Chapter 14 Tash
Tash
The rain hadn't let up since before dawn.
At this point, the whole yard was basically a mud pie wearing last year's leaves.
Now that I had to head outside into it. I'd already unboxed all the kitchen and living room items and started on the bedroom.
Scrubbing the kitchen for the third time in two days only went so far, and I couldn't pace another lap inside without walking a lane into the floorboards.
We needed holiday cheer. I'd get some twinkle lights strung up on the eaves, put the little fake pine wreath on the porch, and pretend like I wasn't waiting to hear something from the girls.
What I didn't say out loud, mostly because it was a little deranged, was that standing on a damp stepladder, breathing in the smell of cold rain and wet wood, felt like the closest I'd come to calm today.
I'd go nuts waiting for the girls to make their decision.
So I chose the ladder over the living room, the drizzle over the uncertainty.
The last set of lights had gotten itself into the kind of knot that might've stumped a NASA engineer. I tried to untangle it, but the ladder kept shifting underneath me. Left, right, barely staying put on what passed for solid ground. I probably had mud halfway up my sweats.
The water from the gutter dripped directly onto the top of my head.
Every few seconds, it went straight down the collar of my jacket, cold enough to make me flinch.
I probably could've fixed it by just moving the ladder, but I was in the zone.
Every motion, every little yank and twist of the cord, felt like focus.
If I gave myself even a breath to think, my brain would spiral into a knot again.
But even the rhythm didn't quiet the low hum in my chest that had started after seeing Chance again, a restless pulse I kept trying to ignore.
Still, it wasn't enough. I kept replaying the same checklist. Did I make the right call pushing for the move? Was this too much, too soon, expecting Fifi and Mere to meet a man they'd only heard about? I'd told them a million times over the last week it was their decision. No pressure.
If I were honest, the waiting was eating me alive. Every time my mind tried to settle, the memory of his hands bracing me in the creek crept back in, warm and steady in a way that messed with my breathing.
The tangle fought back. If I broke a bulb or two, so what? The lights were only three dollars a box, and nobody in the creek was grading our house on curb appeal.
Huey barked from the kitchen. He was a coward about rain, so if he wanted out, it meant he was ready to burst.
I wrapped the last loop of cord around my wrist and leaned out, one hand bracing on the trim.
The ladder wobbled like a drunk, and my sneakers skidded a little.
For a half-second, I thought about how embarrassing it would be to fall into the mud.
Then the back door banged open, and my focus snapped straight to the porch.
For one stupid heartbeat, I expected to see him and felt a rush of something I had no business feeling.
They came out together. Mere first, shoulders squared, ponytail already dampening.
Fifi was right behind her, hoodie zipped to her throat, hands yanking at the string like she was trying to wring the stress out through her fingertips.
Huey squeezed right between them, tail wagging in furious little circles even as the first splash of rain hit his nose.
Fifi spoke first. "We need to talk."
It cracked my concentration clean in two. I jerked just enough to send the whole coil of lights flying out of my hands. They landed in a perfect arc, splashing into the nearest puddle by the woodpile.
The ladder teetered and rocked again. Mere darted forward, one hand bracing the bottom rung. "Careful," she said. "You're gonna break your neck if you keep doing that."
"I'm fine. Really." My words sounded fake, but I was too busy clutching the gutter to care.
Fifi didn't wait for me to get down. She just chewed on her lower lip, then blurted, "We've decided."
Every atom of me stilled. Even the rain seemed to pause for the punchline.
I tried to play it cool. "Yeah?"
She nodded, but it was clear she had to fight herself to say the next part. "We want to meet him. Our… father." The last word caught, like she wasn't sure how her mouth was supposed to form it.
My heart did something wild. I think it actually skipped, then stuttered hard enough that I had to grip the ladder tighter to keep upright.
Mere kept her hand on the rung, eyes fixed on the ground. "But only if you're there. The whole time. We're not doing this solo, Mom. Not even for a second."
