Chapter 2
Creative Differences
Maliyah
I was elbow-deep in Lucas's science project about the solar system midway through the week—poster board and markers littering the kitchen table.
My kitchen table looked like a craft store had thrown up all over it and the idea of cleanup exhausted me.
Zoe was "helping" by adding purple glitter to what was supposed to be Mars, her tongue poking out in concentration. Lucas didn't complain even once.
Lucas frowned at his drawing, then tapped his yellow crayon against the half-finished planet. "Mom, I think Saturn looks weird. It needs more rings." His homework sheet was spread beside him, covered in his careful six-year-old handwriting listing facts about each planet.
"Saturn has plenty of rings, buddy. Maybe focus on—" My phone buzzed against the counter, and I glanced over to see an unknown 617 number—Boston. "Hold that thought."
I tried to wipe glitter off my fingers with a paper towel, and failed. Giving up, I answered. "Hello?"
"Maliyah? It's Reed. Reed Morrison."
"Hi." The word came out breathier than I'd intended. My hand flew to my collarbone—Good Lord, Maliyah, dramatic much?—but I kept walking. I lowered my voice, stepping around one of Zoe's dolls—a doll that was somehow also covered in glitter—as was my shirt now. Dammit.
"How did Nadine's intake go?" he asked. I curled into the corner of the sofa, his voice warming me from the inside out.
"Good. She's staying at Ever House tonight. I'm glad you brought her in."
The line went quiet for a beat too long, and I pressed the phone closer to my ear, holding my breath.
His exhale came through first, then his voice, lower than before.
"Listen, I umm—I know you're probably swamped, but I was wondering if maybe, you know, if you might—ahem, want to grab coffee sometime.
No pressure, just... I'd like to see you when you're not in the middle of something, of course. "
I found myself curling deeper into the corner of the couch, one leg tucked underneath me, fingers twisting a loose thread on my sweatpants that had glitter stuck to it too—note to self, no more glitter.
.. ever. "Yeah. Okay, I’d like that," I said, glancing toward the kitchen where a half-finished planetary system tilted precariously on our table.
"Most days I'm just trying to remember if I'd made sure that everyone was dressed before we went out in the world. "
"Even better." His voice was warm, and I could picture him grinning. The mental image made my cheeks flush. "So, coffee? Tomorrow maybe? I know a place that makes excellent lattes and terrible small talk."
"Mom!" Zoe's voice carried from the kitchen, high-pitched with indignation. "Lucas is hogging the red marker!"
"I am not!" Lucas shot back. "You already used it for the entire sun! And the sun is supposed to be yellow anyway!"
"But I like red better!"
"Just a second," I called back, dropping my head into my hand, I spoke into the phone. "Sorry. Art project crisis. Apparently there are strong creative differences about what color the planets and sun should be."
Reed chuckled, a sound that made warmth spread through my chest. "Sounds serious. Rain check on the coffee then?"
"No, I'd like that. Coffee, I mean. Not now, of course.
Tomorrow works." I paused, glancing toward the kitchen where I could hear Lucas explaining why the sun can't be red to his sister, using the patient tone meant for situations when he thought someone wasn't understanding something important.
"Just so you know, my life is pretty much controlled chaos most of the time.
Two kids, new job, trying to figure out life in a new city again. It's a lot."
"I like chaos. Keeps things interesting." There was something in his voice that made me think he meant it. "Besides, after spending most of my days dealing with paperwork and bureaucracy, a little chaos sounds fun."
We spent a few more minutes working out the details—a café called The Grind not too far from the shelter, at ten the next morning. Something casual, low-pressure. At least that's what I told myself as we talked. I felt like I recognized the name, but I couldn’t quite place it.
"I should probably go referee the art situation before they decide to redecorate my kitchen walls," I said, though I found myself reluctant to hang up.
"Probably wise. I'll see you tomorrow, Maliyah."
The way he said my name made my pulse quicken. "See you tomorrow."
After I hung up, I stayed in my living room for a moment, phone still in hand, trying to figure out why my heart was beating so fast. It was just coffee. People had coffee all the time. Colleagues, friends, people who'd worked together on helping someone find safety.
But even as I told myself that, I knew it wasn't entirely true.
"Mom!" Lucas appeared in the doorway, poster board in hand, his hair sticking up at odd angles from where he'd been leaning over his work. "Is Jupiter supposed to have a red spot or a red stripe?"
"Spot, honey." I followed him back to the kitchen, where Zoe had somehow managed to get glitter not just in her hair but also on her cheek and the front of her shirt. "Okay, let's finish this masterpiece before we turn the entire apartment into a craft store."
For the next hour, I helped Lucas perfect his project while simultaneously trying to contain Zoe's artistic enthusiasm. She'd moved on from Mars and was now adding what she called "sparkle dust" to Saturn's rings. My God. What monster invented glitter?
"Why is Earth so boring?" Zoe asked, holding up the blue and green planet Lucas had carefully colored to match the globe picture he’d brought up on his tablet.
"Earth isn't boring," Lucas said seriously. "Earth has oceans and mountains and people and dogs. That's way more interesting than Mars."
"We should get a dog—a big fluffy one that’s soft! And look," she thrust the planet forward, her eyes wide with pride, purple glitter cascading onto her sneakers, "isn't it great that Mars is purple and sparkly now? Real Mars is boring, but mine has magic dust storms!"
I laughed as Zoe sprinkled one final handful of purple glitter onto Mars, but pretended not to hear the dog comment.
I imagined the 5 AM walks in Boston winter slush, the vet bills, the inevitable "Mom, I'm too tired to take Fluffy out" excuses.
"Time to wrap this up, astronauts," I said, guiding little hands to drop markers into containers and brushing craft debris into the trash. Later, as I tucked blankets under chins and kissed foreheads, my fingers lingered on my phone. I scrolled through my contacts, pausing at the number I’d saved under "Reed Morrison," then checked my reflection in the darkened bathroom mirror, wondering when I'd last done anything with a man?
Actually, I knew the answer to that question, and it wasn't a pleasant memory. Jacob had been charming too, at first. He'd made me laugh, made me feel special, made me believe that maybe I could have something good for once.
And then he'd left when things got complicated.
I came home from work one day to find the closet half-empty, hangers askew like he couldn't wait to get out of there.
On the kitchen counter sat a folded piece of notebook paper with "Maliyah" scrawled across it.
His handwriting slanted right, each letter pressed so hard into the paper that I could feel the indentations when I flipped it over.
"I'm suffocating," he'd written. "I don't want to be a father, I'm releasing all rights to the kids.
" As if our children were some sort of object he could simply transfer to another name. Fuck him and the horse he rode in on.
Six months later, I sat in a courtroom clutching that same wrinkled paper while he avoided my eyes, his lawyer whispering frantically in his ear. The judge wasn't impressed—neither was I.
I shook my head, forcing away those thoughts. I'd pick my kids over that asshole any day. Reed wasn't Jacob. This wasn't even a date—just coffee between colleagues.
But as I peeked in on Zoe and Lucas in their beds, I couldn't quite convince myself that's all it was.