3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Celeste
“Have a good night, Celeste,” One of my coworkers called out to me as they went through the double doors of the diner.
The cold air sweeps through the entrance before they have a chance to shut it.Winters in Boston are always my favorite, and they always start early here.
It’s only October, but the snow is falling freely.
I love the snow and cold air that refreshes the city.
I’ve worked at The Retro Rooster since my freshman year of college.
It’s the only job that’s ever fit around my chaotic schedule, early classes, late nights, and everything in between, and the owners have been nothing but kind.
They’re the types of people who don’t ask questions when I need to leave early or switch shifts, who understand without me having to explain. I know how lucky I am to have that.
The thought of not being here next year makes my chest ache.
Hopefully, I won’t have to be. I didn’t take out a mountain of student loans just to keep balancing plates forever.
I want to put my physical therapy degree to use and do something that actually pays the bills.
Something that makes all of this feel worth it, even if I’ll probably be paying off those loans for the rest of my life.
I pack up my bag and slip on my brown, worn-out coat, tucking Tate’s coat into my bag.
I’ll be sure to give it to him the next time he stops in.
My coat has seen better days, but replacing it isn’t in the budget right now, and I won’t take a handout from Tate Jackson of all people.
I wrap the knitted scarf my neighbor, Suzie, made for me snug around my neck.
The soft wool still smells faintly like her laundry detergent.
It’s warmer than it looks and warmer than I deserve, some days.
I wave goodbye to the cooks as they shut down the kitchen, the clatter of metal and low laughter echoing behind me, then push open the door and step out into the storm.The cold air brings comfort to my lungs.
I’m still heated from my conversation with Brett earlier.
I wish I had never had to speak to him again, but sadly, we’re tied to one another- even if he doesn’t think so.The walk to my apartment is short, one of the many reasons working at the diner makes my life a little easier.
I reach the heavy wooden doors in no time, tugging them open before climbing the three flights of stairs, my legs already aching in that familiar, end-of-day way.
I pass my own apartment without stopping and head farther down the hall toward Suzie’s.
I knock lightly, but I don’t even have time to step back before the door flies open.
Light brown curls and deep green eyes meet mine before Rowen barrels into my arms, all elbows and enthusiasm. He’s gotten taller without asking my permission, his sneakers scuffed and his hoodie riding up as he clings to me like I’ve been gone for days instead of hours.
“Momma! Ms. Suzie made the best dinner ever,” he announces, grinning wide enough to show the small gap where his tooth is still missing.
I wrap my arms around his little body, holding him close and careful all at once, instinctively avoiding the small devices clipped beneath his shirt. He smells like soap and something sweet, and just like that, the noise of the day fades into the background.
Suzie appears behind him, spatula still in hand, her green-and-white apron dusted with splatters I’m sure used to be dinner. Her gray hair is twisted into its usual bun, the picture of calm she somehow always manages to be.
“How was he tonight?” I ask, already knowing the answer but needing the reassurance anyway.
“Sweet as pie,” she says. “His numbers stayed good all night.” She presses a warm to-go container into my hands, and the smell alone makes my stomach ache in the best way. “Chili. Don’t skip dinner.”
“I won’t. Thank you, really.”
I set Rowen back on his feet, and he immediately wraps his arms around Suzie’s waist in a fierce hug before taking off down the hallway toward our apartment, his laughter echoing behind him as he calls out, “Race you, Momma!”
I can’t help the giggle that escapes my lips, that little boy is my whole world.
“Thank you so much, I really appreciate it,” I smile at Suzie the wrinkles around her eyes and gray hair giving away her age, but by her spirt you would never know.
She wraps her arms around me. She is the closest thing I have to family, seeing as I haven't spoken to mine in almost 5 years now.
When I moved into this apartment complex instead of a freshman dorm during my first year of college with a newborn, I ran into Suzie in the hallway.
She instantly took to Rowen, saying, “he is the most beautiful baby I have ever seen.
Don't tell my kids.” From there, we slowly became like family, and she learned the insight of my difficult life.
Kindly, and without even blinking, she offered help wherever I needed it.
She helped us get in touch with an organization that helps young mothers, providing food assistance, clothing, and furniture for our apartment.
The organization offered childcare options, but she was adamant that she would watch Rowen whenever I needed her to.
Suzie finally lets go of me, she looks me over, reading me as she always does. Before she retired, she was a social worker and a therapist- hence how she knows how to read people like books. “You need to find time for yourself, dear.” Her tone soft, not wanting to offend me in any way.
“Momma?” Rowen hollers from down the hall.
“One day I will, but right now, he’s all that matters,” I say to her with a smile, hoping it waves off her worry about me.
I walk down the hall and open our apartment door. Rowen takes his shoes off at the door, dropping his little black bag onto our small kitchen table.
