Snowed Under (Aspen Peaks #2)

20. Cooper

W hen I got home from work, I was still running on pure adrenaline.

With Finn being out, I had a good bit of slack to pick up and no breaks from skiing except during my older classes, where the students didn’t need a ton of help anyway. By the time I was leaving, I was running on E. Until I remembered my date with Madeline tonight. Not-date, I guess. Still, I had tonight fully planned in my mind. Something fancy. A three-course meal at one of those places that never filled you up, bottomless champagne, and chocolate-covered strawberries in my car after. Appetizers with Gruyère cheese and entrées with tiny spreads of purple mash on the side of a ceramic plate. I’d break out the expensive cologne my uncle gave me last Christmas and probably put on that tie that had been wasting away since Finn’s wedding. We could go back to the lodge after and go to the rooftop to look at stars or do something equally romantic that would give me all the fake boyfriend points. Maybe some music too. I’d make all of this worth it for her. I’d give her more of me; she’d give me more of her. And when I dropped her off tonight, I would try to snag one more kiss—for research purposes only.

I raced to the shower, jumping under the hot spray and taking every hygienic precaution possible, down to shaving my scruff and applying pomade. Just as I was getting dressed, my doorbell rang.

My eyebrows scrunched in confusion because:

1. I was picking Madeline up.

2. If she was here, she was an hour early.

I shrugged, assuming it was UPS dropping a package off, and ignored the ringing and went right back to getting ready.

Only then the doorbell rang furiously three times in a row, accompanied by pounding and a shrill “Cooper Graves, you answer your mom right now.”

That made me snicker. Ma had this habit of showing up entirely unannounced. She liked to call them happy little surprises, but usually, they came at the worst possible times. Like when I was in the bathroom, or a couple of years ago, it seemed to always happen when I was entertaining a lady friend. She used to shout “You better be naked when I come in.” We usually were. Now she knew better, though. She knew I was alone here a majority of the time. “You’re all grown up,” she always said now that I’d left every bit of that life behind me.

I walked to the door and opened it with wide arms. The brisk cool air fought its way in as I did. Mom walked past me and took off her coat, setting it on the couch. She stared at my getup—navy pants and a white button-down with a tie sitting loosely around my neck. She smiled a bit and shook her head, stepping over to fix it for me. Her hands reached for my neck as she undid and redid my tie correctly.

“You cleaned up for me?” she asked with this tone that I knew all too well was her way of asking her a question in different terms.

“Nope. Got a date tonight.”

“Date?” She pulled back. “A real one?”

Err…no. But that situation was too complicated to explain to her. And playing pretend to one more person couldn’t hurt. “Real as it gets.”

“Who’s the girl?” She hummed to herself and sat down, making herself at home on my tiny gray sectional.

“She works at the lodge. You probably wouldn’t know her, but her kid takes lessons with me.”

Ma pulled back to look at me with judging eyes. “She’s a mom?”

I could have corrected her. Could have said “no, she’s just an aunt.” But I’d watched her with those kids enough to know, yeah, she was a mom. The way Mini Coop talked about her. The way Half-Pint stared at her like she was an angel who’d hung the moon. All other technicalities aside, those were her children.

“Yup.” I combed a hand through my hair in an attempt to let this stupid pomade rest. “A great one too. Real sweet girl.” Also a knockout. I didn’t add that last part, ’cause I enjoyed my life and didn’t want my mother to end it right there.

“Oh, Coop.” I saw it in her face. The duality of being glad I was going on an actual date and the fear that I was dating a single mom too. “That’s…” She trailed off, looking for the right words, and I snorted.

“It’s great,” I supplied. “Really, really great. You’d like her a lot.”

She smiled a bit. “I’m sure I would, but I just…dating a single mom is a lot to take on, Cooper. That’s why I mostly avoided it when you were little.”

That and I sent death threats to anyone who tried. Mom and I were our own tight circle, one that didn’t need anyone else. We had each other, so much so that I never really cared that I didn’t have a dad. Other than the one instance. She devoted so much of herself to my life that anyone extra would have just ruined it for us, I think. I loved the way I’d grown up, and there was no way I’d ever change it.

