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Jack grins his approval.
“Uncle Luca wants us to cook the meals he had delivered,” Cora says.
Emerson walks into the kitchen in her sparkly purple tutu and bright blue swimsuit. “I found my dance shoes!”
“Great, are you ready to go?” I ask.
“No, I have to go potty.”
“Okay.”
She walks across the kitchen, toward the half bath off the laundry room.
“It might be a while,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone. “It’s a number two.”
Jack groans. “TMI, Emerson.”
I can’t help smiling. “It’s okay. Just let us know when you’re ready, Emerson.”
“And turn on the fan this time!” Cora calls out.
So far, I haven’t felt any of the sadness I was worried I’d feel here. The kids keep me busy, and I put their needs first. I may not technically be a mother anymore, but my instinct to care for children is innate. I don’t want anyone to feel left out, forgotten or worried. And between the three kids, that occupies most of my time.
By the time Emerson finishes in the bathroom, we have to rush to get to dance practice on time. And when we get there, the group of three-year-olds in the class right before Emerson’s tugs at my heart.
Their chubby hands and carefree laughter makes me yearn for Chloe. She’d be six now, not much older than Emerson.
“Abby, watch!” Emerson cries, practicing a twirl.
I clap and she curtsies, softening the ache in my heart. The day continues like that, the smeared chocolate and marshmallow on Emerson’s mouth as we cook our dinner over a fire pit reminding me of my daughter, who was forever wearing her dessert.
But then Jack passed me the “extra jumbo large” s’more he’d made just for me, his proud grin bringing me back into the moment.
I’d never let myself come unglued in front of the kids. But the more time I spend with them, the more confident I feel that I can get through this without driving myself into the ground with physical exhaustion.
Emerson has been climbing into bed with me at night, which she apparently likes to do with Luca, so I can’t get up before dawn to occupy myself to avoid nightmares. But with her next to me, I haven’t had any.
Cora’s bedtime is half an hour later than Jack’s and an hour later than Emerson’s, and by the time I finish bath and story time for the younger two, I sit down next to her on a couch in the living room and let out a deep breath.
“Watching anything good?” I ask.
“Not really.”
We stare at the mermaid show in silence for about a minute before Cora turns to me and asks, “Are you Uncle Luca’s girlfriend?”
I’m not sure what the answer is. My mind races as I try to come up with the right words. She saw Luca kiss me before he left, and it’s probably not great for her to think he kisses women he’s not dating.
“Yes,” I say. “But we haven’t been dating for very long.”
“Do you have kids?”
I feel a small stab in my chest. “I used to. My daughter Chloe, she died three years ago.”
“She did?” Cora furrows her brow. “How did she die?”
“In a car accident.”
“I’m very sorry.”
Gone is the ten-year-old who was fighting with her younger brother earlier over a bottle of water. In her place is a girl who has known deep loss. I can see it in the way she’s looking at me; there’s more understanding than I get from most adults when they find out about Tim and Chloe.
“My mom and dad died, too,” she says solemnly. “My dad died serving in combat and my mom had cancer.”
“Cora, I’m so sorry. That had to be so hard.”
She nods. “Yeah. I never even got to say goodbye to my dad.”
“What do you do when you feel sad?”
Shrugging, Cora says, “I just feel it. My counselor Donna told me that you can’t make feelings go away. She said to give them oxygen and let them breathe. I would cry and talk about it. Sometimes I’d get mad. She said there are no wrong feelings.”
“I guess that’s true.”
I’m an imposter for saying that; I’ve spent three years running from any feelings that hurt. And seeing a ten-year-old girl who has faced her own pain puts things in a different light.
“Do you ever feel sad about your daughter?”
“Yes.” I clear my throat. “Sometimes I feel very sad.”
“Me too.”
Cora gives me the slightest of smiles. “Sometimes when the other kids are in bed, Uncle Luca lets me stay up late and watch the hockey channel with him.”
“That sounds like fun. Except I don’t know much about hockey.”
“I can explain it to you.”
“Okay, let’s do it.”
She gets the remote and changes the channel. We both get comfy on the couch and I put my phone next to me in case Luca calls. And then I follow along with the show, trying to figure out this game Luca loves so much.
