29. First Light, Again - Reese #2
“Thank you,” Maren says softly, as she leans in and gently kisses her on the cheek. “For getting up early. For all of this.”
Reese leans into the kiss. “I like taking care of you.”
Maren closes her eyes for just a moment, letting them both just exist.
The house stays quiet around them, the soft calm of their morning stretching like it always does, warm and familiar.
“Go get our kid,” Maren whispers.
Reese nods, finishing the last sip of her coffee before heading down the hall toward Rowan’s door.
Reese taps lightly on Rowan’s door with the back of her knuckles. There is no response, which is not surprising. Rowan has always been a deep sleeper on meet mornings. All nerves, all adrenaline, none of it showing until she hits the pool deck.
Reese cracks the door open.
Rowan is a tangle of blankets and limbs, one arm thrown over her face, hair everywhere. Her phone is plugged in on the nightstand, the alarm silent, turned off at some point that Reese is certain Rowan will deny.
“Kid,” Reese says quietly. “Morning.”
A muffled groan answers her.
Reese steps closer and nudges the edge of the blanket. “Rise and shine. You have a meet today. First high school meet. Big stuff.”
Another groan, longer this time. Rowan pulls the blanket over her head like she is attempting to disappear.
Reese bites back a laugh. “If you hide, I still have to tell your mother you were late. And I’m not dealing with Coach Callahan-Clarke before she finishes her coffee.”
The blanket shifts. Rowan peeks out with one eye, squinting like the room is too bright even though the curtains are closed.
“I was awake,” Rowan mumbles.
“You were not,” Reese replies. “Your alarm is off. Your hair looks like you got in a fight with a ceiling fan. And your meet bag is attempting an expressionist art piece on my kitchen table.”
Rowan pushes herself upright with a sigh that sounds entirely too dramatic for seven in the morning. “I was going to fix it.”
“Sure,” Reese says. “At some point. In theory.”
Rowan narrows her eyes, but there is no real heat behind it. “You are annoying in the mornings.”
“That is why your mother married me,” Reese says. “Balance.”
Rowan snorts despite herself, then swings her legs over the side of the bed, feet hitting the carpet with a soft thump. She rubs her eyes, then stretches her arms over her head until her shoulders pop.
Reese watches her for a moment. The kid who used to hop around the house at this hour is still there, just taller now, stronger, surer of herself. Fourteen looks good on her.
“Alright,” Reese says. “Teeth, hair, suit check, and then breakfast. Your mother will want a full inventory before we leave.”
Rowan groans again, but she stands and shuffles toward the bathroom.
As Reese turns to leave, Rowan’s voice catches her in the doorway.
“Mom,” she says softly.
Reese glances back.
Rowan gives a small smile, still sleepy at the edges. “Thanks for waking me up.”
Reese’s chest warms. “Always, kid.”
She closes the door gently behind her and starts down the hall, the pace of the morning beginning to build around her.
Reese steps back into the kitchen just as Maren is checking the time on the stove clock for the third time.
Her coaching jacket is on now, team logo bright, hair pulled neatly into a braid she probably finished half asleep.
She moves around the kitchen with that purposeful calm she gets on meet days, straightening things that do not need straightening and glancing toward the hallway every few seconds.
“Please tell me you didn’t let her fall back asleep,” Maren says.
“Teeth, hair, suit check,” Reese says. “Your kid is operational.”
Before Maren can respond, Rowan appears in the doorway, meet bag slung over her shoulder.
The bag looks much less like an art installation now and more like something that might actually make it to the pool.
Rowan is chewing half a piece of toast and blinking at the kitchen light like it offends her.
“I fixed it,” she says, lifting the bag in one hand.
Maren arches a brow. “Fixed as in actually packed or fixed as in you shoved everything in and hoped for the best.”
Rowan hands her the bag with a sigh that is pure teenage suffering. “Check it then.”
Maren does. Of course she does. She unzips the top, looks inside, shifts something, zips it again. “Okay. Acceptable.”
Rowan throws her hands up. “That is what I said.”
Reese hides a smile behind her mug. “You two are adorable in the morning.”
Maren shoots her a look. “You are not helping.”
Rowan puts her toast on a napkin and reaches for her water bottle. “I’m ready to go.”
Maren inhales sharply, eyes narrowing. “Shoes.”
Rowan looks at her socks—mismatched like always. “I’m getting them.”
She disappears toward the front door.
Maren picks up her own bag, then turns to Reese, pointing at her with a narrowed gaze. “You better not be in slippers.”
Reese looks down slowly. Slippers.
Maren groans. “Reese.”
“I was getting my kid up,” Reese says, already grabbing her shoes from near the couch. “Multitasking.”
“You say that like it helps.”
Reese pulls her shoes on and straightens, taking Maren’s hand for a moment. “Hey. We will be fine.”
Maren sighs but squeezes her fingers before letting go.
Rowan calls from the front door. “We are going to be late.”
Reese grabs her travel mug and heads toward them. “I’m not going to be the reason we are late today.”
Maren gives her a look that carries five years of love and exactly zero faith in Reese’s punctuality. “We will see.”
Reese grins as she locks the door behind them, the three of them stepping out into the cool morning, all moving toward the same day, the same pool, the same future.