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I remembered feeling the same way when I worked full-time at the hospital. But it was nothing compared with raising a toddler—on my own—day in and day out. No one handed me an instruction manual. There was no easing into it. I just had to deal with it. Answer questions on my own. Figure out what she wanted the hard way.
Like when I’d tried to give her broccoli at dinner and it had ended with so much screaming and crying that I was sure someone was going to call the cops on me.
Mira did not like broccoli.
Noted.
When she finished in the bathroom and did a passable job of washing her hands, I followed her into the bedroom.
Because I had been advised not to give her too much change at once (the beauty of my mom being a therapist), Mira was still sleeping in a crib. Without fail, she tucked herself into the top right corner, pulled her stuffed duck under her arm, and then rubbed the edge of her soft yellow blanket against her face.
Her eyes were still bright and awake, but she didn’t fight me on lying down.
“Just a little quiet time,” I told her.
“Five minutes?”
I smiled, leaning down to tap the edge of her nose. “Maybe a few more than that. I’ll check on you in a little bit.”
“I have my froggy?” she asked. “Duck needs a friend.”
I glanced back at the pile of stuffed animals. No frog in sight. It was likely still in her bedroom next door. “I’ll look for it, okay? You close your eyes, and I’ll bring it in if I find it.”
Mira nodded.
“I kiss you?” she asked.
Despite how precocious she was, Mira hadn’t quite learned the proper way to phrase things when she was asking for something specific, and when my heart melted in my chest, I kinda hoped she never did. I leaned down to kiss her forehead, and she patted my cheek as I did.
“Have a good rest, kiddo,” I whispered.
She smiled, and already her eyes looked just a little bit heavier.
When I left her bedroom, I sagged against the wall.
From where I was standing, I could see Chris and Amie’s house through the window at the end of the hallway.
Once, Amie and I had joked that we should put in a walkway connecting our houses. It was shortly after my divorce, when I was still adjusting to living in the big house by myself. So many nights I’d found myself in their kitchen, eating ice cream with Amie, because sometimes that was the healthiest way to deal with life’s shitstorms.
I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Rosa.
Me:Can you sit here for a few minutes? She’s having her quiet time, but I need to look for something at the house.
Rosa:Be right there.
While I waited for Rosa to arrive, I didn’t even hesitate to grab a carton of mint chocolate chip out of the freezer, pull a spoon from the silverware drawer, and dig in unceremoniously. She let herself in through the front door, eyeing my eating habits with unconcealed judgment.
“Bit early in the day for that, don’t you think?”
“Not everyone eats apples when they’re stressed, okay?”
She raised a haughty eyebrow. “I never should’ve told you that.”
I laughed around my bite of ice cream, then put the carton back into the freezer. “This shouldn’t take me long,” I told her.
But Rosa waved me off. “Take your time if there’s anything else you need to do over there. Any idea when you’ll sell the house?”
I shook my head. “Technically, that’s the lawyer’s decision. He’s the executor of their estate. I think he’s waiting on guidance from me.”I made a vague gesture with my hand in the direction of where Liam lived, wherever the hell that was. “In case what’s-his-name ever pulls his head out of his ass.”
