Then she glances at the time on her watch and sighs. “But what I do know is tomorrow is a ten-year-old’s birthday that we’re all looking forward to. And believe it or not, nine o’clock is feeling very late. I want a hot bath. I have a very serious date with my bed.”
I’m about to return a seriously good retort about ways I could maybe help with that hot bath, when Theo pops back into frame, pajama-clad and wide-eyed. “Mom, can we watch something?”
“Of course,” she says, warmth rushing back into her voice. “Say goodnight to Sawyer.”
“Night,” he says, waving.
“Night, buddy.”
She smiles at me one last time. “See you tomorrow.”
The screen goes dark.
I lower my phone, standing alone in my quiet room, suddenly very aware of how empty it feels. But not in a bad way.
In asomething’s comingway.
Because she trusted me with the hard stuff.
And I can feel it deep down: this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
CHAPTER 24
JULIETTE
The kitchen may be a hot mess, but it sure does smell like sugar, butter, and all kinds of birthday victory.
I flip the last pancake onto the plate, chocolate chips melting into glossy little pockets, then reach for the whipped cream. I go a little heavy-handed with it because it’s Theo’s birthday and because this is one of those mornings where rules can take the day off.
Ten. My son is ten today.
I carry the plate toward the hallway just as a small body barrels out of his bedroom like he’s been launched from a cannon.
“Mom!” Theo skids to a stop in socked feet, hair sticking up in three different directions, eyes bright and wild. “Is it pancake day or am I still dreaming?”
I laugh. “It’s pancake day.”
He pumps a fist. “YES.”
“Happy birthday, buddy,” I say, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “Double digits.”
“I’m officially a very mature person now,” he says solemnly, then immediately bounces on his toes. “Okay, can we do it? Can we do birthday pancakes in bed?”
“Already planned,” I say, lifting the plate. “You think I’d forget?”
He gasps like I’ve just performed magic.
We pile onto my bed, because crumbs don’t count on birthdays, and Theo digs in with the enthusiasm of someone who has been counting down to this moment for weeks. He talks between bites, words tumbling over each other, barely stopping to chew.
“Hold on,” I say, reaching behind me to grab the small wrapped box I tucked against my pillow earlier. “Birthday boy gets birthday presents.”
His eyes widen. “Mom.”
“It’s small,” I warn, handing it to him. “But I always want you to have something to open on your birthday.”
“You’re already taking me to the game,” he says, laughing.
“Theo.” I wait until he meets my eyes. I love this kid so much, I want him to have it all. Yet, here he is, trying to tell me I shouldn’t have gotten him one of the gifts he asked for. “We have to mark the day you showed up in this world and changed mine forever. So yes. You get something to open.”