As if on cue, Huey shook, spraying muddy water in every direction, then circled under the ladder. I bit my tongue to keep from making a dumb joke about support systems. I just stood there, letting the rain and the adrenaline wreck my composure.
"I—" The words got stuck. I tried again. "I'll be glued to your side, I swear."
The girls didn't let the moment drag. Mere tugged the ladder to absolute stability, then looked straight up at me, chin dripping. "You want help down?"
I found my footing and made the move, one careful step at a time.
Every muscle in my thighs felt like cooked spaghetti.
The second my sneakers landed solidly, I nearly folded.
My mind was spinning ahead to what it would feel like being in a room with him again, too close, nowhere to run from that pull.
The twins just waited, rain flattening Fifi's wisps of red hair against her cheeks. They looked older than they had the night before. Resolved and kind of worn out, but not hiding from the moment.
I wanted to say something wise, something that would anchor us all. Instead, my brain defaulted to sarcasm. "Can we all just agree that Christmas lights are a scam? The only thing worse than putting them up is untangling them in a monsoon."
Fifi cracked half a smile. Mere rolled her eyes, but it was gentle, affectionate, the kind of silent appreciation of my effort.
Huey barked again, this time more shrilly, and hopped around a leaf. I wondered, for a bizarre minute, if even he could sense how big this was.
I bent to grab the light cord out of the water, hands slick and shaking. "So," I said, keeping my voice light, "want to hash out details inside, or do we do all our family milestones in hypothermia now?"
The rain answered for me, dumping a fresh sheet straight down my collar. I yelped.
Fifi's laughter was short and bright. "Maybe inside. Unless you want to catch pneumonia for the holidays."
We all made for the door, Mere taking the lead and Fifi hanging back long enough to grab Huey by the collar. She was good like that, taking care of what she loved, even when her brain was spinning.
The word "father" echoed in my ears. The twins had made the call, and I was in, every second, every breath.
Inside, I ditched the dripping coat in the laundry closet, then wiped my palms on my wet sweats. I could see the trail of muddy pawprints already streaking the entry, but I'd have them cleaned up by sundown.
The moment was huge, bigger than I'd expected.
It took all my effort not to collapse under the weight of it.
Relief, fear, hope, terror, all mashed into one tight ache behind my sternum.
And layered under the relief was a sharp little jolt of anticipation, the kind that made me feel off balance when I imagined facing him again.
They wanted to meet their father.
Not just for me. For themselves.
It felt like a holiday miracle, and I didn't know what to do with it.
"Mom?" Mere called. "You making hot chocolate or what?"
I snapped back to reality. "Coming!"
The kitchen looked different. Almost normal.
Most of the moving boxes had vanished, replaced by shelves of cookbooks and our weird mug collection.
I'd been stress-unpacking, one cardboard casualty at a time.
A few boxes lingered by the pantry, but they were almost gone, gaping half-empty as if they'd been raided overnight by raccoons with a grudge.
The girls didn't even try to towel off before they flopped into chairs.
Mere's braid had already come unspooled, and Fifi dripped steadily into a little pool under the table.
Huey, ever the disaster enthusiast, paraded in behind them and shook, launching a confetti of rainwater and dog hair straight onto my sweats.
I snatched a dish towel and blotted at Huey, pretending this wasn't the fourth time in twenty-four hours I'd cleaned muddy pawprints off the linoleum.
Sometimes, parenting was just trading one mess for another. Especially dog-momming.
I poured the milk and dumped in twice the recommended cocoa powder. Comfort food wasn't negotiable for this round of family "negotiations." I set the mugs in front of the girls.
Steam rolled off the cocoa. Fifi practically hugged hers, letting the warmth soak up through her sleeves.
She was the first to break. "Can we set, like, time limits? I'm not doing an all-day visit."
I barked a laugh. "Absolutely. We go in, we do introductions, and after an hour, tops, we claim homework emergencies and bail."
Mere sipped, eyebrows knitting. "And you're staying the whole time. No errands, no ‘gotta take this call' stuff."
