“Yes,” Sophie says, then adds, “Mostly.”
“Sophie.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“If anyone makes you uncomfortable, you call me. If you need a ride for any reason, no questions asked, you call me.”
Louisa’s face softens in a way that looks so much like Emi that it hurts. “We know.”
Toni reaches from the back seat and squeezes my shoulder. “We’ll be okay.”
Sophie leans forward and kisses my cheek fast, then immediately looks embarrassed about it. “Bye.”
I let them go.
They run toward the house in a tangle of long legs and swinging bags, calling to their friends as the front door opens. I wait until they’re inside. Then I wait until I see Louisa through the side gate, turning to wave with exaggerated patience.
I wave back.
Driving away is harder than it should be. They’re not babies anymore. They’re not toddlers running at me with sticky hands, not little girls climbing into my lap with picture books, not sleepy bodies carried from the car after a long day. They’re growing into themselves, and I’m proud of them with an ache that lives under my ribs.
It still breaks my heart a little.
That’s the deal, I guess. You love them with everything in you, then spend years watching them leave rooms without needing you to follow.
On the way home, I stop at the grocery store. Emi said we needed eggs, coffee, strawberries, and the oat milk Toni likes. I get all of it, plus the cereal Sophie eats by the handful and the crackers Louisa pretends she doesn’t finish. Near the checkout, I add flowers. I always do when they have the kind Emi likes best.
She’s in the kitchen when I get home, barefoot in jeans and a loose top, her hair clipped up with stray pieces around her face. Sixteen years together, and the sight of her still hits me dead center.
I set the groceries on the counter and start putting things away. Emi comes over to the flowers first, smiling. She lifts them from the bag and brings them to her nose.
“These are lovely.”
“So are you.”
She looks at me over the blooms, amused. “Smooth.”
“It’s true.”
Her smile shifts into the one that belongs only to me. The one that says she remembers every version of us, the bookstore, the rain, the first bouquet, the life we made from one unplanned day. Her laugh lines are deeper now. Her body is softer in places, still full and lush and mine to worship. Her curves still drive me out of my mind. Every year has only made her more beautiful to me.
She’s the best mother I could ever have imagined for our girls. Patient when I get too rigid. Fierce when they need defending. Funny enough to turn the worst days survivable. Strong enough to hold all of us without losing herself.
Emi sets the flowers in the sink and reaches for a vase from the cabinet. “Sophie needs new sandals before camp, and Louisa mentioned something about volunteering at the bookstore nextweek. Toni has that dentist appointment Tuesday, and I think we need to figure out the carpool for swim because I can’t be in two places at once.”
I step behind her and put my hands on her gorgeously wide hips.
She pauses. “What?”
“Can we not talk about the kids right now?”
Her head turns slightly, and I catch the curve of her smile. “What do you want to talk about instead?”
I slide my palms over the soft curve of her stomach and pull her back against me. “The book on your nightstand.”
“You’ve been reading my romance novels again?”
“I read the scene you left open.”
