Chapter 18
Milo’s head sits snugly against my body as I trudge up the steps to my front door. Tonight had not ended how I expected it to. But plans being derailed, emergencies happening, and guilt crashing in were all a part of the harsh reality of dating as a single parent.
When I reach the top of the steps, my head turns to the second level of the duplex, where warm light spills out of the window above. My heart creaks against my chest.
The way Henry rolled with everything tonight had left me feeling exposed. He made me feel like my situation wasn’t a burden or an inconvenience. It made me feel like this thing between us could work, and where I had prepared for struggle, Henry met me with acceptance and compassion.
I should’ve been happy, but I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like I couldn’t truly be happy until we met our first big obstacle.
I adjust Milo in my arms and fumble with my keys, a sigh escaping my lips when I finally push open the door. Inside, the familiar scent of the sandalwood candle I lit earlier still lingers, a quiet reminder of everything that didn’t happen tonight.
But as I set Milo down on the couch, his eyes fluttering open and then closed again, my heart doesn’t feel empty. I could never feel empty with his tiny fingers wrapped around mine. The nights spent with him might not always be the most memorable, but they felt the most rewarding.
I’m about to pick him up and take him to his bed when my eyes snag on his left foot, which is missing a shoe. A curse slips past my lips, thinking back to my moment on the porch. It must have fallen off then.
Rising carefully, I tip-toed toward the door, trying not to wake my toddler. I hold my breath as I carefully open the door and keep my eyes glued to Milo’s slumped head.
When I step outside, the air is crisp, carrying the faint smell of damp earth from the rainstorm two days earlier. I step onto the front porch and scan the steps, instantly spotting the tiny sneaker near the railing. As I bend to pick it up, I see something from the corner of my eye.
My breath catches when I see the hummingbird feeder swaying back and forth in the wind. My hand clutches the part of my chest that covers my beating heart.
I bite my lip and turn toward the light from a few moments ago, but only darkness shrouds the window when I look up. I let out a staggered breath and my hand traces over the tattoo behind my ear.
I wasn’t sure who hung the feeder on my front porch, but I knew there was a good chance it was Henry.
I had told him about the hummingbird feeder during our first meeting, but I didn’t expect him to listen, let alone remember such an important detail in my life. How could someone so good exist in a world where I’d learned to expect so much disappointment?
He didn’t even know the whole story, and yet, as my fingers brushed against the smooth glass, I knew he didn’t need to know.
A memory tugs at the edges of my mind, pulling me back to another porch, another hummingbird feeder.
I was nine years old, knees pulled up to my chest as I perched on the wooden step of our old rental.
Inside, the muffled sound of yelling spilled through the screen door, but I was getting good at tuning out my mother’s relentless sparring with her boyfriend.
I focused on the hummingbird feeder above me, its syrupy red nectar glinting in the afternoon sun.
A hummingbird darted into view, its tiny wings a blur as it hovered near the feeder. I held my breath, enamored by the iridescent shimmer of its feathers. The feeder was a gift from my Nana, and I cherished any peace it could provide through the chaos inside.
Even then, I knew it wouldn’t last. When the yelling grew louder and a door slammed, the bird flitted away, disappearing into the trees.
That was usually when my mother would stomp down the porch to announce I was on my own for dinner that night. But that was fine. That just meant she would take her chaos and noise with her.
The porch creaking under my feet brings me back to the present. I straighten, Milo’s shoe dangling from my fingers as I stare at the feeder. I swallow hard, and my memories are replaced with the vision of big brown eyes and thick glass frames.
Henry couldn’t have known what it meant to me. And yet, the gesture felt like he’d reached into my soul and touched the most fragile parts without even trying. It was impossible to hide from someone who saw me so clearly.
With one last deep breath, I step back inside, locking the door behind me. I sit Milo’s shoe on the table near the entryway and turn back toward the couch. He’s still curled up peacefully, his tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm.
The chaos of my childhood felt a world away, but the fear of it festering in my new life still lingered. Henry had given me a glimpse of something better—a life where love wasn’t something to be endured but something to be cherished.
And yet, as I stood there in the quiet of my living room, I couldn’t help but wonder how long it would last.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” I ask Milo, who’s camped out on the couch watching his favorite cartoon.
He looks up at me with a big smile before I hand him his juice, and he turns his attention back to the TV. I sit beside him and snuggle close while tossing a blanket over us.
I haven’t left his side since the incident over the weekend and dreaded going to work tomorrow. I took the day off to spend with him. I knew he was fine, but the guilt of not being there for him when he needed me kept poking at my side.
I also felt guilty about Henry. My mind was still reeling from the hummingbird feeder. I had decided that he put it on the front porch. It was the only option that made sense.
Now, I wasn’t sure how to talk to him. I had debated sending him a quick message telling him Milo and I had gotten home okay, but that felt too casual. Everything I thought of felt too casual with Henry. These last few days have made me realize how much my feelings have grown in such a short time.
I felt like I needed to take a minute and catch my breath before I talked to him again. Part of me had this undying need to let him comfort me. To let him be there for me. But then again, that was exactly what I was trying to avoid.
I couldn’t end up in a situation where I relied on someone else to take care of me. Henry was great, but I wasn’t even sure if he planned to stick around when summer was over. We hadn’t talked about it.
But the way he looked at me and everything he did for me didn’t make it seem like he was thinking about leaving. That thought fills my head as I reach for my phone on the table.
I’m debating on calling him when a knock interrupts my train of thought. It’s sharp and precise—Nana’s knock.
