They sit on the bench, and Stacey suggests she push her on the swings. She’s loud and eager, too over the top for the quiet morning of the park.
Elle agrees, but the juice box stays unopened on the bench. She holds the chains of the swing tight, her shoulders slightly hunched as Stacey pushes too hard, too fast. I take one step forward before Elle digs her sneakers into the dirt to slow herself, her eyes tracking over my shoulder. To Penny.
She’s slowed her jog, and when she notices Elle watching, she gives a small, exaggerated thumbs-up, then flattens her arms by her sides for a moment, pretending to waddle like a penguin.
Elle’s mouth twitches as she watches her, finally breaking into a smile that reaches her eyes. And I stand near the sandpit with my hands buried deep in my pockets and my heart in my throat, watching my daughter light up over a fake penguin waddle. Trying not to look too long at the woman who knew exactly how to make my kid smile, even from fifty feet away.
Stacey’s phone buzzes, and she flips it over, then flips it back.
“I’ve actually gotta head out in ten,” she says. “Something’s come up I can’t miss.”
Elle looks to me, and I glance from her to Stacey. I nod, keeping my hands in my pockets so she can’t see them clench.
“Fine.”
Seven minutes later, Stacey says her goodbyes, and promises something vague about seeing us next time at the Maplewood Cup final. She’s already halfway across the grass when Elle jumps down from the swings and wanders over to me.
She doesn’t look back toward Stacey.
“Can we get hot chocolate, please?” she asks.
“Yeah, bug,” I say, pulling Elle in against my side. “We can.”
Penny slows fully this time as she loops past us and reaches up to tug her ponytail tighter, pretending she’d planned to stop anyway.
“Did I hear hot chocolate?” she asks lightly. “With the tiny marshmallows?”
“Yeah,” Elle says, looking up at her a little brighter.
Penny nods and falls into step beside us. “Well, count me in.”
She doesn’t look at Stacey retreating across the field either, and doesn’t comment on the juice box still sitting on the bench. After a few steps, Elle lets go of my hand and reaches for Penny’s fingers instead. Penny doesn’t react beyond curling her fingers gently around hers.
“Did you know penguins can drink salt water?” Elle says suddenly, looking up at Penny. “They have a special filter thing in their beaks.”
My throat tightens as Penny smiles down at her.
“I did know that.” Penny’s eyes flick to mine, then back down to Elle. “I wonder if they like their salt water shaken or stirred.”
Elle giggles, and for the first time all week, my daughter sounds like herself again.
***
Elle’s quiet at bedtime. I brush through the ends of her hair while she watches us in the mirror.
“Daddy?”
“Mm.”
“Is Stacey really my mom?”
The brush doesn’t stop. I keep the rhythm steady, even though internally I pause at her question, repeated again.
“Yes.”
She studies me in the reflection. “I don’t remember her.”
“You were really little, bug,” I say. “Not even two, then you only saw her a couple times when you were three.”
