2 Sophie
Sophie
Sophie’s phone is in her hand when it vibrates with a text. She taps the screen absently, but Leah yells from the kitchen before she can see who the text is from.
“Mo’ eggs!”
Sophie stuffs the phone into her pocket and hurries down the stairs, pulling a shirt over her head as she rounds the corner.
“More eggs, please,” she says to Leah, and then scoops some scrambled eggs onto her little plastic plate.
She looks delighted that food has appeared, just as she requested, and Sophie’s stress melts a little.
She loves this phase. Leah is learning so much so quickly—how to run and jump and new words every day.
To her, the world is one big place to explore.
She has no clue about the difficulties that come with being alive year after year.
“All good, Soph?” Talia asks, coming up behind her.
She looks fantastic in a white flowing shirt, ironed and buttoned neatly up the middle, and her slim black pants that flare at the bottom.
Sophie pushes down a wave of jealousy. She’s not even a year and a half out from giving birth; of course she doesn’t look as good as Talia.
And Talia always did have an athlete’s body, while Sophie has always had a full figure.
Voluptuous, they call it, but only when you are taller than, say, five-foot-six, which Sophie, decidedly, is not.
The thing she’s most jealous of, though, is the fact that Talia has had time for a shower.
“I love you guys so much,” says Talia as she sneaks up behind Leah and plants a kiss on her curly hair.
The move is practiced and goes off without incident, but it would never work for Sophie.
If she tried it, Leah would inevitably swing around, hands flailing, desperate to be picked up, and Sophie would get greasy egg all down her front.
It’s exactly why Sophie can never wear white.
Then Talia leans in to give Sophie a warm, comfortable kiss. They always kiss before leaving the house and before falling asleep. What if something were to happen while they were apart? Sophie fears abrupt endings. The kind you don’t see coming.
Talia brushes a hair away from Sophie’s ear. Sophie is surprised at this extra bit of affection. She even feels her heart rate begin to pick up, just a little. Then Talia whispers, “Your shirt’s on backward.”
She gives Sophie a playful bite on the earlobe and a smile that’s part I-love-you, part sorry-for-leaving-you-with-all-this.
The cat swishes past Sophie’s legs just as Talia’s out the door. Sophie remembers something and calls out, “Did you feed Trixie?” but the door closes before she can finish, and her words echo in the house.
“Twixie,” says Leah. She chucks a handful of egg at Sophie’s back.
***
It’s forty-five minutes round trip from her house to the day care center on foot, which includes time for kissing away Leah’s tears and prying little hands off her shirt.
It’s new, this full-time day care schedule, and Sophie lets herself cry after she says goodbye.
But she doesn’t have time to dwell because another mother stops her on her way out and complains about the construction on Colfax, and Sophie agrees that it is inconvenient, but yes, the road will hopefully be in better shape once it’s done.
Once she finally wrangles free, she realizes she completely forgot to review the presentation for her Zoom meeting at nine.
She pulls out her phone to open the Slides app.
She’ll look over what she can on her walk home.
But then her eyes catch on the date. Today is the eighth.
Her breath seizes in her chest, and she closes her eyes as the wave of grief hits her.
It’s viscous as it moves through her body, thick from fifteen years of distance.
How could she have forgotten it was the eighth?
A truck honks loudly. She’s in the middle of the street, hasn’t looked left or right, and there is no stop sign. The truck is barreling toward her. She’s forced to leap out of its way or be flattened. The driver gives her a crude hand gesture, and she hops onto the sidewalk, mouthing, “Sorry!”
The phone vibrates in her hand as she catches her breath.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, Pumpkin.” He sounds distracted, probably doing a puzzle while watching the news after his Monday pickleball game. Even in retirement, he has his routines. Sophie can hear him chewing. “How’s the day going?”
“Not bad. Just dropped off Leah at day care.”
“Aw, give her a kiss from Grandpa. Listen, I meant to tell you, they’re filming that movie in town. You should come. Leah would love to see all the cameras and the lights and what have you.” There’s such hope in his voice, like maybe today is the day he will finally convince her to visit.
She is so busy acknowledging the rising guilt that it takes her a minute to register what he just said.
They’re filming a movie in Whisper Ridge?
But then she remembers him mentioning this a few weeks back.
The first movie ever to be shot there. She guesses she can see the appeal.
The town is charming in an undiscovered sort of way.
But when Sophie thinks of Whisper Ridge, she doesn’t think of the historical buildings, the mountainous backdrop, or the miles of rocky forest. She doesn’t even think of her dad.
She thinks of Quinn. And she thinks of the magic.
The picture that comes to mind right now is so vivid, and maybe it’s because of what day it is, but it’s like she’s there with her.
Sophie can imagine Quinn sitting in the aspen grove, long legs crossed in front of her, the ends of her hair a soft lavender, like she’d dipped them into a bucket of wine, smiling as the magic races through their veins.
“Maybe, Dad,” Sophie says, and she feels bad, but the thought of going back makes her chest tighten. She hasn’t made the trip in fifteen years. She thinks of the date again, and she suddenly can’t keep the memories from coming. “Hey, can I call you later?” she asks.
In twenty minutes, she is through the door and sitting at her kitchen table, which also seconds as her work-from-home desk. She is thankful for the hot cup of tea and the workday in front of her that will keep her from dwelling.
Only then does she remember she got a text earlier and hasn’t checked it.
The meeting starts in five minutes. She won’t have time to finish her review, but it is what it is.
She loves the life she has built, but in some ways, everything seems to be happening around her.
She is so busy. There’s never a thought for what she might like to do or what she might want or even a long enough moment to stop and take a breath, let alone savor what she has.
But when it’s good, it’s so good. There are toothy giggles and soft cheeks and story-time snuggles, and she wouldn’t trade any of it.
It’s these thoughts, of little Leah, that finally steady her.
Everything is okay now. The past is in the past.
She taps through and the message appears.
Sophie’s tea wobbles in her hand, nearly spilling all over her lap.
She hasn’t heard from Joey in at least a year, and even then, it was just a two-word message to wish her a happy birthday.
It’s strange to see her name on her phone now.
Sophie looks at the time. She has two minutes.
She considers, takes a steadying breath, and reads.
Everything around her slows. She places the phone down and stares, bringing a fingernail to her teeth as she reads the message again.
I know what happened to Quinn.