I glance at Milo, who doesn’t even flinch at the sound, his eyes glued to the cartoon characters bouncing around the screen. Carefully, I untangle myself from the blanket and head for the door.
When I open the door and see Nana standing there, all the tension over the past few weeks dissipates. Her small frame is enveloped in a big grocery bag almost half her size.
She peeks around the side and says, “Thought you could use some things.” She steps inside before I can thank her, heading straight toward the kitchen.
I turn around to close the door, but not before another shape fills the frame. All the tension comes hurdling back toward me like whiplash.
“Hey, Mom,” I swallow hard. “Didn’t expect to see you.”
She shrugs as if it’s no big deal. Like we haven’t seen each other in months. “I was with your nana when you called her. Thought I’d tag along and see my grandson. That’s not a problem, is it?”
I step aside to let her in, ignoring the way my shoulders tighten. “Of course not.”
My nana reappears just in time, heading straight for Milo. “Hello, Mi! How’s my strong little guy doing?”
Milo perks up at the sound of her voice, twisting in his spot to wave at her with his good arm. He grins wide and proudly points to his cast with pride. My nana smiles brightly down at him and then disappears to the kitchen to finish unpacking the groceries.
My mom stands beside the door awkwardly, looking around my new apartment. This is the first time she’s been here, so I’m not surprised by how out of place she looks. She never quite fit into other spaces in my life either.
Finally, her gaze settles on me, and I brace myself for whatever she’s about to say. “You look tired,” she says, her tone halfway between observant and judgmental. We are off to a great start.
I force a smile. “It’s been a long weekend.”
Her eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn’t comment. Instead, she moves toward the couch and crouches by Milo, her voice constricting into almost performative concern. “How are you doing, little guy? Are you being brave for Mama?”
Milo nods, but his attention is already drifting back to the TV. She seems mildly annoyed by his lack of response, but she brushes it off.
I clear my throat, wrapping my arms around my body for extra protection. “Thanks for coming, but like I told Nana on the phone, we’ve got it under control. He’s fine.”
Mom stands, smoothing her shirt. “Of course he is. But you don’t have to act like you don’t need help, Emma. There’s no shame in letting someone step in every now and then.”
I bristle but force myself to keep my voice calm. “I’m not acting like anything. I’m his mom. This is what I do.”
Her lips curl into a small smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’m just saying, Emma. Maybe if you weren’t so stubborn…”
The rest of her words breeze past me and fade into the background, but I know what she’s trying to say. I look away, clenching my hands tightly to keep my mouth from saying how I really feel.
She’s always been like this. Offering help wrapped in barbed wire.
But a part of me still waits, holding out for something genuine from the woman who is supposed to love me unconditionally.
I know it’s foolish, but every time I see her, I revert to a shadow of myself begging for her affection. Begging for her to step up.
I wanted to hope and dream, but those things were hard and unforgiving weaknesses I didn’t have space in my heart for.
“I’ve been trying to call you for months to see if you needed anything, but you haven’t been answering me.” The statement pulls me out of my thoughts and my eyes reconnect with hers. I search for a hint of anger or hurt, but I don’t find it.
“Things have been busy,” I say, my voice flat. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either. I don’t owe her that much.
Her brow lifts as her lips press into a thin line. “Too busy to let your own mother know what’s going on in her grandson’s life?”
The irony of her statement isn’t lost on me, but I bite down the bitter words bubbling up in my throat. “I told Nana,” I reply, keeping my tone even. “She’s always been good about keeping you in the loop.”
She exhales sharply through her nose. “It’s not the same, Emma. I shouldn’t have to hear secondhand updates about my family.”
Family. The word sounds wrong coming out of her mouth, like she doesn’t know how to use it.
“You’ve had plenty of opportunities to reach out,” I say, repositioning my arms over my chest. The sharp memory of her missing Milo’s first birthday party presses against my skull.
She told me that her new boyfriend was taking her away for the weekend and that canceling her plans was a huge inconvenience.
That was when I decided to stop begging her to be in my life.
Her lips part like she wants to argue, but she doesn’t. Instead, she sighs and takes a step toward me. If she were anyone else’s mom, I would think she was about to hug me, but instead, she clasps her hands in front of her.
“I’m here now. Doesn’t that count for something?”
The familiar sting of her words settles over me.
I’ve heard the exact empty phrase for most of my life, but today, it feels suffocating.
My eyes drift to my whole world sitting on the couch, and suddenly, the urge to comply with my mother seems like a better idea than hashing everything out here and now.
“Of course,” I say, though the words feel hollow. “I’ve just had a lot going on lately.”
Her expression shifts, her lips tilting up into a thin smile. She knows she’s won. She takes her win and steps closer, brushing past me toward the kitchen.
“Well, I’ll just have to come by more often then,” my mother says like she’s offering a gift instead of a burden.
My nana reappears from the kitchen, carrying a plate of cookies and milk for Milo. “Alright,” she says brightly. “Milo, sweetheart, come grab a cookie.”
Milo scrambles off the couch, his cast bumping against the cushions as he makes his way over to Nana. She crouches to his level, offering him the plate with a bright smile.
I glance at my mom, expecting her to say something, but she’s quiet. Her gaze burns into Milo with an unreadable expression, and I don’t have the energy to decipher her current mood.
Instead, I step back, letting the noise of the moment fill the space between us. Sometimes, it’s easier to let her believe she’s doing her part than to remind her of all the ways she hasn’t. I hope someday I can, but today, I pray for peace.