Chapter 60 Ginger
Ginger
We’ve been in Seattle three days. The rain has been coming down in a steady drizzle pretty much non-stop.
It’s not even the rainy season yet, and I feel like I can’t get warm; everything has a dampness that makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
I never thought I’d miss the near ninety-degree temps of California this time of year, but I crave the warmth of the sun like never before.
I’ve toured six apartments, three with the boys, three without.
They aren’t happy here. The whole thing feels like a study in futility because every new place I walk into feels wrong.
Even the newly renovated, two bedroom advertised as ‘with lots of natural light’, felt small and closed in.
Clearly the woman has never been outside an overcrowded city.
This weekend has left me with a bone deep weariness, and it doesn’t help that all I can think about are wide open spaces and pine trees for as far as the eye can see or that the boys seem to be just as stuck on Montana as I am.
I stare at the dark and stormy afternoon, reflecting on our conversation yesterday. I’d finished talking to the realtor and setting up an appointment to look at one last apartment. I let out a long sigh, dropping onto the bed.
“Are you sad, Mom?” Jordan asked from where he lay on one of the queen beds in the room.
“Just tired,” I say and give him a reassuring smile.
“Looking for a place to live sucks,” Jordan says, startling a surprised bark of laughter from me.
Tell me about it, kid. Especially when the place you’re looking in is the last place you want to be.
“Mom, why can’t we go back to Timber Forge?” Tate asks without looking up from the game on his iPad that Paige got him interested in.
“Yeah, why can’t we?” Jordan asks, looking over at me expectantly, making me freeze.
My twins carry on talking like they didn’t drop a bomb on me.
“We have family there, like, way more than we have here with Dad,” Tate murmurs, his gaze still fixed on his iPad. “And all he does is work, work, work.”
My stomach twists. I hadn’t expected my boys to look at the move through the lens of what they’d get, rather than what they’d leave behind. But there they were, asking me like it was the simplest thing in the world. As though I could snap my fingers and make it happen.
And I mean, in reality, I guess I could. But even still, I can feel the weight of the decision in my chest. And not just that, but also the weight of what I envisioned for the rest of my life and how I couldn’t quite make it match up with the reality. I felt helpless to create it.
I couldn’t explain it to them without feeling like I was letting them down. Letting Peter down. And ultimately letting myself down. I think that hurts the most. And that makes me feel so fucking selfish. Life isn’t just about me. It was about my boys, and their relationship with their dad.
It’s about what they need, but why couldn’t it also be a little bit about what they want, too? What I want. I hate the feeling of inadequacy it stirs in me. I wish I could give it all to them.
“We can’t, guys,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I know it’s hard to make a change, but we have to do what’s best for us. We’ll go back to visit Timber Forge, but we still need to be here for your dad, too.”
Tate’s face falls, and I know he doesn’t quite understand.
The boys are still too young to understand all the pieces that are at play.
They only knew they liked the idea of having Hutch’s big, loud family around.
Paige was so good with them; treated them like her very own brothers.
I wanted that so much for them; a life surrounded by aunts, uncles, and honorary grandparents that spoiled them rotten. But that’s not how it had worked out.
Sure, part of me had wanted to believe that maybe we could have made Timber Forge work, despite how Hutch and I had left things.
But there was no way I could live in the same small town as the man I loved, seeing him, knowing he was only miles away knowing that he didn’t think he was enough.
That we weren’t enough. I’d never stop looking for him, never stop wondering the next time our paths would cross. I couldn’t do that.
“If we can’t go to Timber Forge, let’s stay in California. Seattle is dumb,” Jordan says. “Can’t even go to the park because the rain is dumb, too.”
And the truth was, I couldn’t ignore their opinion completely. Seattle felt wrong for all three of us. And this was my decision, and it wouldn’t be easy for any of us. Not for me. Not for the boys.
I step away from the window and turn back to the bed, the rental brochures spread across it.
I’d thought about this for months, and I tried to imagine our life if I had caved and followed Peter.
But I couldn’t picture it. Not with him and this new family he was building.
I wasn’t bitter; I was happy for him, but I needed to make my own decision, to take control of something for once.
And as much as I loved the boys and wanted to do right by them, I wasn’t sure Seattle was the answer anymore. I don’t think it ever was.
And it’s in that moment I decide I can’t do it. I don’t know what this means for us in California, but I know Seattle isn’t the answer.
I knew the conversation with Peter was inevitable, and I couldn’t put it off any longer.
The boys and I were headed back to California tomorrow, and I needed to tell Peter we weren’t moving to Seattle.
We’d been dancing around it for weeks—him pushing for me to bring the boys out for a weekend, me pushing back, using the soon-to-start school year as an excuse.
I wasn’t surprised to find Peter’s car missing from the driveway of the house he and Meghan owned together. I parked out front, dreading spending the next hour or so until he got home from work making small talk with my ex-husband's new wife.
Meghan was nice enough, but she was young, and we didn’t have much in common. We get along simply because it’s what grownups do, but I didn’t think she would be overly disappointed in the news I had come to share. I know she cares about Tate and Jordan, but they’re not hers.
I kill the ignition and step out of the car, then rush up the walkway and under the shelter of the porch overhang.