That being said, I did understand where she was coming from.

“She’s different, Ma. You gotta meet her to understand. The kids too. They’re amazing.” Well, Mini Coop was. That other little rascal left a bit to be desired, but Madeline adored her, so there had to be some good in her.

“I’m sure they’re all lovely, Coop. I just worry about you raising any expectations for them and then…” She didn’t have to finish her sentence. I got it.

Because there was one single instance that had broken both of us. Long ago, there was a guy in my life. A guy we both thought could be a dad for me. He played ball with me in the backyard and cooked dinner for us. Even let me sit in his lap when we went to see movies. It felt real at the time. Still kind of did here and there in certain memories. Mom and I both got attached, only for him to leave a year later. Mom never really said why, but I overheard my uncle once say he was a two-timing cheater, so that gave me enough of a clue. From then on, we understood that there would be no real father in my life. And after a while, we were okay with it. It went from an acceptance to a relief. All we had was us, but that was all we needed.

“This is not that, believe me,” I defended. “I am nobody’s daddy, and I promise no expectations are being set.”

She nodded. “As long as she understands that too.”

Madeline did, for sure. She was the one constantly turning me down. I was just along for the ride, and I was taking advantage of every moment I got with her.

Just then, my phone started buzzing on the coffee table. Madeline.

I picked it up and held up a finger to my mom, mouthing one sec.

“Hey, what’s up?” I smiled to myself and tried to tamp down any excitement in my tone.

Immediately, things felt off. Madeline sounded out of breath, and there was crying in the background. “Hey.” Her answer sounded more like a cry of defeat than a hello.

“What’s wrong?” I started looking for my keys as the distant crying only worsened.

“It’s…Pipes is sick. Really sick. Not sure exactly what she’s got, but her fever has spiked and”—a hoarse cry came through—“we’re a mess. But all the urgent cares that take her age are closed, and her pediatrician won’t answer the dam—darn phone.” She sighed. “I’m really sorry, Coop. I’ll have to do another night.”

I listened as she waited in silence for my answer. It sounded like a zoo had been let loose in her house between Charlie talking to Half-Pint and all the screaming. I turned to my mom, and she eyed me. What? she mouthed, and I spoke before even asking.

“My mom’s a pediatric nurse, or she used to be.” Ma was frantically shaking her head, but I kept going. “She came by to see me, but we could pop by and check on her for you?”

Ma had her hand raised to her throat, waving her fingers back and forth as she whispered, “Absolutely not.”

I held a thumb up and mouthed please right back to her.

Madeline spoke up. “No, no. Don’t do that.”

“Why? We live right here.”

“I know, and I won’t have time to clean up the house. It’s a disaster and—” I could hear water running. “I can’t get her fever to come down, and I’m sweaty from running around, and poor Charlie—”

“Please just let us stop by really quick.” The desperation in my voice must have been sign enough for my mom, because she slowly nodded. “We don’t care about any mess or how you look,” I pleaded as I listened to Half-Pint screaming in the back. “Please.”

Eventually she gave up, and I dragged Mom out to my car. We sped down the road, taking two quick lefts, and pulled into Madeline’s driveway. I was reaching for my keys when Mom’s hand lay over my fingers.

“Coop, baby, when I said not leading them on or setting their expectations too high, this is the kind of stuff I meant.”

“What stuff?” I asked in a defensive tone. “We’re a block away. Her baby is screaming and crying. You used to be a nurse. And I’m supposed to just not come when she calls?”

Ma was silent. She knew I was right, but I saw her point too. She’d watched both of our hearts break when her ex left us. If anything, I should be thankful, since she was protecting Madeline. But then I thought about how ridiculous that thought was in the first place. Madeline had rejected me. Twice. Even when she’d agreed to this, it was begrudgingly. I was the one too caught up here. The one foolishly using some fake boyfriend excuse as reason to be near her. The one clinging to the fact that once this interview was over, I’d have nothing left to give or get from her.

