When Anna and I finally make our way toward the sounds of the family in the kitchen, I pause at the bottom of the stairs. Mason sits at the table, a newspaper spread wide, chatting easily with his parents. The scent of Margaret’s early morning baking drifts through the air, mingling with the soft hum of “Silent Night” playing from the speaker. My nephews, game devices in hand, are locked in silent competition.
Gary stands and kisses Margaret’s cheek. “Can I get you some more coffee, love?”
“Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll take another.”
After all these years, it’s not a performance. It’s just love. Worn, comfortable, sure.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Mason glances up and notices Anna and me. He stands briefly to kiss her cheek, and offers me a small, sly smile. “You look… rested.”
His voice is light, teasing. And for a second, I catch a glimpse of the man I married: the one who used to run out for bagels after my morning runs, who programmed the coffee pot every night, who, that first night we met, read my desire to be invisible and met it with acceptance.
I take in his easy grin, the casual warmth. Maybe last night meant something. Maybe, even if it’s not everything, it’s enough. I almost convince myself of that lie until James walks up from the basement.
He’s in gray sweatpants, a sweat-dampened tee clinging to his chest and trim waist, hair swept back from his forehead. I track the length of him before I force myself to stop. Too late. He catches me, a slow smirk curving his mouth.
“Morning,” James says, casual and unbothered.
Anna turns her head, her big eyes tracking his movement. She smiles. A wide, toothless grin, the kind she’s only started giving out. He stops to tickle her belly, eliciting a soft giggle. His arm brushes mine, barely a touch, as he reaches for a coffee mug. I step back too fast, sloshing my coffee dangerously close to the rim.
“Careful.” His hand steadies me before pulling away.
The kitchen feels smaller. Too warm. His scent, fresh sweat, and that woodsy cologne, cut through the cinnamon and baking pies. I glance down, automatically reaching for the rubber band. Damn it.
“Good workout?” Mason asks, joining us near the coffee pot.
“Didn’t sleep great. I needed to burn some steam.” James takes a sip, eyes darting toward me.
I look away, burying the blush that rises too easily, as I take in them standing side by side.
They keep talking about workout and training plans, falling into safe territory, while I force myself to breathe. To look normal. I reach for something solid to say, instead of standing here like a fumbling teenager.
“Did you run Chicago? I haven’t been paying attention to whether races were on or canceled.”
James lifts an eyebrow, surprised I remembered. “Another casualty of COVID. Hopefully, it will happen this coming fall. Want to run it with me, get your next star?”
“Not sure I’ll be ready for a marathon by then. I don’t want to push too fast and end up injured.”
“We bought you that treadmill. It only takes a little prioritizing.” Mason’s voice takes on that condescending tone that grates every last nerve.
“Sometimes sleep is a priority. Especially if Anna’s had a rough night.”
“If running was a priority, you’d find the time.” He shrugs. “It’s not like you’ve got a ton going on right now.”
James, though, is having none of it. “Right. Because growing, birthing, and keeping a human alive—that’s totally low effort.”
His sarcasm is thick enough that even Anna probably hears it.
Mason doesn’t say another word. He drains his coffee, announces he’s heading to the gym, and walks out without a glance back. James watches him go, jaw clenched.
A silent scream builds in my chest, clawing at my ribs. I want to break something. To watch it shatter and join everything else I’ve spent months trying to hold together.
But I don’t.
I raise my coffee to my lips and swallow down the bitterness.
“Sydney,” Margaret’s gentle voice calls out. “Can I take Anna? We’ll play and I’ll put her down for her nap.”
“Thank you. That would be great.”
