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RUMI

“Is ‘make cookies’ code for something these days?” Ava is sitting on my bed with Evee when I walk into my bedroom after taking a shower, my hair freshly-washed, no longer smelling like stale coffee and warm milk, dressed in jeans and a pink baby tee.

I grab the sweater I left on my bed, tying it around my waist to hide the bit of my stomach peeking out above my jeans—while I’m thankful to my body for carrying and bringing my daughter into this world, I’m still working on accepting the softness of my stomach or the scar from my C-section.

“How should I know?” I gather my wet hair, twisting it into a low bun at the nape of my neck. “He probably needs help unpacking and the cookies are bribery.”

Ava scoffs. “Yeah, right. Wanting to take Evee to the park, get dinner, and make cookies together is all to get you to help him unpack.” She holds one of Evee’s sensory books open, letting her play with all the different flaps and attachments.

She’s in just a diaper, wrapped in her towel, the green frog hood over her head.

I walk over to the dresser next to Evee’s crib, pulling out a new onesie, shorts, and some socks for her to wear. “He’s just being friendly.” Holding Evee’s clothes, I lean back on the dresser.

Since Jack came into Hey Honey's three days ago, I haven’t stopped thinking about the way he invited me over so casually—and how he thought to include Evee.

I’ve been open with him about being a single mom lacking in the friend department, so the rational part of my brain keeps trying to remind myself that he’s just trying to be a good friend. I shouldn’t be surprised he asked to hang out—that’s what friends do.

“Do you really think it’s code for something?” I ask Ava, suddenly even more nervous than I have been all day.

Ava looks up at me as Evee takes the book from her, flipping to the next page on her own.

Ava’s auburn hair is twisted into two braids hanging over her shoulders, a few pieces framing her face.

She didn’t work today, so she’s in leggings and a yellow crew neck.

She got home just before I did after running errands with Evee all day, having taken over the party planning for Evee’s birthday party next weekend.

I can’t even begin to guess what all the shopping bags on our kitchen counter are filled with—Ava doesn’t do anything half-assed, not even my daughter’s themed “Wild One” party her and Emerson came up with yesterday.

After one afternoon at Hey Honey’s together, the two came up with a whole theme, to-do list, and plan for decorations.

On Evee’s actual birthday two days ago, Luke and Emerson took the Wednesday shifts to finish up the minimal training Emerson needed, and Ava and I spent the day celebrating Evee.

For her birthday, Ava and I woke Evee up with blueberry muffins—the non-vegan version that Ava argues tastes noticeably different from her vegan ones. I gave up trying to convince her that using almond milk and coconut oil versus buttermilk does not make that much of a difference.

The two of us sang her “Happy Birthday” as she stared at us like we had gone crazy before I helped her blow out her candle. She opened the few gifts Ava got for her—a wooden shape puzzle with her name and a pink bunny she’s barely let go of the last two days.

Luke and Annie FaceTimed to say happy birthday, telling me they got Evee a one-year ZooPass to the Milwaukee Zoo that we can pick up next time we go—perks of Annie being an exotic animal vet.

Even Mia and Drew sent flowers from both them and their husbands, with a gift card from Elsie and Sierra to their bookstore, Love & Lore, that just recently added a section of children’s books.

The day was perfect, and I had this overwhelming joy and pride as we celebrated Evee—all her growth and the precious memories of the past year.

But, at the same time, I couldn’t ignore the bittersweet sadness, realizing how much time has passed and how quickly Evee is growing up.

Throughout the day, there were moments that I felt guilty that it was just me here to celebrate her—guilt that I gave her a father who I will never allow near her and grandparents who don’t even know she exists—but then I remind myself of all the people who I didn’t even know a year ago and how they’ve become such a huge part of our life.

Evee and I have come so far since the night she was born, and the day truly showed that.

“Doubt it,” Ava says, my thoughts darting back to the conversation at-hand.

“Jack doesn’t seem like the type talk in code.

” She reaches her hand out for me to hand her Evee’s change of clothes.

“He actually seems too honest for his own good, like he’s incapable of wasting time saying things he doesn’t mean. ”

I nod, taking in her words, thinking about how bluntly he challenged me about my habit of apologizing.

Ava has been trying to get a read on Jack since he barged into Hey Honey’s all those weeks ago, and I trust her judgement more than mine. While Jack hasn’t given me any reason not to trust his intentions or be weary of him, hearing Ava’s impression of him settles some anxiety.

I haven’t been alone with a man since Trevor—and, just like my father, he never wanted me out of his sight.

Jack’s bluntness, although rooted in how much of a grump he can be, is refreshing, like a breath of clean air after years of inhaling smoke. Maybe that’s why I feel so comfortable around him—he means what he says.

I’m used to having to read between the lines, staying quiet, and constantly monitoring moods to avoid triggering any anger—tactics I developed over years and years of abuse and living in fear.

Mariah and I have worked on processing my trauma in our therapy sessions. We’ve discussed the importance of noticing the differences between my safe, respectful relationships to rebuild the trust I have in others—specifically men.

And we’ve been talking about Jack lately.

Our session yesterday ended up being all about him and my feelings about tonight. I voiced my feelings and fears about Jack and how my initial impression of him is positive, yet my doubts are constantly creeping in, telling me that he could just be putting on a show like Trevor did.

We talked about the different things I could do to feel in control and even empowered tonight—starting with giving Ava my location and coming up with a safe word if I need her to come get me, both of which gave me instant relief.

“Do you think it’s okay to bring Evee?” I look at my daughter as Ava sets her down in her lap to put on her socks, having already changed her clothes for me. “Maybe I should go by myself, just in case.”

“Just in case, what?” Ava challenges. “I’ve only ever seen Jack be gentle—maybe even a little scared—when it comes to Evee.”

“I know, but?—”

She cuts me off. “No ‘buts’. That’s just the trauma talking.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah. I wish it would shut the hell up.”

“It will,” Ava says with a smile, holding Evee’s hands so she can’t take off the socks she just put on like she always does. “Soon.”

“Not soon enough,” I mutter, pushing off the dresser and holding out my arms for Ava to hand me Evee. “You ready, lovebug?” I ask my daughter, and she gives me that two-toothed grin that you can’t help but smile back at.

“It’ll be great,” Ava says, scooting to the edge of my bed to stand up. “And like you said, you guys are just friends. There’s no need to be worried. It’s not like this is a date,” she says with a laugh.

My cheeks instantly redden at the thought of a date with Jack.

“Right?” Ava prods, standing up, and I feel the flush in my cheeks.

“It’s not a date.”

Ava eyes me carefully. “Do you want it to be one?”

I shake my head. “No, we’re friends. That’s it.”

“Okay,” Ava says, stretching out the word. “Then, you better get going. Don’t want to keep your friend waiting.”