So in my mom’s silence, I said, “Believe me, if anyone is being led on, it’s me.”

I hated how true it was. How, just earlier that week, I’d watched all three of them in that sitting room, looking out at the snowy mountains touching the clouds. Feeling warmth spread in my chest, and not due to the lit fireplace on the opposite wall. My fingertips tingling, antsy to get closer.

I wasn’t fit for fatherhood, believe me, I knew that better than anyone. But still, my expectations were far beyond my control already. All I could do was ride the wave out and see where it took us.

Ma nodded. “All right. If you say so. Let’s go check on this baby really quick, and we’ll leave as soon as we’re done.”

I didn’t want to argue and say we’d stay as long as it took, so I kept quiet.

We hopped out of the car and walked to the front door. Mom stood beside me on the steps while I used the same knock I’d always used when I was entering a room with Madeline in it. One knock, a pause, and then three more. Whether she noticed it or not, it was our thing. She just hadn’t had the chance to use it on me yet.

A beat passed before the door opened, and my heart lurched.

Madeline stood there, eyes watery and shadowed. She tried to greet me with a smile, but it was on a wobbly foundation, ready to crack at any moment. Her honey-brown hair was hanging in a loose ponytail, with fringe pulled all around it and a couple of uneven bumps coming out of the top. My eyes trailed down to Half-Pint in her arms, clinging so tightly that Madeline’s skin was turning red where she dug into her. The sniffling cry that came out of the toddler as she buried her face in Madeline’s neck only hurt my chest more. Madeline was at her breaking point. And I was the one to meet her there.

“Madeline, I—” I started to offer a hundred things. From pharmacy runs to Pedialyte and chicken noodle soup to a simple hug. But the word expectations kept lingering in my mind—in my mother’s voice, specifically—so I stepped aside. “This is my mom. She—”

“Dr. Lora?” Madeline’s eyes widened, and she stepped closer, like she was further trying to hide the chaos behind her door.

I turned back to my mom. She sucked in a shaky breath, mouth open slightly. It was the first time in a long time I had seen my mother shaken. Her hands seemed to gravitate toward me, brushing my arm like she needed something to hold on to.

“Madeline?” she asked with this voice that sounded so broken and scattered. “You’re…” She looked back to me, and I dipped my eyebrows before turning back to the exhausted aunt in front of us. This time when she spoke, her tone was laced with soft sympathy, reminiscent of a mother finding out her son had suffered his first heartbreak. “Oh, Madeline.”

Piper’s cry turned into tiny sniffs as she turned to face us, lifting her head from her aunt’s chest. She raised those tearstained eyes and snotty nose our way and said, clear as day, “Lola?”

My mom looked like someone had punched her in the gut, eyes wet and lips uneven, but still, she smiled. “Hi, baby. I thought I’d come visit you. Can I come in?”

Half-Pint looked at her and nodded, wiping the back of her hand over her eyes and reaching the tiniest little arms out for her. Without hesitation, my mom grabbed her, and we walked inside.

I sat with Madeline in the hallway outside their guest bathroom, a pile of dirty laundry to my left. We listened as my mom and Half-Pint were on the other side of the door, playing in lukewarm bath water. I could hear my mom scooping and dumping water with extra sound effects, and every now and then, you could hear a faint giggle from the little one. Charlie went to go grab towels from the laundry room, leaving only us.

“I had no idea you knew each other,” I said. “Sorry if it’s weird.”

Madeline shook her head. “It’s easier this way, really. Piper would never allow anyone else to check her temperature. She loves her Lola.”

I snorted at that. “It’s pretty cute. Lola. I need to start calling her that.”

“She’s great at what she does.” Madeline smiled and wiped a hand over her face.

When we arrived, it seemed like she was on the brink of snapping. Like if three more minutes had passed, then we would have found her lying in a puddle on the floor. But when she saw my mom, who I quickly found out was also Piper’s speech therapist, everything seemed to ease up a little. The tension slowly melted into dried tears and eventually comfort. Over the last twenty minutes or so, while Mom managed to get Half-Pint calmed to an occasional cry instead of the shrieking squall that was torturing all of us, Madeline and I sat against this wall.

