Page 116 of 11 Cowboys

When the bell over the door jingles, I look up from Eli’s small smile to find Nora in the doorway, framed in sunlight, her lipstick smeared, eyeliner smudged, and her glassy eyes searching, and for a second, I think I’m imagining the thing that could shatter everything, catastrophizing out of fear of losing again. But it doesn’t take long for me to realize that my ex-wife has appeared at the worst possible moment, and shit is about to go down.

She looks like the shell of the woman I married, glazed by too many drinks and haggard from lack of sleep. When our eyes meet, it’s like there’s a shift in barometric pressure, the air thickening as extreme emotion builds. My body stiffens for a moment, then I’m on my feet, ready to prevent the car crash that’s heading in our direction.

When she sees the kids with Grace, her face scrunches, and she lurches forward, boots loud against the tile. “You asshole,” she slurs, voice pitched too high for a family place like this.

“Hey,” I say evenly, putting myself between the booth and Nora’s fast approach, one hand braced against the table. “Nora. Not here. Not like this.” The stench of alcohol that hangs around her is almost eye-watering, mixed with stale body odor and cigarette smoke. I flinch when it hits my nostrils, stabbed by the unfamiliar aroma of decline.

She ignores me, eyes narrowing past my shoulder. “And you—” she spits at Grace, “You think you can take my place…”

I turn to witness Eli stiffening and Junie curl tighter against Grace, small hands clutching the ends of Grace’s shirt. Grace doesn’t flinch but wraps an arm around them both, holding steady. They’ve missed their momma so much, but not this version of her, and the longing in their eyes breaks my heart, even as they withdraw.

“You need to go,” I say, voice firm now.

Nora’s eyes flick to the girls, and her expression softens for a moment, with recognition, regret, maybe shame, but it’s gone too fast. She reaches toward the booth.

“I want to see my girls.”

“Not like this,” I repeat, stepping in front of her fully, blocking her from their view. “You want to be their mom; you get yourself together first.”

“Iamtheir mom!” she snaps, voice rising. A few diners glance our way. Someone drops a fork. The back of my neck heats as I realize how bad this looks.

“You’re scaring them,” I say quietly, hoping it’ll cut through.

Her gaze flicks past me again, and this time, she sees what I mean. Junie, trembling and halfway under the table. Eli, silent and pale, holding onto Grace like she’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

Something in Nora cracks.

“Fuck you,” she hisses, turning fast and storming out the way she came, louder than she entered, every eye in the place on her and then us.

The door swings to close behind her, but I’m striding in her wake, already close enough to grab it before it shuts.

I step outside into the thick heat of late afternoon. The door swings shut behind me with a soft thud. Nora’s halfway down the sidewalk, arms wrapped tightly around herself, and I call out for her, instinct driving every frantic action. What am I even doing? This isn’t going to make a damn difference.

“Nora,” I call out again, hopeful regardless. Not for me, but for the kids.

She stops, spins. Her boots skid against the concrete.

“They’re my kids,” she snaps, eyes wild and rimmed red. “You can’t keep them from me.”

I duck my head, staring at the sidewalk, inhaling deep, and praying for patience. “You left,” I say. “You left, and we had no idea where you went. Where have you been, Nora?”

She shakes her head. “I’m their momma, Dylan.”

I take a deep breath, anger and sorrow fighting a war in my chest as memories of Nora from the past, fight against the version in front of me. I could yell at her for breaking all our hearts. For leaving us without a backward glance. For letting everything I helped her fight before we were married come creeping back in until it won. But what would be the point? People can’t fix what’s broken in others. They have to want to help themselves, and Nora doesn’t.

“The kids need you sober. Stable. Present, Nora.”

“Who is she?” she spits, stepping toward me again and ignoring everything I’m saying. “The one in there playing house in my seat? You lethertuck them in now?”

“She’s showing them what kindness looks like,” I say. “That’s all.”

Her jaw tightens. “You think I don’t miss them? You think I wanted this?”

“No,” I say honestly. “I think you’re hurting. But so are they. And they need a mom who doesn’t show up like this.”

Her face twists, but I can’t recognize the emotions behind it. She stumbles a step back and steadies herself on the building. Then she laughs in a hollow, broken way that echoes and draws the eyes of the people walking past.

Without another word, she storms off down the sidewalk, shoulders hunched against the weight of her own choices.