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Naptime is sacred for pre-K teachers. It’s thirty minutes of bliss. But today, mine is not blissful at all. I can’t stop thinking about Everett, and how unfinished this situation feels.
I hate when things have been left undone. It’s not like me to leave something left to do. I don’t leave dishes in the sink. I wash them before I go to bed. Nor do I keep laundry in the dryer. Living out of the dryer was one of my parents’ foibles, and I hated it, so I put clothes away as soon as they’re done. A place for everything and everything in its place, and all that.
Everything with Everett feels like it’s hovering.
Not that I imagine that our connection is still there. It’s been almost six years. We are very different people now. I am not the naïve and happy-go-lucky woman that I was back then. And I’m sure he’s changed too. He seems stronger. More confident. He didn’t back down when I pointed out that he had lied to me—instead, he apologized and promised to do better. Which, sadly, is more than I can say for most men I’ve met. Even if our connection is still there, that doesn’t mean that I could act on it. I have a son to think of.
A sigh drifts out of me when I think of Owen.
He asked about his father again this morning over his fruity breakfast cereal. With all the innocence of a child, he asked if his father likes cereal. Such a harmless question, and it stopped me in my tracks. I choked on my nugget and almost dropped my coffee. How do I tell him I don’t know his father well enough to know what he likes for breakfast?
Thankfully, he was far more concerned about me choking to death than he was about his question, but I can’t distract him by nearly dying every time he asks about Everett. My little man ran around the table and rubbed my back, asking if I needed him to do the “high lick” maneuver. Which started me laughing while I was choking, and that only made the choking worse, subsequently sending him panicking into attempting the maneuver.
It was a rough morning. But so many of them are.
Rough morning or not, he deserves more than this. He deserves answers of some kind, and for that, I have to get to know Everett. Or, at least, find out his breakfast preferences.
The thoughts circle in my mind, vultures picking at the carcass of a night that died years ago. Could he fit into our lives somehow? To know that, I have to know him. Who he is now. They say people don’t change, but I heartily disagree. I’ve certainly changed. I’m sure Everett has, too. Maybe he found some kind of enlightenment in the Andes. Maybe he has grown up, matured. Who knows? Right now, he is a blank canvas for me to project my thoughts onto, and that way lies danger.
It would be all too easy to fall into the trap of thinking of him as a potential partner. He’s shockingly good looking and wealthier than I could ever be. Those two things right there are the basis for over half my romance reading list. But how kind is he? How caring? Those are the things I need to know before I can decide whether to let him meet Owen.
Even though he’s his biological father, as far as I’m concerned, that does not mean he’s got a right to meet my son. I know the state would say something else about it, but thankfully, I haven’t told anyone about this. Not even Lily. So, no state involvement for now.
And then it all clicks in my head. This situation isn’t hovering. It’s a noose slowly closing around me.
If someone were to see the two of them together, they’d know instantly that Owen was his son. He has his coloring. He smiles like his father, just a little crooked. Genetically, they are two peas in a pod. This situation will blow up—I just know it. But before that happens, I have to know if Everett is a good person, so I know how to go forward.
Marta McCall is the first one to wake up. She’s a bright-eyed girl with brown hair and big brown eyes, and she always smiles and waves at me and Riley when she’s the first one up. Thankfully, she then goes to the back of the classroom to play quietly.
Our quiet time is coming to a close. Time to make a choice.
My fingers float over my phone. I should text him and set something up. But what if he’s still an irresponsible kid, hellbent on traveling the world? It was a romantic notion back then, but now? Now, it’s a liability. Or he could be an asshole. The kind of guy who thinks of women as disposable…or worse. It’s—
You’re projecting again. Stop it.
Being a single mother, I’ve developed a colorful imagination, which makes it easy to live in my head. There are so many things that came out of the question when I had Owen, so many doors shut because of my responsibilities. I can’t just pick up and fly to Paris on a whim. Or volunteer for the Peace Corps and travel the world. So, instead of focusing on what I can’t do, I read fanciful romance novels and forget about living those adventures myself. That life is not for me.
But fostering a relationship for my son with his biological father might be for me.
I text Everett for a call, wondering if he’s the type to respond fast. Guys so rarely are. But then the notification pops up, and butterflies with razorblade wings have a dogfight in my stomach. I motion to Riley that I’m taking a call outside, and she nods. On my way outside, I chant to myself, I can do this, over and over.
One good gulp, and I call him. He answers quickly. “Hey, Aria. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”
“Um, do you need to go, or—
He chuckles. “No, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just thought you might need more time to decide whether to call the jerk who left you in the morning.”
I laugh despite myself. “Yeah, well, sometimes even jerks deserve second chances.”
“I hope so,” he says pointedly. “How are you?”
“Wow, um, that’s a loaded question at the moment. The kids are about to wake up from naptime, and it’s always an interesting first hour. Sometimes it’s hard to corral them after naps, because sometimes they are ready to start bouncing off the walls again. Sometimes, they’re still half-asleep. You never know what you’ll get.”
“You have kids?”
Just the one.“My students.”
“Oh, right.” He laughs at himself.
