Chapter 23
ALEXA
The clock on my kitchen wall reads seven fifteen p.m., and I’m bouncing Henry against my shoulder while pacing between my counter and the window that faces Jordan’s house.
He’s been fussy for the past hour, probably sensing my own restless energy as we wait for Jordan to come home from what was supposed to be a ten-hour workday.
It’s been a week since he returned to the hospital, and each day his shifts have stretched longer. Yesterday it was eleven hours. The day before, nearly twelve. Today marks thirteen hours since he left this morning, kissing Henry’s forehead and promising to be home by dinner.
“I know, sweetheart,” I murmur to Henry as he makes unhappy sounds against my neck. “I miss him too.”
The admission slips out before I can stop it.
Because that’s what this feeling is, isn’t it?
Missing Jordan. Missing the easy routine we had established before he went back to work.
Missing the man who used to come home eager to hear about Henry’s day, who would roll around on the living-room carpet making silly faces until Henry giggled.
Now I’m lucky if I see Jordan for five minutes in the morning before he rushes out the door, coffee mug in hand and already mentally at the hospital.
My phone buzzes with a text: Surgery running late. Will be at least two more hours. So sorry. Will pay overtime of course.
I stare at the message, feeling that familiar knot of frustration tighten in my chest. The overtime pay is nice, but Henry doesn’t need money. He needs his uncle. Another couple hours means Jordan won’t be home until past nine, and Henry will be asleep. Again. For the third night this week.
“Well, buddy, looks like it’s just us for dinner,” I tell Henry, settling him into his high chair in my kitchen.
The parallel hits me with unexpected force.
This is exactly how it felt nine years ago when Ash was an infant and his father would promise to be home for bedtime, then text at the last minute with another excuse.
The feeling of being a single mom of two crashes over me, except now I’m caring for someone else’s child while that child’s guardian chooses work over family.
After I get the three of us fed and Henry settled in the portable crib that’s set up in my guest room, I find Ash in the living room building something elaborate with his LEGO. He’s been quieter than usual this week, less enthusiastic about school and friends.
“How’s the spaceship coming?” I ask, settling onto the couch beside him.
“It’s not a spaceship. It’s a headquarters.” He doesn’t look up from the intricate structure he’s building. “Like the ones in Jordan’s comics.”
“Ah. Very cool.” I watch him work, noting the careful precision with which he places each piece. “You’ve gotten really good at these big builds.”
“Jordan showed me some tricks for making the walls stronger.” Ash finally looks up, and there’s something wistful in his expression. “When do you think he’ll have time to see it finished?”
The question pierces straight through my heart. I know the truth: Jordan probably won’t make time for soccer games or LEGO headquarters anymore. His old life is reclaiming him, one late night at a time. But I can’t crush Ash’s hope.
“He’s been really busy at work,” I say carefully.
“I know.” Ash turns back to his building. “But I thought maybe on the weekend we could play soccer like we used to. It’s been forever.”
Forever. To a nine-year-old, a week probably does feel like forever.
“He’s still adjusting,” I say, hating myself for the false hope in my voice. “We’ll see.”
Ash nods, but I can see the disappointment he’s trying to hide. This is what I was afraid of. Getting attached to someone who isn’t fully committed is dangerous when it’s not just my heart on the line… It’s also my son’s.
After Ash goes to bed, I settle into my own bedroom with my laptop and a cup of tea.
The room feels like a sanctuary with its soft gray walls, the vintage quilt my grandmother made draped across the foot of my bed, and photos of Ash at various ages scattered across my dresser.
There’s the reading chair by the window where I used to curl up as a teenager, and the antique jewelry box that still holds my grandmother’s pearl earrings.
For a brief, foolish moment, I had imagined what it would be like to share this space with someone. With Jordan. I’d pictured his coffee mug on my nightstand, his books mixed with mine on the shelf, the way the morning light might look different with someone beside me.
The fantasy feels ridiculous now.
My email inbox shows the usual collection of promotional messages and automated responses, but one subject line makes me sit up straighter: Second Interview — Marketing Coordinator Position — Houser & Associates.
My pulse quickens as I open the email.
Dear Ms. Costello,
Thank you for your interview last Tuesday. We were impressed with your experience and would like to invite you back for a second interview with our creative director and account management team.
Would you be available next Friday at 2:00 p.m.? This would be the final step in our hiring process, and we’re hoping to make a decision by the end of next week.
The position offers excellent benefits, a competitive salary, and growth opportunities within our expanding team.
Please confirm your availability at your earliest convenience.
Best regards, Allan Hollandsworth, Human Resources Manager
I read the email twice, my heart racing. At least seventy thousand dollars starting salary, based on what Allan had mentioned during our first interview. Full benefits. A real marketing position.
This could be it. The opportunity I’ve been waiting for. The chance to get my career back on track and provide real stability for Ash and me.
But it would also mean leaving Jordan and Henry. Walking away from the daily routine that’s become so important to both Ash and me.
From Jordan, whom I can’t seem to stop caring about, despite his determination to keep me at arm’s length.
My phone buzzes with another text from Jordan: Just finished. Heading home now. Thank you for staying late again.
I glance at the clock. Ten twenty p.m., and Henry has been asleep for over an hour.
The email from Houser & Associates glows on my screen, waiting for an answer.
It’s time to stop waiting for Jordan to figure out what matters. Maybe this interview is exactly the escape route I’ve been looking for.