I’d practiced what I would say the entire way here, and I could almost hear Peter’s voice in my head, asking me about the apartments, if I could see us moving there, all the while knowing the answer wouldn’t be the one he wanted.
An hour later Peter is home, Meghan has invited me to stay for dinner and after we’ve eaten the boys settle into a movie with Meghan and her boys.
Luckily, I didn’t have to wait too long to talk to Peter because it was only a few minutes of hanging out with the boys in the living room before Peter came in.
“Can we talk?” I ask Peter as he stands in the doorway.
“Sure,” he says, tipping his head down the hallway in the direction of his office.
Once inside, Peter closes the door behind him and sits on the couch, taking the opposite end from me.
“I can’t move to Seattle,” I blurt, my heart pounding. “It doesn’t feel right.”
From the look on his face, I can tell he doesn’t get it. How could he? Seattle’s the logical choice, but it isn’t the right one.
Peter nodded. “I’d figured this was coming.” He isn’t angry but watches me in thoughtful silence for a beat.
It takes everything in me not to fill that space with explanations and apologies.
Thanks, Mom.
“Not everything that feels wrong is bad, Gingersnap,” he says softly. “Maybe you could use the change.”
I’m not prepared for the weight of his words, especially coupled with his familiar nickname for me. And it’s like a knife twist in my stomach, but I stand firm.
“Peter, the boys don’t want to be here, and neither do I. It’s as simple as that. The boys need stability, but they also need me to be happy, even if I don’t know what that looks like yet. I only know Seattle isn’t the answer.”
Surprisingly, his face turns tender, and he doesn’t argue.
He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Okay.”
I blink at him, stunned. “Okay?”
He nods reluctantly. “I mean, I’m disappointed, obviously. But Ginger, I only ever want you and the boys to be happy.”
Tears prick my eyes. I hadn’t expected a knock-down, drag-out fight. That’s not who we are. But I had expected more push back, more of him trying to convince me Seattle was the answer.
The fact that Peter is so willing to accept my decision only solidifies the feeling that I made the right choice. And why shouldn’t it? I’ve only ever had our boys’ best interests at heart. They’re my world.
Before this conversation, I’d felt selfish, like I was robbing them of a life they could have. But at the same time, I had to be honest with myself. I needed this. I needed to make the decision myself so I could breathe and make a life I wanted, not just the one handed to me when we split up.
“Will you stay in the house?”
I shake my head, still reeling that it was this easy. “I’m not sure. I’ve got a lot to think about.”
Peter nods. “Well, you’ll have my support no matter where you end up. And we’ll make it work with the boys.”
Relief floods through me. I know it will be tough on Peter not seeing the boys every week, and it’ll be tough on them, too.
Hell, it will be tough losing that support, even being the custodial parent.
I know they’ll miss their dad, but the thought of them growing up without me being happy or having something for myself didn’t feel fair to them either.
Peter and I talk for another half an hour or so, bringing up concerns and going over scenarios and ideas for holidays and school breaks. It would take effort and an open line of communication, but we’d make it work.
Later that night, as I finish zipping up our suitcases, my phone rings.
Our flight is scheduled for six a.m. tomorrow and the boys are spending one last night with Peter.
I check the screen and sigh. Mom. I’m exhausted and want to take a hot shower and fall into bed, but I answer anyway.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Oh, good, you finally picked up. I was starting to wonder if I needed to send a search party. How was Seattle?”
I heave my suitcase to the floor and sit on the edge of the bed. “It’s fine. We’re here until the morning.”
“So?” she asks impatiently.
“We looked at a few apartments.”
“And? Did you find one? Have you signed anything? Because if you ask me—”
“We’re not moving,” I say, calm but clear. “I’m still figuring things out.”
There’s a pause. “Oh, Ginger,” she admonishes. “I don’t understand why you’d waste time looking if you weren’t serious about what’s best for those boys.”
My jaw tightens. “We were serious. I am. But it turns out what’s best isn’t always the most obvious choice on paper.”
“Well then, you should come to Florida,” she says, already moving on. “I could help. The boys would be close to their cousins. You could reset, get your head on straight. Maybe settle down with someone new. There’s no reason to stay in California now that—”
“Mom,” I say, quiet but firm. “Stop.”
She goes silent on the other end—truly a first for her. I almost don’t know what to do with the quiet. Almost.
“I know you’re trying to help,” I say. “I really do. But this isn’t your decision to make. It’s mine. And I need you to respect that.”
“Well, I just think—”
“No,” I exhale, centering myself, “I need space to figure out what’s right for me and the boys. Not what looks right to you. Not what makes sense to Peter. What feels right to us.”
There’s a long pause before she sighs. “You’re being so defensive.”
“I’m being clear,” I say gently. “Setting boundaries isn’t the same as being rude. I love you, Mom. But I’m not asking for advice.”
There’s more dead air, and I could swear she hung up. I pull the phone away from my ear. Nope, still connected.
“I just want you to be okay,” she finally says, her voice resigned.
“I know. And I will be. But I need to do this my way.”
I end the call a few minutes later, heart racing but lighter—the kind of light that comes from finally putting something down.