“A little,” I answer, a slight blush coming to my cheeks. I stick my hands into the pockets of my apron, one of my handsinstantly finding the black Sharpie I keep in there. My thumb and index finger mindlessly begin playing with the cap.
“The offer still stands,” she says, taking a sip of the iced latte. “Us moms have to stick together. Trust me.” Her glossy lips curve in a soft, reassuring smile, and there’s something about her aura that feels safe, like I can trust her. “The list is vetted, and I’m happy to share it with you,” she adds, alluding to the master list of babysitters and nannies that her friends and her brother all share.
“I appreciate it,” I tell her, wishing I could better explain how it makes my heart double in size at the thought of not being so alone in all of this like I thought I would be after leaving Trevor.
I’m still not used to the kindness I’ve been receiving since moving to Milwaukee, and it’s a weird feeling—borderline uncomfortable and very strange.
Mia gives me a small nod, taking my noncommittal answer, before turning to head to the door. I don’t know if she senses my trepidation or unease with the attention or her effort to connect, but if she does, she doesn’t show it.
“Tell Annie I’ll be a little late to tonight’s meeting,” she says over her shoulder, her blonde waves bouncing behind her.
Annie, the co-owner of Hey Honey’s, is due to stop in tonight with her fiancé and co-owner, Luke, for our monthly meeting. Every month, they hold a meeting about the upcoming specials and events happening in the space the coffee shop shares with the neighboring businesses.
Mia always joins as the person who does the marketing and social posts for Honey’s. The owners of the bar and bookstore next door usually join too, along with the other baristas.
“Will do,” I answer as she steps outside the coffee shop.
The warm May air rushes in as the front door closes, and I take a moment to look around the shop. It’s pretty empty aside from a couple seated by the windows. The mid-morningsunlight warms the air within the space, the smell of coffee now a familiar, grounding scent to me.
I wipe down the espresso machine, taking advantage of the lull in orders at the moment, thinking about what Mia said about the babysitters—as if I have anywhere to go besides work.
They always say it takes a village to raise a baby, but I was fully prepared to do it on my own.
When I left Minneapolis, I was basically saying “fuck the village”, even more so when I felt those contractions on that dark road in Northern Wisconsin and kept driving further away from what I used to call home.
But with no parents or siblings, and not many people I could consider friends, I guess it really never was home to begin with.
This idea ofnothaving to raise my daughter all on my own doesn’t seem real to me, like I can’t trust it. I’m also not used to taking what people say at face value. I’m used to finding hidden meanings and having to read between the lines, saying what someone wants to hear without them telling me.
It’s what I did with my father; it’s what I did with Trevor.
It’s what kept me safe.
I’m lost in my thoughts and barely hear the door to the back office swing open. “Someone wants to say hi,” a voice from behind me calls out, and I turn to see the manager of Honey’s, Ava, with analmostone-year-old against her chest in the baby carrier I got as a present from Luke and Annie when they hired me here.
“There’s my girl,” I coo, an instant smile coming to my face when I see the head of dark hair and the soft, chubby thighs hanging from the carrier. The thoughts of Trevor and childcare fleeing from my brain for the moment. “How was she?” I ask Ava. My daughter’s little limbs wiggle from where they stick out of the carrier; small babbles and little baby noises fill the quiet cafe, mixing with the soft jazz playing over the speakers.
Ava gives me a little shake of her head, as if my question is silly. “You know, asking the same question and expecting a different answer means you’re insane,” she teases, a smile on her face as she tucks a piece of auburn hair behind her ears.
I close the space between us, giving my daughter a peck on the top of the head, that intoxicating baby smell warming me from the inside out, bringing me back to when she was born.
When I woke up in the hospital, almost a year ago to the day, having no memory of how I got there, I had no idea that it would lead me here. I can still recall the pain all throughout my body—my skin covered in fresh cuts and bruises forming over the ones Trevor left.
It wasn’t until a nurse explained to me that I was in a car accident, and the doctors performed an emergency C-section that everything came rushing back.
The dark road.
The impact against the tree.
Calling 911.
Passing out.
I was in labor before the crash.
I instantly forgot about the pain I was in and leaped from my hospital bed in pursuit to find my daughter, to see if she was okay—if she wasalive. The nurses had to hold me down, and I passed out from the increase in heart rate, the intensity and trauma of both my injuries from the crash and the C-section taking over.
It was when I came to for the second time that my nurse, Phoebe, brought my daughter to me.
