Page 24 of It’s Me, but Different

“Mom. Do you like Mom?”

I drop my hot chocolate thermos.

“Ana Sofia… I…”

“Because we like you,” she interrupts again. “You're fun. And you make Mom laugh. And Mom looks at you the same way she used to look at Dad.”

The mention of their father leaves me trembling. I'm sure he was a good man. Someone who wanted the best for his family and who has left an impossible void to fill. And here I am, complicating his widow's life when she just wants to move forward and raise her children as best as possible.

“If Mom were happy again… that would be okay,” Theo adds, lowering his voice.

“Yes, of course, of course it would be okay,” I respond carefully. “We all want her to be happy, right? And your dad, if he can see her, would also want her to be happy.”

“Then why is everything so complicated with adults?” Ana Sofia insists.

I don't have an answer for that. At least, not one I can share with two eight-year-old kids who have lost their father and who see how their mother struggles to find balance in her life.

A balance that I threaten just by being here.

The break goes much longer than normal. I share with them stories about Silver Peaks, about family traditions, about the races I used to have with my sisters when we were little. The twins listen attentively, asking questions and laughing at my anecdotes.

And with each of those stories, with each smile from the children, I realize I'm entering very dangerous territory. I'm getting attached. Not just to Esme, but also to the kids. And I know that when they leave, I'm going to have a really hard time.

“I don't want to go back to Colorado. I'm better here,” Ana Sofia blurts out.

“This is very beautiful, but your mom has her job there,” I explain.

“And can't she work here?” Theo insists. “There are lawyers in Silver Peaks too, right?”

“Well… there are many fewer lawyers than in Denver, I'm sure of that. This place is very small and lives off tourism. It's…”

“Yeah… complicated,” Ana Sofia sighs, rolling her eyes dramatically.

And she's right. Everything is fucking complicated. Especially when I've hurt Esme so much that she'll never open her heart to me again.

That night, I decide to stop by the hotel bar, hoping to run into her. To apologize, to clear things up, to… something.

And there she is.

Sitting alone at a table by the fireplace, with a glass of white wine she's barely touched, watching the flames with an expression half thoughtful, half melancholic.

“Do you mind if I sit?” I whisper.

“Go ahead,” she responds, pointing to the empty chair next to her. “How were the twins today?”

“Incredible.”

“They adore you, you know? They haven't stopped talking about you all afternoon.”

“They're special kids.”

“Sloane, about yesterday…” she starts, but I interrupt her, raising a hand.

“Wait, let me talk first. I'm really sorry. I've barely been able to sleep. I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have triedanything. You're right, you have enough dealing with raising your children alone.”

She stares at me, and suddenly I'm not sure if I just messed up, because I swear there's disappointment in her eyes.

“It's ironic, isn't it?” I add with a bitter smile. “Eleven years ago I was the one who didn't want complications. The one who put her sports career above… above us.”