There were science fairs and fevers I sat down for. Broken hearts, I didn’t know how to fix, so I just made grilled cheese and let them cry on the couch.
Three separate phases, when all three of them hated me at the same time. June, at 13, knocking on doors. Claire, 15, refused to look at me for a month. And Ava, 17, told me she didn’t understand anything.
I didn’t. But I stayed.
I missed things too.
- A cousin’s wedding in Denver because Claire had the flu.
- A fishing holiday that I promised myself for 10 years.
- The opportunity to have one family own.
- And Diana, the woman I love.
Diana was patient for a long time. More time than it should have been.
I missed things too.
“I’m not asking you to choose,” he said one night at the front door. “I’m asking if there’s room.”
“There isn’t,” I said. “He’s not the guy you deserve.”
She nodded as if she already knew. He left a sweater. I never gave it back.
