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Lainey

“This isn’t going to become an every weekend thing, Lottie.”

“Mom, please ,” Lottie whined, dragging out the word like it had extra syllables. “We want to watch this old, classic show called One Tree Hill .”

My breath caught in my throat. “ Classic? ” I gasped. “That show isn’t even that old.”

“It’s from the early 2000s, Mom. It’s a classic .”

She was just trying to hurt me with those words. “I watched that show when I was growing up, Lottie, and I’m in my thirties . M*A*S*H is a classic. Not One Tree Hill .”

Lottie rolled her eyes dramatically, like that was the most mom-thing I could possibly say. “Whatever you say. Can I go to Julie’s tonight?”

“It’s Friday night,” I said, my tone flat with meaning.

“And?” She bounced on the balls of her feet. “We want to stay up late and watch as many episodes as we can. Please?” She stepped forward, clasping her hands together in front of her chest in full-blown beg mode. “ Please, can I go?”

“I haven’t met Julie’s parents.”

She grabbed her overnight bag off her bed and slung it over her shoulder like she was about to backpack across Europe, not go ten minutes away. That bag had seen more use since we moved to Mt. Pleasant than it had in the three years prior.

“You can meet them when you drop me off. Please, Mom, please ?!”

I sighed and rolled my eyes, already halfway resigned. “Fine.”

“ Yay! ” she cheered, spinning toward the hallway. “What time do I have to be home? Can it be six?”

“In the morning ?”

Now it was Lottie’s turn to roll her eyes. “At night, Mom. We need all the time we can get to watch as many episodes as we can.”

“You know, back in my day, we had to wait an entire week between episodes. No binge-watching.”

Lottie nodded solemnly. “I know. And you also went to those machines to rent records.”

I blinked. I could feel a headache blooming behind my left eye. “They were DVDs, and it was called RedBox . And for the record, there are still RedBox machines. There’s one by the drugstore back home.”

“Good story, Mom. I love when you tell it.” Her voice was pure sarcasm, her smile wide. “Now can we please go to Julie’s? They’re waiting for me to start the first episode.”

I was losing her—one One Tree Hill marathon at a time.

Fridays used to be ours. We’d curl up on the couch, true crime reruns playing while we picked apart delivery pizza and argued over who the real killer was. But now? She had new people, new plans.

It looked like I was going to be solving cold cases with mozzarella sticks all by myself tonight.

I grabbed my keys and shoved my feet into my sandals. “Let’s go. I wouldn’t want you to be late for the first time Lucas sees Peyton.”

Lottie slapped her hands over her ears. “Don’t tell me anything! I want to be surprised .”

“Oh, you’ll be surprised,” I murmured. One Tree Hill was an emotional roller coaster. They had no idea what they were in for.

We stepped into the garage, the fluorescent light humming above us. I hit the button to lift the door while Lottie zipped ahead to the driver’s side.

“I’ll drive!” she announced gleefully.

I stopped mid-step and dropped my chin to my chest. “God help me.”

Just last week, I’d called to make her DMV appointment—and had been shocked to learn we could just walk in . I should have known then my days were numbered.

Now here she was: sleepovers, friend group, and driving . And she’d just called one of my favorite shows a classic .

Grab my walker and haul me to the nearest nursing home. I was officially old.

We climbed in, and I buckled up slowly, my mom senses tingling.

“Maybe you could try to make some friends,” Lottie said as she eased the car down the driveway. “Like, go to the bar or something?”

I looked over at her. “I think I can handle making friends, Lottie. You don’t have to worry about me.”

She shrugged like it wasn’t that big of a deal, but I caught the little side glance she gave me. I appreciated it—even if it stung a bit.

We turned onto the street, and she pointed us in the direction of Julie’s.

“How do you know where we’re going?” I asked.

“Julie lives next to Tiff,” she said confidently, keeping her eyes on the road.

I nodded and sank a little deeper into my seat, one hand braced on the center console. She wasn’t a bad driver. You could just tell she was new. Her hands were too stiff on the wheel, and her foot was still learning the delicate balance between acceleration and panic.

We drove in silence, the kind that felt comfortable on the surface but had a hint of melancholy under it. I kept sneaking glances at her profile—the familiar curve of her nose, the freckle on her cheek, the way she bit her lip when she turned. She was still my little girl. Just… not so little anymore.

When we reached Julie’s neighborhood, I started to relax—right before Lottie took a corner like she was in a NASCAR race.

I braced a hand on the door. “Maybe slow down before the turn next time?”

Even she looked a little rattled. “Good suggestion,” she muttered.

We parked out front and both got out of the SUV. I followed her up the walkway to a neat little ranch-style house with a cheerful blue door.

Julie’s mom answered after one knock, holding a glass of wine in one hand and a polite smile on her face. “You must be Lainey. I’m Meredith.”

“Nice to meet you.” I gave her a once-over—cute sundress, bare feet, glossy nails. She seemed nice enough, maybe a little too into her rosé, but nothing that set off my mom radar.

“Don’t worry,” Meredith said, as if reading my thoughts. “We’re just having a quiet night. The girls are in the basement. I’ll keep an ear out.”

“Thanks,” I said, offering a small smile.

Lottie was already halfway inside, shouting goodbye over her shoulder like we weren’t two feet apart.

“Text me if anything changes,” I called after her.

“Love you!” she yelled, already disappearing down the stairs.

I turned back to Meredith. “Thanks again. If anything comes up—”

“I’ve got your number from the contact form. She’s in good hands.”

I nodded and headed back to the SUV. Once I was alone in the car, I pulled the door shut and let out a long sigh. One single tear rolled down my cheek before I even noticed it.

“Man,” I whispered to no one. “Growing up sucks.”

Not just for Lottie. For me, too.

But maybe it wasn’t just about losing something. Maybe it was about getting something else in return.

A new kind of time. A blank page. I just had to figure out what to write on it.

I started the car and shifted into drive, heading down the quiet street.

And that new page?

It was going to include pizza.

And finally finishing the painting in the hallway.