"You couldn't pry me loose with a crowbar," I promised, right hand raised in mock scout's honor. "I'm there for the whole meeting."
They traded glances, some silent twin communication zipping between them. Huey punctuated the moment by circling under the table and thunking his head into Fifi's knee, demanding attention, or possibly applause.
"What about where?" I asked, forcing the conversation forward. "Public? Private?"
Mere's voice was careful, almost clinical. "The bakery's neutral. Lots of exits, witnesses. And cake."
Fifi made a face, rolling her eyes for maximum effect. "Great, so if things get awkward, I can just stuff my face with pastries until I choke. Perfect crisis management plan." She jabbed a finger at Mere. "And don't say you disagree."
Mere didn't even blink. "What's your point?"
Fifi had to smother a real laugh, and more of the static in the air broke just like that.
Huey barked, then did his rolling trot out of the room to explore. It almost felt scripted.
Meanwhile, the twins couldn't help but slip right into their usual rhythm. Snark, argue, repeat. It was like a pressure release valve.
"I'm just saying, if he's a weirdo, cake is a solid Plan B." Fifi stared at the mug, absently tracing the rim with one finger. "What do we even call him? ‘Chance?' ‘Sir?' Dad feels so weird."
My throat tightened, but I hid it with a gulp of hot chocolate. "He'll answer to Chance, I'm sure. Or whatever makes you comfortable."
Mere went soft, voice barely above the hum of the fridge. "Is he kind? Like, not just pretending, but real?"
I weighed that, turning all my two brief encounters with the man over in my head. The memory of his eyes, gray, sharp, but not cruel, even when he controlled his anger.
"He can be intense," I said carefully. Intense was one word for it. The way he'd looked at me yesterday had felt like a current I couldn't step out of. "But not mean. He's good with people. He cares, and he wants this. He wants you to feel safe, more than anything."
Fifi scowled, but the fight was draining out of her. "Does he even want to meet us? Or is this, like, you guilt-tripping him into a family reunion for science?"
"Trust me," I said, letting my own nerves show, "if I'd told him you wanted to wait a year, he would've respected it.
He nearly lost his mind when he found out you existed.
When I saw him, he was like a bloodhound on the scent.
He wants you both. But if it's too weird, you say the word and we take a break. "
Even Huey seemed to approve, falling back to sprawl beneath the table, chin resting between the girls' feet, like some strange four-legged mediator.
We nursed the cocoa and hashed out every hypothetical scenario. What if he cried? Bring tissues. What if someone recognized us at the bakery? Deny everything, swipe cake, exit out the back. What if it was too public, and the feelings got ugly or embarrassing?
"Then we go somewhere private," I said. "If you want, we can ask to meet him at home."
Mere perked up at that, clearly turning the idea over. "You mean, like, his house? That might be easier. Less crowded. Nobody watching."
Fifi shrugged but didn't argue. It was probably the closest she'd ever get to a confession that she was nervous about other people seeing her break down.
It was settled. His house, short meeting, no solo time. The only thing left to do was actually set it up. Cue the return of the mutant nerves.
I reached for my phone. It skidded out of my fingers, bounced off the table, and landed against Huey's butt before sliding onto the tile.
"Smooth," Fifi snarked, "and cool under pressure."
Mere just grinned. "Try again, Mom."
I did. The second time, I secured it with both hands and typed, feeling every tremor down to my bones.
Ready to set up a meeting. The girls want to do it at your house, with me present at all times. One hour, max. Let me know when works for you.
I hovered over send. But the twins watched expectantly, so I hit send and pretended it didn't feel like jumping off a ledge blindfolded.
Fifi had gone quiet, eyes back on her mug. Mere absently twisted the end of her braid, eyes on the rain beyond the window.
I sipped my chocolate and tried to steady my pulse.
Whatever happened next, we'd face it together.
Even if I had to sweep the kitchen floor a hundred more times to keep my hands from shaking.