Page 142 of Reeves

"Well, first, I’m not a doctor. I’m a pediatric occupational therapist." I pull my legs in. "I work with kids who need help with basic fine motor skills, like developmental delays and sensory processing."

"That’s really cool. You always wanted to work with kids."

"I did." The memory surfaces easily. "Remember when I used to think I wanted to open a preschool?"

"I do. You had it mapped out. If I remember correctly, weren't you working through getting certified to do that?"

I laugh, surprised he remembers that level of detail. "I actually did get my license. But once I considered other ways to work with little ones, I decided to go to therapy school instead."

"That’s… impressive." There's genuine pride in his voice. I’m taken aback. He cares about what I'm doing.

"How long have you been doing it?"

"School was another three years, but I started interning after my first year, so technically almost five years. I had Benjy in there, so I had to cut back some on the double duty, but I started my company three years ago this November."

"What's that like? Being your own boss?"

The question opens something in me I haven't talked about with anyone except my parents. The pride and terror of building something from nothing, the satisfaction of helping families, and the constant worry about making ends meet.

"Terrifying and amazing," I say honestly. "Some days I wonder if I'm completely insane. Other days, I can't imagine doing anything else."

"You're impressive. Not that I'm surprised. You always have been a go-getter."

"I call it focused. I knew I needed flexibility with a little one. This checked all theboxes."

"How did you even know how to do all of this?"

Reeves leans back, processing, picking at the label on the beer with his thumb.

"I worked for a clinic in Biloxi for a year and learned the business side, how insurance works. That was an eye-opener. Once I felt comfortable with that, working for myself was essentially the same as working for someone else, just with more paperwork. I knew that would give me the freedom to make my own schedule."

"You built a wonderful life that works around him."

"I built a life that works for both of us." I correct him gently. "That was the point."

The night air has cooled enough that a chill runs through me. Reeves walks in without a comment and comes back with his uniform shirt that he drapes over my legs.

The simple act makes my stomach tighten. It smells like him. Without being obvious, I inhale more deeply to feel closer to him.

"I'm really happy for you, Charli. You should be proud of what you've done."

"It's not glamorous. Some months I barely break even. But it's mine. And Benjy has never had to wonder if I'll be at his school play because of some meeting I can't move."

"You did it alone."

The words hang between us, heavy with everything we're not saying yet. About choices made. About pride and necessity becoming the same thing.

I got good at doing this alone. Good enough that I stopped thinking about anything else. I've hardly dated since we broke up, and even when I did, I was counting down until I could get back home to Benjy.

I also realize being good at being alone doesn't mean I have to keep choosing it.

The silence between us has weight but no pressure. Like we've found some balance that doesn't require words.

Reeves shifts in his chair, angling toward me. "You're stronger than you were before."

"I had to be." The words come out sharper than I mean them.

Deflect. Change the subject. This is getting too close to things that still hurt.