Page 50

NOW

I wish Ava had taken a longer nap. I wish I’d started the party at two, instead of noon. I should have ordered cupcakes instead of a specialty-made, two-tiered sugar monstrosity that I’ll be responsible for dissecting into a dozen pieces.

My first year of motherhood has taught me this: I’m always second-guessing myself.

And it’s not like I have a partner to tell me otherwise, contradict my own insecurities.

I have no husband. No boyfriend. It’s just Ava and me.

I’m responsible for every doctor’s visit, every sleepless night, every celebration.

Of course, I chose this path. But sometimes, in moments like this, when every shortcoming seems on full display, I really feel it. That heavy responsibility.

Then Ava smiles, a reminder parenthood is worth it. Even the hard parts, the lonely parts. Her happiness sends out a silent signal that I’m enough.

If I’m being honest, I’m not as alone as I may feel.

I look around the room, cataloging each person who has come to celebrate Ava’s first birthday.

Some people I felt I had to invite for the sake of the business, like Holly Dale, the hotel manager across the street.

The words she uttered when she first learned I was pregnant stay with me: A baby is a lot to take on by yourself .

She irks me, but I have to remain friendly with her because she always provides tourists with coupons for The Shack.

There are a few mothers from Mommy and Me I know on a first name basis; I invited them so Ava isn’t the only baby at her party.

And then there are the people who’ve really helped Ava and me during this first year.

Carmen, my best friend, her long black hair falling over one shoulder.

Over by the pinball machines, I spot her two kids: Preston and Penny.

Preston is manically punching the ball grip on the machine, despite nothing happening.

Penny has taken a roll of streamers and is wrapping them around her brother’s ankles.

“Cut it out, you animals,” Carmen shouts when she spots them.

“It’s a party,” says Michael, her husband, standing by her side. “Let them have fun.”

My business partner, Des, walks into the dining hall carrying a pan of handmade cheese pizza. The older kids take their seats at the decorated table.

“Time to eat,” Des says, in her husky voice. “If you want toppings, I have another one coming.”

None of the kids care. I know from years of working here most kids only want cheese and balk at anything else.

Des is also my honorary aunt, of sorts—I’ve known her as long as I’ve known anyone, it seems. She’s owned The Shack for years, inviting Mom to step in as co-owner some years back.

After graduating college, I joined them, taking over the management of the place.

This little eatery has proven to be a stable support system for all involved, favored by both locals and the tourist crowd visiting the nearby beaches.

North Bay is a small beach town by the Atlantic, and it’s the only place I’ve ever called home.

I love everything about it. The bronze sands, the blue skies.

I love that the place only feels touristy during the months of July and August; the rest of the time, it’s like this beautiful landscape is a secret, only to be enjoyed by our few thousand residents.

We moved here when I was a toddler. I certainly don’t remember living anywhere else, and once I was old enough to swim in the ocean, I knew I’d never want to leave.

Des catches sight of me holding Ava and shuffles over.

“There’s the birthday princess,” she says, her voice climbing a few octaves. The only time that happens is when she’s around my child. Normally, Des despises children, but Ava works some kind of magic on her. “Let me hold her.”

“She looks adorable,” Carmen says, walking over to join us. Michael is only a few steps behind. “This dress is perfect on her.”

“It was very generous of you,” I say.

“It’s a shame she’ll mess it up once she tears into that cake,” Des says, giving Ava a hearty cuddle.

“A true fashionista wouldn’t be caught dead in the same outfit twice,” Carmen says, nudging Des.

Looking at them, you wouldn’t think Carmen and Des had anything in common.

Carmen is tall and slim, while Des is short and squat.

Carmen appears polished in her high-waisted pants and blouse, where Des looks thrown together in flour-dusted joggers.

It only takes a short conversation with the two women to see how like-minded they are. They both give as good as they get.

“The place looks great,” Michael says, giving the room another once-over. I’ve turned The Shack’s dining room into a pink and gold wonderland, an almost exact replica of the Pinterest board I started creating three months ago.

“Thank you.” And I am thankful. I need this reassurance.

