“What does this smell like?”
She takes a big sniff and then her eyes turn dreamy.
“Christmas,” she whispers.
Jesse nods. “Peppermint is the secret ingredient. My grandma taught me that trick.”
I smile to myself. My grandmother was partial to peppermint too.
They work for another hour, laying traps in the corner of the pantry and vacuuming up the crumbs. The kids are wiped by the time they finish, and I feel no qualms about letting them plop onto the sofa to watch a movie.
Once I’ve gotten them settled, I return to the kitchen, where Jesse is packing up his supplies. I collapse onto a barstool, the weight of my exhaustion finally catching up with me. Now that I don’t have to put on a brave face for the kids, the emotions I’ve suppressed since we arrived are bubbling to the surface. I take a deep breath, forcing them back down. I can’t let go just yet. I need to hold it together a little bit longer.
“Thank you so much,” I say. “Both for getting rid of the moths and making them smile. You don’t know how much you’ve helped today.”
Jesse shrugs off the compliment. “It’s no big deal.” His expression is kind and open, and against my better judgment, I feel my defenses lower even further. I feel the same way I used to at the end of a long day on set, when I would strip off my costume and peel off the corset underneath. But instead of skin, it’s self-doubt that’s breaking free. Before I know it, an unwelcome confession is spilling out of me.
“Deep down, I know that’s true,” I admit. “But I can’t help feeling like I should have known better. I should have anticipated the state the house would be in. What kind of mother puts her kids in an unsafe situation?”
Guilt creeps back in, and I wrap my arms around my waist, folding inward. I did the best I could, but coming here at the last minute was overwhelming. I was so focused on getting the kids’ schedules set and making sure everyone had what they needed that I didn’t stop to think about what thehousemight need beyond new floorboards. I didn’t consider if it was even habitable before moving my family in. I can’t believe how careless I was. The moths were an unpleasant experience, but what if it had been something worse? What if something far worse is lurking, waiting for me to discover it?
It feels like I can’t do anything right these days. I couldn’t keep my marriage together. I didn’t give my kids the summer they were expecting. I ripped them from their lives and dragged them here, and so far, it’s been another colossal failure. And now here I am, spilling my guts to an unsuspecting stranger who was just trying to be nice.
I don’t realize I’m crying until a warm, salty tear lands in the corner of my mouth. Jesse tears off a strip of paper towel from the roll on the countertop and hands it to me.
“Hey,” he says softly. “It could always be worse. It could have been bears.”
It’s random and unexpected, and somehow exactly the right thing to say. I bark out a watery laugh.
“Thank you,” I manage. “I needed that.”
He takes another step forward, closing the space between us. I can smell him from this close, his woodsy scent mixing with the peppermint of the cleaning spray, and my body involuntarily leans toward him, like a wilted flower desperate for sunlight.
But the tears keep coming. I’ve opened the valve and now I can’t seem to shut it off. And as I let it out, I become aware that there are more complex feelings here than guilt alone. There’s fear and uncertainty, but also a sense of relief. Today was the first time in recent memory that I didn’t have to solve every problem on my own. And it felt fucking fantastic.
I stare up at Jesse, completely overwhelmed by gratitude. I want to throw my arms around his neck or bake him a batch of cookies, or… something. But it’s all way too much for a person I barely know, no matter how inexplicable our connection feels.
I twist away from him, brushing off tears with the heel of my hand as I attempt to pull myself together. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m cycling through emotions so rapidly that I’m giving myself emotional whiplash.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Jesse reaching a hand toward me, like he’s going to give me an awkward side hug or comforting pat on the shoulder. He does neither, dropping his arm back down to his side like he’s thought better of it. I cringe internally. He must be so uncomfortable. Men never know what to do when women cry.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I never cry in front of people. I really don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s okay,” he says quietly. “I’m used to it. My brother cries all the time. I once had to take him off a project because the owner had a yellow Labrador that looked too much like the dog inMarley & Me. He couldn’t make it through the front door without dissolving into a puddle.”
I laugh-sob again and Jesse dips his head closer. I lift my chin to stare up at him. His face is inches from mine, and I notice for the first time that his eyes are the same bottomless, murky blue of the lake. He’s looking at me in a way that makes me feel completely exposed, like he can see right through to the center of me. For once in my life, I don’t hate it.
“For the record,” Jesse continues, his expression turning serious. He lowers his voice so the kids can’t hear us from their spot on the sofa. “I bet you’re a terrific mother. Just look at those kids.”
We both turn to glance at Isla and Levi, who are sitting with their heads bent close together, giggling. The old box TV is still hooked up to a VCR, and they’re delighted by the images moving backward every time they hit the Rewind button.
“You see how happy they are? That’s because of you.”
My lips part as I stare up at him wordlessly. Our faces are only a whisper apart, so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. He swallows and I watch, transfixed, as the Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.
After a beat, he seems to register how close we are and takes a step backward, putting some distance between us. The electric tension in the air unwinds.
“Look, it’s probably not my place to say this,” he says softly, “but don’t be so hard on yourself. You don’t let them wallow in their mistakes. Give yourself the same grace.”