Her house wasn’t a disaster, but it was lived in. Much more so than mine. Almost made me dread going home in the first place. Various toys and stuffed animals spread across the vinyl flooring. Some small, faded purple markings on the light gray walls—presumably done by a tiny Picasso. Madeline’s makeup bag open on the bathroom counter, mascara tubes and lipstick shades that I would love to see her in spread out in an array. An Xbox under the TV on a console table. Two piles of laundry half folded on a dark leather love seat. Framed photos were scattered around, mostly of the kids, but a few of young Madeline too. In the dining room, where I’d followed Madeline as she grabbed her phone after we arrived so she could make sure her mom knew there would be no date tonight, sat a large golden frame with a picture of a couple that I’d never seen before. The man with dark, almost black, hair and a strong nose held a tiny Charlie on his hip, and a tall blond woman at his side with a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes. Her brother and his wife.

It felt like I was given a glimpse into her life. Mini Coop’s too. Like now, when I texted her and asked what she was doing, and she responded with simply washing dishes or helping the big one with homework, I could picture it. I could clearly envision Madeline living out her days here, and only just a block from me.

“You know,” I said, watching as the woman beside me turned to give me her eyes, “technically, we’re neighbors.”

“We are.” She smiled. It wasn’t her normal one or the shy ones I’d seen her pass out. It was an exhausted, relieved one that felt like it was held together by WD-40 and duct tape.

“We could be like that Taylor Swift music video. Where they hold up signs to each other.”

She snickered. “I can’t see your house from here, though.”

“It would be really big signs.”

We both laughed at that and leaned back into the wall as Mini Coop rounded the corner. “I didn’t know which towel you’d want, so I grabbed four of them.”

Madeline smiled. “Thanks, kid. I think she’s doing a lot better now.”

“Sounds like it.” He rubbed his ear. “Thought I was going to burst an eardrum.”

“Me too,” his aunt agreed. Then she sat a little straighter. “You can move the Xbox into your room tonight if you’d like.”

Mini Coop looked shocked by the offer. “Really?”

She nodded. “Uh-huh. Just for tonight, since you helped so much.”

“Sweet. Thanks, May!” He took off down the hall, and not three seconds passed before you could hear cords being ripped from their receptacles.

“Hey, Mr. Coop!” he shouted.

I answered. “Yeah?”

“Wanna come play COD?”

I paused and looked down to Madeline for permission. I was by no means a parent, not even a plant one, but I knew clear boundaries were important. And I would never step on the ones she put in place.

She shrugged back at me and mouthed sure.

“Yeah, man. Let me know when it’s set up, and I’ll join in.”

He replied with a loud “’kay,” and we listened to him shuffle to his room on the other side of the house.

In the bathroom, there was the sound of the plug being pulled and water circling down a drain. Madeline creaked the door open, dropped two of the four towels in, and closed it. Mom sang a song that I had been all too familiar with since I was Half-Pint’s age too.

“You’ve Got a Friend,” by James Taylor.

She claimed she sang it to me every night because we had more than a normal parent/kid relationship. We were friends. And sure enough, winter, spring, summer, and fall, she had been there through it all. All seasons of life, including this tiny one with Madeline and her two kids, short as it may be.

Madeline cleared her throat. “Thanks for coming by.”

I nodded. “Thanks for letting us.”

Mom emerged from the bathroom with a tiny blond gremlin passed out in her arms. Half-Pint was wrapped up in a purple hooded towel, one of those that had a character’s face on the hood. A blond princess with a long braid and flowers in her hair. Her small chest rose and fell in steady breaths, and all signs of tears and snot had been replaced by rosy cheeks and a pink button nose awfully similar to her aunt’s. The cutest Sour Patch Kid I’d ever seen.

“Want me to put her down in her room?” Mom asked Madeline.