“How are you feeling, Ro?” I ask as he plops himself on our second-hand green and red plaid couch. I reach for his black bag, pulling out his insulin and back up glucose reader. I pull my phone from my pocket clicking the Dexcom app.
“I’m good, Momma.” His numbers are around 130, good, but he also tanks during the night.
“Okay, let’s get your snack and get you ready for bed, please. I’ll be in there in a moment to tuck you in.” He jumps up from the couch and grabs his bedtime snacks fruit snacks. Once he’s down the hall and I hear his bedroom door open, I let out the deep sigh that I’ve been holding in.
I peel off my apron, tossing it aside without much thought. It slips from my fingers and lands in a soft heap on the hardwood floor, and a folded piece of paper flys out of the pocket. I stare at it for a second before crouching down to pick it up.
When I unfold it, Tate Jackson’s name stares back at me in neat block letters, his phone number written beneath it. The words feel heavier than they should.
I carry it to the kitchen table and set it down, even though I know I should crumple it up and toss it in the trash. Keeping it feels dangerous. Throwing it away feels like admitting I cared enough to consider it.
It was nice of him to step in tonight. Brett never knew when to stop – never knew how to let things go.
He carries so much anger in him now, but it wasn’t always like that.
He used to be gentle. Thoughtful. The kind of guy who opened doors for me and remembered my favorite candy from the gas station.
For a while, I really believed he loved me.
Then I got pregnant our senior year of high school, and it was like a switch flipped.
Suddenly, everything was my fault. He said I was trying to trap him, trying to ruin his future, like my own world hadn’t shattered the moment I stared at those two pink lines. Like I hadn’t lost sleep, friends, plans, the game I loved, and pieces of myself overnight.
But Rowen was never a mistake. He is my everything. My heart. My reason. My home.
I would relive every hard day, every whispered judgment, every lonely night if it meant I still ended up with him in the end.
Brett refuses to see Ro. In almost five years of Rowen’s life, he’s maybe met him four times, each one awkward and forced, like he was doing me a favor instead of acknowledging his own child.
At first, he denied Rowen entirely. Called me a liar. A whore. Said I must’ve been sleeping around.
I never cheated on him. He’s the only man I’ve ever been with.
The day Rowen was born, Brett demanded a DNA test, as I’d somehow created this entire life out of spite. And even when the results came back proving Rowen was his, nothing changed.
He still walked away. And I stayed. I stayed despite it all while he ran off to live out his glory days, pretending neither Ro nor I existed.
“Momma,” Rowen calls me from his room, ready to be tucked in.
“Coming,” Running my hands down my face one more time, before going and tucking in my boy.
As I step into Rowen’s room, a familiar ache settles in my chest. The space feels too quiet, too bare, like it’s still waiting to be filled with the kind of clutter most kids leave behind without thinking.
When I was his age, my room had been bursting at the seams: toys scattered across the floor, clothes spilling from drawers, bright green walls covered in posters and drawings.
Proof of a childhood that never had to worry about being careful with money.
But, he never complains. Never asks why he doesn’t have more. He treats every small thing like it matters, like it was earned instead of given.
His bedding catches my eye, the blue comforter still looking new. I’d splurged on it last Christmas, more than I should have, just to see his face light up when he tore the wrapping paper away. It was worth every extra shift.
He sits on the edge of the bed, feet swinging slightly, hands twisting in the hem of his shirt.
“Momma,” he says quietly, “does my dad not want me because of my diabetes?”
The words knock the air from my lungs.
He looks up at me with those deep green eyes, sad, confused, too grown for a five-year-old, and something inside me cracks.
My chest tightens, heat rushing behind my eyes.
Every protective instinct in me flares, sharp and furious, and for a split second, I want to drive to Brett’s house and scream until my voice gives out.
I cross the room and sit beside him, the bed creaking under my weight. I think about what I will say, as Rowen get's older he asks more and more about his father and his absents and each time it gets harder to explain.
“No, baby,” I say gently, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Your dad… he has his own things he needs to figure out. And that has nothing, nothing to do with you. Do you hear me?”
He nods, hair falling into his face as his chin dips. I lift my hand and brush the soft strands aside, memorizing the shape of his face like I always do, like I’m afraid the moment might slip away.
“You are the most amazing little boy,” I whisper. “To know you is a privilege. To love you is the easiest thing in the world. Never forget that.”
Leaning forward, I press a soft kiss to the top of his head, breathing in the smell of soap and laundry detergent. I promise myself again for the thousandth time that I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he never feels unwanted again. “Now get some sleep, I love you to the moon and back.”
“To the moon and back,” he whispers back to me while snuggling into his pillow. I pull out my phone, checking his numbers before I leave the room, and send up a little prayer that he stays stable for the night- we both could use the rest.