Chapter 18 #2
A beat. Then, gently, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
There it is. Mom radar. Fully operational across time zones.
“David.” I shift onto my side, tucking the blanket under my chin. “David and I talked today.”
Her inhale is slow and controlled. “Okay.”
“There’s more,” I continue, because once I start, it all comes spilling out. “He wants to come to Theo’s birthday. The one I told you about, at the hockey game.”
Another pause. I imagine her sitting in her chair in Chicago, hands wrapped around a mug, listening the way she always does—like nothing I say is too much.
“How do you feel about that?” she asks.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “I don’t know. Torn. Guarded. Like I’m bracing for something that hasn’t happened yet.”
“That makes sense,” she says softly. “What does Theo want?”
I swallow. “He wants his dad there. Of course he does.”
“Of course,” she agrees. “And, correct me if I’m wrong, you’re going to the game because the hockey player—Sawyer—the one you were irritated about a few weeks ago has offered tickets for your son. Right?”
“Yes.”
A beat passes. Then, carefully, “I’m not sure what is going on with you and this guy, I only know what you’ve told me. However, I listen when Theo talks, too, which is why I feel like there’s more happening than some guy tasked to help your shop, at least at this point. Tell me I’m wrong?”
The question lands quietly between us.
And that’s where the conversation pauses—right on the edge of everything I don’t yet know how to answer.
I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling, the phone warm against my ear.
“I have to ask Sawyer about David coming to the game,” I say. The decision settles as soon as I speak it, like something clicking into place. “He’s the one arranging for us to use this box, so he needs to know David will be there.”
“That sounds fair,” my mom says. “Although, I can hear hesitation in your voice. What’s going on in that mind of yours?”
“I’m just starting to…” I trail off, searching for the right word. “Figure things out with Sawyer. Now, David shows up again, and it feels like—like I don’t even know what this is yet, but I have to deal with it.”
“Whatever ‘it’ is?” she echoes.
“Yeah,” I manage to sigh, grateful for our mother-daughter shorthand.
She hums softly, a sign I know from experience is her way of encouraging me to keep going.
“Plus, the team could get into the playoffs, Mom,” I add. “I think Theo even said the game we’re going to is the one that decides if they get in. Sawyer needs to focus. I definitely don’t want to be a distraction that causes him to not do his hockey job.”
“Hockey job?” she laughs.
Her laugh makes me giggle. “What do you want from me? I like plants. They don’t talk back.”
There’s a pause on the line, thoughtful this time.
“Well,” she says slowly, “David’s being here for a visit shouldn’t cause too much undercurrent. Not yet, anyway. If history prevails, he’ll be gone a day or two after Theo’s birthday. He’s not a great track record for staying in one place for any amount of time, so I feel like you’re safe.”
“Yes,” I say. “That’s the part that keeps looping in my head.”
“Sweetheart, worrying about what might happen isn’t unreasonable,” she continues. “Especially when you’re trying to protect your son.”
I let out a breath of air I’d been holding hostage. Moms are always right.
“But also, you wouldn’t be concerned if you didn’t care,” she continues, her tone gentle. “You’re thinking about someone else’s needs, too. Not just Theo’s.”
I close my eyes.
“That’s new,” she adds, not teasing. Observant.
“It is,” I say quietly. “This life is not about only me. I want—no, I need to be smart about this.”
“You are,” she says with the confidence I’m lacking. “This isn’t fear talking. It’s a mother’s discernment.”
The words settle deep, warm and steady.
I shift under the covers, the knot in my chest loosening just a little. “When did you get so wise?”
She chuckles. “Somewhere between raising a strong daughter and watching her finally trust herself.”
I smile into the pillow. Outside my bedroom, Theo laughs at something on his screen—bright, uncomplicated joy. I’m quiet for a moment, listening to the low hum on the line.
“You sound different when you talk about him,” my mom says.
I let out a soft scoff. “I do not.”
“You do,” she says, gently smug. “There’s more air in your voice.”
“That might just be oxygen,” I counter.
She laughs, but she doesn’t let it go. “Juliette.”
I sigh, rolling onto my side, phone pressed closer to my ear. “I think I might be falling for him,” I admit. The words come out softer than I expect. “Which is terrible timing.”
“Honey,” she says, warm and steady, “there’s never good timing for love. There’s just choosing to be ready for it.”
My chest tightens—not with panic this time, but something heavier. Truer.
“What if David decides to be a jerk,” I whisper, “Like, he comes to the game and is rude to Sawyer or worse yet, he doesn’t even come at all?
Or we get into an argument in front of, I don’t know, all of the VIPs who are going to be in the box with us.
I don’t think anyone needs to hear me go off on that man with my list of reasons to hate him even if they are truthful. ”
She doesn’t interrupt.
“And what if Sawyer sees all of that,” I continue, voice barely above a breath, “the mess, the history, the complications—and decides it’s too much? We’re too much?”
“Sweet girl,” she says, “from everything you’ve told me, Sawyer’s already seeing the mess.”
“And?”
“Has he disappeared yet?” When I don’t respond, she keeps going. “One thing at a time, my anxious daughter,” she adds. “First—Theo’s birthday. You make it special. For him. For you.”
I nod, even though she can’t see it.
“Then,” she continues, “you wait for David to do what David does and go from there. Don’t get ahead of yourself. You don’t borrow trouble before you have to.”
I swallow. “Okay.”
“You’ve got this,” she says. And then, softly, “And it sounds like you’ve got him, too.”
My eyes sting. Just a little.
“I love you,” I say.
“I love you more,” she replies. “Get some sleep.”
We hang up and the apartment is still again, Theo’s movie still murmuring through the wall. I stare at my phone, thumb hovering, and notice Sawyer’s name sitting there in my recent texts—easy, familiar, real.
I let myself hold onto that for one small moment.
Just enough hope to carry me into tomorrow’s chaos.