She nodded. “I’ll show you where it is.”

They headed toward the other end of the house, and I followed. Mini Coop was there, softly calling for me from the doorway of his room. “It’s ready.”

I pushed off my knees to stand from my crouched position and followed the sound of an Xbox turning on and the main screen coming to life.

His room didn’t have a specific theme. No matching set of curtains and comforters like I had growing up—my mom claimed that even if it was my room, she was going to have it looking like HGTV was going to randomly pop in one day.

A dark green comforter on his twin bed. A mahogany desk with an old clock. Sitting on it was a thick laptop and a wired mouse on a squishy red mouse pad that looked like it had been picked at by tiny fingernails. A bobblehead of Mats Zuccarello and some scattered homework papers with tiny doodles sitting beside it. Lumps of clothes in the corners—clean or dirty, I didn’t know. There were a few hockey posters, one vintage comic skiing image that looked like Madeline had picked out for him, and a picture of him, his aunt, and his baby sister, all in a red booth at a restaurant, a birthday cake with lit candles directly in front of them. Last, a small beat-up teddy bear sitting on his bed that he swatted away when I entered the room.

Mini Coop–themed.

I gave an impressed nod. “Cool room.”

Charlie walked from the console that sat on the floor since his dresser was too far from the TV. He handed me a spare remote, one with buttons that had sharp edges, like two tiny teeth had chewed on the knobs. “Here you go. It’s our only spare. And Piper messed it up when she was getting her molars in.”

I grabbed the controller without hesitating and tested my thumbs on the rough buttons. I hadn’t played a ton of video games since high school, and even then, I was more of a PlayStation guy, if anything. The majority of my time had belonged to the snow and the mountains and girls. Though if I could sit my younger self down, maybe I’d tell him to stay inside a bit more.

“Thanks, kid. I’m a bit rusty, so go easy on me.”

He only smirked at that and started the game without a word. I should have taken that as a sign that he was far more versed in Call of Duty than I was, but still, I got my ass handed to me. By a nine-year-old. Again and again. And then one more time.

Four rounds of creative mode, and my thumbs were sore from how hard I’d been pressing the buttons. As if the more I pushed, the more they would do the right things so I could put a child in his place. But that never happened.

I stood, gently tossed the remote onto his bed, and stretched. “Well, that was embarrassing.”

“If it helps, I beat May every time too.” He shrugged and started up another game, single player this time because me and my old-man fingers couldn’t keep up.

It was easy to imagine Madeline sitting on the couch in their living room, Piper on her left, doing whatever toddlers do during the day, and Charlie fighting over winning status with her. I saw her pretending to be defeated, saying things like “one more time” and still never trying any harder. Always letting him win and always making sure he was proud of it. Because that was the kind of person she was. It was obvious that success for someone she loved meant success in Madeline’s life too.

“I’m gonna check on your aunt and sis really quick.” I walked down the hall toward the murmuring voices of my mom and the girl I was desperate to know more about.

Standing outside of a pale pink room, they were quiet enough to keep the tiny one asleep and yet still be able to hear each other.

“You think so?” Madeline asked, and my mom didn’t hesitate to nod.

“I know so.”

I creeped farther to listen in. If they turned around and caught me, I would have had no shame anyway, so I might as well lean into it.

“It’s hard some days. A lot of days.”

“It is.” My mom nodded. “Even now, for me, it is.”

“How did you do it?” Madeline asked in this tone that felt so flat, so defeated, that I wanted to pick her up and put my mouth on hers and blow it right back to that normal peppiness.

“I couldn’t tell you. It’s hard to remember a lot of times like this when you’re living in survival mode.” Mom sighed and kept her eyes on Half-Pint. “But I always trusted my gut, and it never steered me wrong.”

Madeline hummed. “I didn’t know you were a nurse before you became a speech therapist.”

“For many, many years.”

They sat in a moment of silence, and as I was about to step in, Madeline whispered low, almost to where no one could hear. “How did you know you wanted to quit nursing?”

