecting his boundaries. The professional distance is appropriate, necessary, smart.
So why does it feel like I’m slowly suffocating?
The sound of the school bus rumbling down our street signals Ash’s imminent arrival, and I paste on my mom smile, the one that says everything is fine and normal and exactly as it should be.
But when Ash walks through the front door, he doesn’t have his usual after-school energy. His backpack hits the floor with a thud, and he slumps against the doorframe with a scowl.
“Hey, sweetheart. How was school?” I ask, immediately concerned by his mood.
“Fine,” he mutters, kicking at his backpack.
“Just fine? What happened in science class today?”
“Nothing.” He trudges toward the living room without his usual enthusiasm for sharing his day.
I follow him, noting the dejected slope of his shoulders. “Ash, what’s wrong? You seem upset about something.”
“I’m not upset.” But his voice cracks slightly, betraying him.
I sit down on the couch and pat the cushion beside me. “Come here. Talk to me.”
For a moment, I think he’s going to refuse. Then he flops down next to me with an exaggerated sigh.
“It’s just…” He stares at his hands. “Why doesn’t he come over anymore?”
My heart sinks. I’ve been so focused on my own hurt feelings that I haven’t fully considered how the change in our routine is affecting him.
“Jordan’s been busy getting ready to go back to work, remember?”
“But before, even when he was busy, we still hung out. We had dinners and worked on projects and stuff.” His voice gets smaller. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Oh, honey, no. You didn’t do anything wrong at all.” I reach over to smooth his hair back from his forehead. “Sometimes grown-ups… sometimes things just change.”
“Okay,” he says, but I can tell he’s not accepting it. Not really.
Ash had finally found a positive male figure in his life, someone who paid attention to him and took his interests seriously, and now that’s been taken away, through no fault of his own.
After he retreats to his room to start his homework, I head to my bedroom with my laptop. The familiar ritual of job hunting awaits—scanning listings, tweaking my résumé, crafting personalized cover letters.
I bookmark several promising options and start drafting applications.
The sooner I find a real job, the sooner I can extract myself from this complicated situation with Jordan.
I can give him my notice, recommend a replacement nanny service, and go back to being just the neighbor who occasionally waves when we’re both outside.
The thought should be liberating, but instead, it makes me feel hollow.
By the time I finish applying to six different positions, it’s getting dark outside. I can see lights on in Jordan’s kitchen, but I force myself to mind my own business and not look.
It’s weird, though. Sadly ironic. He’s alone in his house, and I’m alone in mine, with just the width of our yards between us when we could easily be together. It should be so simple, and yet it’s not.
“I’m making pasta for dinner,” I call to Ash, who’s on video games in the living room.
“Okay,” he responds without looking up.
As I boil water for pasta, pour a prepackaged salad into a bowl, and heat sauce in a pan, I let my mind wander to a possibility that’s been lurking at the edges of my consciousness for days. What if I sold the house?
The thought feels like betrayal at first. This is my grandmother’s house, the place where she raised me, where I’ve raised Ash.
But it’s also too big for just the two of us.
The maintenance costs are significant, the property taxes substantial.
If I sold it and bought something smaller in a different neighborhood, I could reduce my monthly expenses significantly.
I could give Ash and myself a fresh start somewhere that doesn’t come with daily reminders of what I almost had with Jordan.
The idea gains momentum as I stir the sauce. A smaller place, maybe a townhouse or condo across town. One that comes with a pool. Ash loves swimming.
Plus, I wouldn’t have to see Jordan’s car in the driveway every day. It would be somewhere I could start over without the constant reminder of my poor judgment and hurt feelings.
“Mom?” Ash appears in the kitchen doorway. “The game froze. Can you help?”
“Of course, honey.” I turn off the burner and follow him to the living room, grateful for the distraction from my spiraling thoughts.
As I help him troubleshoot, all the possibilities for the future are still on my mind.
Yes, I decide. Selling the house is the right choice. As soon as I find a new job and get my finances stable, I’ll put it on the market. It’ll be better for everyone if I create some real distance between us.
Even if the thought of leaving this house, and leaving Jordan for good, feels like losing everything all over again.
Even if starting over somewhere new feels impossible when I’m not sure I know how to let go of what we almost had.
Even if the practical, sensible choice feels like giving up on something that might have been worth fighting for, if only Jordan had been willing to fight too.