Page 17 of Safe With You

Mila’s mouth fell open.

“Daddy!”

“What?”

“I’m not bossy.”

“Sure.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay, Mila.”

“I’m serious.”

I laughed.

Questions about her mother came more often these days.

Mila was old enough now to realize there were pieces of the story she didn’t know. Old enough to understand that most of her friends had memories she didn’t. Some days the questions hurt, but most days they didn’t; most days, I welcomed them.

The last thing I wanted was for Elena to become a person we stopped talking about because it was easier than missing her.

“Mommy really was bossy?” Mila asked.

“Absolutely.”

“More bossy than Auntie Tasha?”

I nearly choked.

“No.”

“Then she wasn’t that bossy.”

I shook my head and slid a pancake onto her plate.

“Eat your breakfast.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer you’re getting.”

She accepted defeat long enough to drown her pancakes in syrup.

Three years ago, I wasn’t sure what our mornings would look like.

Three years ago, every plan I’d made for my future disappeared in the span of a single phone call. A car accident had taken Elena, and everything after that became about figuring out how to keep going.

There had been a time when grief followed me everywhere. It sat beside me at dinner, climbed into bed with me at night, rode shotgun during school drop-offs and grocery store runs and doctor appointments.

Life kept moving anyway.

Not because I wanted it to or because I was ready, but because Mila still needed breakfast. She still needed rides to school. She still needed somebody to help her find her shoes and sign permission slips and explain why the moon sometimes looked bigger than usual.

The world hadn’t stopped when Elena died.

Neither had parenthood.