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“You have that face like when you mess up the flowers and have to start over. And you look tired like Dad does when he has too much work.”
I closed my eyes, marveling at how perceptive children could be. They might not understand the details, but they always picked up on the emotional undercurrents.
“Sometimes grown-ups worry about things,” I said carefully. “But that doesn’t mean anything bad is going to happen to you.”
“Is Dad worried about me?”
“Your dad loves you more than anything in the whole world. Sometimes when people love someone that much, they worry about keeping them safe and happy.”
Luca nodded solemnly, accepting this explanation the way six-year-olds did. “Can we make Dad feel better? Maybe with cookies?”
Despite everything, I smiled. In Luca’s world, most problems could be solved with cookies or hugs or maybe a really good story. If only adult life were that simple.
“I think cookies are an excellent idea,” I said. “But first, let’s call your dad so he doesn’t worry about where you are.”
Colby answered on the first ring, relief flooding his voice when I told him Luca was safe with me. “Jesus, I found his note, but . . . thank you. I’ll be right there.”
“Take your time. We’re going to go upstairs and make cookies.”
“Can I talk to him?”
I handed the phone to Luca, who immediately launched into an explanation about how he’d remembered to look both ways and use the crosswalks, just like Dad had taught him. I listened to his side of the conversation, hearing Colby’s patient responses through the phone.
“Dad wants to know if you need anything from the store for the cookies,” Luca said, covering the phone with his small hand.
“Tell him we have everything we need.”
After they hung up, I locked my shop up took Luca upstairs to my apartment. We spent the next twenty minutes mixing dough and talking about normal six-year-old things. Like his upcoming soccer game, whether dinosaurs could swim, and his theory that vegetables tasted better when you dipped them inranch dressing. I let myself get lost in his chatter, grateful for the distraction from the turmoil in my head.
When Colby arrived, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands had clenched into fists at his sides. But his face transformed when he saw Luca standing on a step stool, carefully dropping chocolate chips into cookie dough.
“Looks like you’ve been busy,” he said, ruffling his son’s hair.
“Miss G let me crack the eggs, and I only got a little bit of shell in the bowl,” Luca announced proudly. “We fished it out with more eggshell which is funny.” He giggled.
“Good job, buddy.” Colby’s eyes met mine over Luca’s head, and I saw gratitude there along with the worry. “Thank you,” he mouthed.
We spent the next hour baking cookies and letting Luca tell us elaborate stories about the adventures of Cookie Monster and Big Bird. Normal domestic activities that felt both comforting and heartbreaking, given what we were facing.
When it was time to go, Luca hugged me tight around the waist. “Thanks for making cookies with me, Miss G. And for not being sad anymore.”
“Thank you for helping me feel better, sweetheart.”
After they left, I sat alone in my apartment surrounded by the smell of fresh cookies and the weight of an impossible decision. Colby’s request echoed in my mind, along with Summer’s words about how much I cared for Luca.
I walked back down to my shop, turned the closed sign to open and tried not to think about the customers I may have missed. Instead, I tried to focus on the chrysanthemum arrangement, but my hands shook as I reached for the stems. Three years. That’s how long I’d been in love with Colby Marshall, though I’d never admitted it to anyone, not even myself, most of the time.
It had started the night his world fell apart. November third, to be exact. I remembered because it was the same day I’d gotten the call that my own father had remarried without telling me, making it clear once again that I wasn’t really part of anyone’s family. I’d been wallowing in my apartment with a bottle of wine and a terrible romantic comedy when my phone rang at midnight.
“G?” Colby’s voice had been broken, raw. “I’m sorry to call so late, but I didn’t know who else . . .”
I’d walked to his house in my pajamas and found him sitting on his kitchen floor, surrounded by empty beer bottles and wedding photos scattered like evidence of a crime scene. Lyla had told him she was leaving that afternoon. She’d been seeing someone else for months, she said. Their marriage had been a mistake from the beginning.
I’d sat down beside him on that cold tile floor and let him lean against me while he talked about all his perceived failures. As a husband, as a provider, as a man. I’d stroked his hair and whispered reassurances, and somewhere in those dark hours before dawn, my heart had made a decision my head couldn’t take back.
I’d fallen in love with my best friend’s pain, with his strength, with the way he’d picked himself up the next morning and made pancakes for his son like his world hadn’t collapsed twelve hours earlier. I’d fallen in love with his laugh when it finally returned weeks later, with his calloused hands that created beautiful things from raw wood, with the way he looked at Luca like the boy held the entire universe in his small body.
But Colby had been clear from the beginning. I was his friend, his support system, the safe harbor he could return to when the storms of single parenthood became too much. He’d dated other women over the years. Sarah, who’d lasted six months before he’d pulled away when she started talking aboutmoving in together. Rebecca, the elementary school teacher who’d tried so hard to connect with Luca but had been gently pushed aside when things got too serious.