I reach my hand out to Ava, letting her tiny fingers clench around mine. Her light blue eyes flit about, taking in the colors, the presents, the people. She appears happy. That’s all that matters.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I scan the screen to see who is calling.

It’s Evan.

Of course he’d be calling today. He probably doesn’t remember it’s Ava’s birthday , I tell myself. Or maybe he does and that is why he’s calling. Either way, I won’t answer. I switch the phone on silent, tucking it into the back pocket of my jeans.

“Who’s that?” Carmen asks, having caught the look on my face.

“No one,” I say, looking around the room. “Anyone seen Mom?”

“She’s upstairs wrapping her gift,” Des answers.

“I’ll go get her. I’m sure the other parents are getting antsy. It’s probably time to cut the cake,” I say, giving Ava another smile before walking away.

When we moved to North Bay, Mom rented the upstairs apartment above The Shack, which is how she met Des. They sparked a friendship, and the rest is history. We continued to live there, even though Mom eventually made enough money to move elsewhere. She’s still never left. It’s her home, I suppose.

I climb the narrow stairwell connected to the kitchen, gently pushing open the apartment door. Mom is sitting on the living room floor in front of a massive gift-wrapped box.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she mumbles, a strip of tape between her teeth.

“You spent too much time decorating for the party.” I lean against the doorframe, my arms crossed.

“I know. I just wanted the place to look perfect. And it does, doesn’t it? You picked the most adorable decorations. I love the cake. And that little sign for her high chair.”

Mom tacks the tape to the box and sits back, pleased. She leans on the present for stability and stands.

“Do I even want to know what you’ve bought her this time?”

“I’ve got one granddaughter. Let me spoil her.” She walks over and squeezes my hand. “Speaking of gifts, I got you a little something.”

I poke my head into the hallway to hear what’s going on downstairs. “We have people waiting.”

“It’ll only take a second.” She pushes the hair off her face, and I notice the sparse gray strands starting to peek through. She takes a small pink box out of her pocket. “Today is about Ava, yes. But it’s a special day for you, too. People always forget the mother’s role.”

Here I am, thinking my efforts go unseen, thinking I’m not enough.

Mom always has a way of reminding me that I am.

She’s the partner I need when the weight becomes too heavy.

And she’s right: throughout the day, my mind has revisited where we were a year ago, the intimate details of Ava’s birth story.

Somehow, the event seems like yesterday, and yet here we are a year later, celebrating it.

The joy and the pain. It takes both to make a life. It takes both to live one.

I open the gift. It’s a ring with three pearls. Each is a different color: black, white and pink.

“Mom, you didn’t have to?—”

“I wanted to get you something. You’ve sacrificed a lot over this past year, and, honestly, I couldn’t be prouder. I thought I was lucky having you for a daughter. You’re an even better mother.”

We’ve not always had this friendship, Mom and me. Most mothers argue with their teenage daughters, and we were no exception. But since I entered adulthood, we’ve become much closer. Best friends, really. And since I’ve had Ava—my goodness, I don’t know what I’d do without her.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, sliding the ring down my finger.

“The different colors reminded me of the three of us. You, Ava and me.”

I hug her, resting my cheek against her shoulder. “Thank you, Mom. For everything.”

I help her carry Ava’s gift downstairs. We place it by the present table, where the cake sits at the center.

There’s a unicorn cake topper on the top layer.

Carmen’s idea. It’s fitting, I suppose. Like Ava herself is a mythical creature, rare and beautiful.

Ava was never a guarantee, that’s for sure.

She’s a gift. My little miracle. Now she’s here, smiling at everyone that passes, equal parts overwhelmed and mesmerized.

Carmen is holding her, probably so Des can fetch the next pizza. Carmen is deep in conversation with Holly Dale. I only catch the tail end as I approach.

“I’m just saying, I think it would get to me,” Holly says, one hand on her hip, the tattoo on her bicep on full display. “How can you defend people who willingly break the law?”

I puff out my cheeks, bracing for Carmen’s response. Holly is a wannabe activist, the causes ever-changing. Of course, she can’t understand Carmen’s career as a defense attorney.