CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SOPHIA
The sun streaming through my kitchen window feels accusatory. I’m on my third cup of coffee, still wearing Jack’s jacket from last night—it smells of cedar and something uniquely him—and I’ve checked my phone approximately eight thousand times
Last night feels like a fever dream. Chloe’s mom, Rachel, had given me this knowing little smile when she dropped Madison off to get ready for soccer. “Have fun at book club?” she’d asked, winking. “That’s what Madison said you were doing.”
Book club. Right. I should have known something was up then.
“Mom, you’re being weird.” Madison emerges from her room, already in her soccer uniform. “Also, is that a man’s jacket?”
“It got cold last night.”
She grins, sliding into a chair. “Uh-huh. Sure. And you always look like you just had the best night of your life the morning after ‘book club’?
My face heats. “Madison Grace —”
“Don’t worry, I only told Chloe’s mom you had a date. Not who with. Yet.” She steals a piece of my toast. “So how was Mr. New Zealand?”
“His name is Jack.”
“Ooh, first name basis already?” She steals a piece of my toast. “Did he kiss you goodnight?”
“Madison—”
“He didn’t?” She looks horrified. “Mom, no. Please tell me you didn’t do the awkward car door shuffle.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means you sat in your car for like five minutes wondering if you should kiss him first.” She shakes her head. “Classic overthinking.”
The accuracy stings. “Shouldn’t you be warming up for your game?”
“Dad’s picking me up in twenty.” She checks her phone, frowns. “Of course, he’s already fifteen minutes late.”
“And Chloe’s mom is bringing you back to their house?”
“Yeah, she—” Madison stops mid-bite. “Wait. You’re coming to my game, right?”
“Of course.”
“Even though Dad will be there with Tiffany?” She watches me carefully.
Right. Troy’s new girlfriend. The wellness influencer who’s convinced Madison needs to cut out gluten and dairy and joy. As if my daughter needs some Instagram-inspired ‘optimization.’ Just another way Troy tries to assert control.
“I’ll be there,” I promise. “Want me to grab breakfast after?”
“Can Jack come?”
My coffee goes down wrong. “What? No. Madison, we’ve had one date—”
“But if he wanted to?”
“He has to work.” I think. Maybe. I didn’t actually ask about his weekend schedule.
My phone buzzes. My heart does something ridiculous.
But it’s just Maria:
Maria: DETAILS. NOW. THE WHOLE ER IS DYING.
Madison leans over, reads it. “See? Everyone’s invested. You have to make this work.”
“That’s not how relationships—”
“Mom.” She puts on her serious face. “You know what Brené Brown says about vulnerability?”
“What?! Since when do you read Brené Brown?”
“Since Dad started dating someone who quotes her incorrectly on Instagram.” She scrolls through her phone. “Here. ‘Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity.’ Maybe stop armor-ing up?”
A car honks outside. Troy, in his new Tesla that he definitely can’t afford.
“That’s my ride.” Madison grabs her gear, then pauses. “Mom? I’m glad you went out last night. You looked…happy when you got home.”
She’s gone before I can respond, leaving me alone with my coffee and a teenager’s wisdom.
I wander into the living room, drawn to the bookshelf where our photo albums live. There’s one from our early marriage—Troy and me at some finance company party, both trying so hard to look successful.
Next to it, Madison’s baby album. Then nothing for the last five years. Like our life stopped being worth documenting when things got hard.
Maybe it’s time for new pictures. Maybe it’s time to start documenting what comes next—whatever that might be.
My phone buzzes again. This time, my stupid heart wins.
Jack: Morning. Hope you slept well. Still on for Sunday? Thinking coffee and a walk if the weather holds.
I stare at the text for an embarrassingly long time. Three sentences. Perfectly normal. Casual. Friendly.
Sophia: Sounds perfect. Marina Park? 10am?
His response is immediate:
Jack: It's a date. Hey, random question, does Madison's team need any help today? Rodriguez's kid plays in the same league. Could swing by if you need an extra parent for drills or something.
I reread it twice. He’s offering to come to Madison’s game. To meet my ex. To insert himself into the complicated reality of my life.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard. This is a line. Cross it, and there’s no pretending this is just casual.
Sophia: Game's at Field 3, 11am. But you really don't have to!
Jack: Want to! If that's okay?
Want to. Not “happy to” or “sure, why not.” Want to. With an exclamation point!
Sophia: My ex, Troy, will be there. Fair warning.
Jack: No worries. I can handle Troy.
Something about his confidence makes me smile. Troy with his Tesla and his wellness girlfriend and his cryptocurrency portfolio. Jack with his paramedic salary and his easy smile.
Sophia: Okay. Field 3. 11am.
Jack: I'll bring real coffee. For medicinal purposes.
Sophia: See you then.
I set my phone down, heart racing. This is happening. Jack McKenzie is coming to my daughter’s soccer game. He’s going to meet my ex. He’s stepping into my real life, not just the after-hours version.
My phone rings. Maria.
“Do NOT ‘hey’ me, Sophia Mitchell. I need every detail from last night or I’m coming over there with wine and a lie detector.”
I slump into a chair. “It was perfect.”
“Define perfect.”
“He remembered how I like my coffee. He speaks Italian. He told me about his sisters and their rugby careers. He makes pavlova.”
“What’s pavlova?”
“Some New Zealand dessert. The point is, he was…wonderful.”
“But?” Maria knows me too well.
“But nothing. That’s the problem. It was too perfect. Like there has to be a catch somewhere.”
“Maybe there isn’t. Maybe he’s just a good guy who brings you coffee and saves lives.”
“Nobody’s that simple.”
“Honey, you’re looking for problems that might not exist. Just enjoy it.”
After we hang up, I stare at my phone. In two hours, I’ll see him at Madison’s game. I’ll watch him meet Troy, navigate my complicated life, probably handle it all with that easy grace.
My phone buzzes. Another text.
Jack: Looking forward to seeing you!
My heart does a backflip.
He’s coming with his partner. His partner’s kid. Building connections between our lives already. And he’s looking forward to seeing me .
Sophia: Me too! See you there!
I remove the exclamation points. Put them back. Take them back out, and only put one in, but add a smiley face. Then delete it. Add it again.
God, I really am acting like a teenager.
Time to armor up, as Madison would say. Or maybe— just maybe —time to let the armor crack a little and let vulnerability be the birthplace of something new.