I could hear the smile in Mom’s response. “Someone came into my life and made me realize I deserved to do something I truly loved. Even if it meant sacrifice.”

“You mean Cooper?”

Mom nodded. “Even as a baby, he demanded nothing less than 100 percent. He pushes you to be the best version of yourself.”

“Yeah…” Madeline sighed. “He’s good at that.”

I bit down on my smile, pride shooting its way through my veins.

“You two seem good for each other. A good balance. Although, I am biased, as someone who is a big fan of both of you.”

The way Madeline’s shoulders slumped so quickly made it clear that wasn’t the response she was hoping for, but she recovered quickly with a smile. One of the fake ones. “Thanks.” A pause. “For coming over, and the bath, and the fever, and…” Another pause. “The Cooper.”

I almost cackled at that. Mom snorted a little. “I can’t take too much credit for that last one. Boy’s a wild card. But I’m glad you two are friends.” Friends came out wobbly and unsure, but Madeline didn’t correct it, so Ma went on. “He needs someone good in his life. Someone strong and kind. It seems to me you’re the right person for the job.”

I smiled. She was.

“Thank you,” Madeline whispered back, and I watched as my mom—the same woman who avoided high school reunions simply because she found physical touch so unbearable—wrapped her arms around my best friend. That was exactly what Madeline was to me, and maybe a bit more too. But for now, in this season, she was my best friend.

Finn would have an absolute fit. But I had a feeling the spot for best friend in his life was about to be replaced by a tiny squish ball of miniature fingers and toes.

I waited a moment and let them hug a bit before clearing my throat. “You didn’t warn me that I was going up against a COD champion.”

Both women turned around, and Madeline pretended like her eyes weren’t watering. “I probably should have given you a heads-up. It’s one of the reasons I keep the Xbox in the living room. If I didn’t, we would never see him again.”

“Probably not.” I walked a little closer, careful of my boots making noise on the wood-grain vinyl below me until I could peek into the little one’s room.

Tiny and covered in princesses and all things pink. A mini vanity with paint marks all around the side and two Slim Jim wrappers, and a half-empty cup of orange juice sitting there. A golden-framed picture of Madeline and both kids standing in front of Cinderella’s castle, sweaty and smiling in matching T-shirts. Half-Pint-themed.

I hummed. “She’s out, huh?”

“Baths always seem to make babies sleepy,” Ma remarked.

“They make me sleepy too,” Madeline said back, and every fiber in my being fought to not picture that very image right here, with my mother two feet away. A sudsy, sleepy, clothes-less Madeline in a tub of water was the last temptation I needed.

“Plus it’s good for leveling out their temp. Just not too cold or too hot. Those can make it worse. Alternate Tylenol and Motrin every three hours until it goes away. You can do a tiny bit of Dimetapp for the cough. I know it says for ages four and up, but trust me. Two milliliters will clear it up.”

Madeline typed the instructions into a note on her phone. Mom stuck her hand out for the device, and Madeline didn’t hesitate to hand it back.

“My cell,” Mom explained. “Day or night. Use it.”

“Oh, I—”

“Use it. I know what it’s like with one.” She jerked her head to me. “Two is harder. Accept help where you need it. You have wonderful kids and a beautiful home. It’s impossible to do everything on your own.”

“Oh,” Madeline’s freckled cheeks turned pink. “Thank you. It’s very messy.”

“It is loved. Believe me, I miss my colored-on walls and scattered toys very much now.” Mom looked my way with this sense of nostalgia. Like she was staring at a painting in an art gallery, something so beautiful it made you sad and a little proud for the artist too. I wasn’t a parent, so I didn’t know what it was like to look at your own kid when they were grown up, doing their own thing. But I imagined it was similar to passing by one of my favorite students from when I first started teaching. Knowing they could drive, go to college, buy their own deodorant. Proud. Sad. Nostalgic.

I smiled at my mom, apologetic. Sorry that I’d grown up on her. Sorry that I’d moved out and started my own life—one that felt like I’d hit reboot recently. Sorry I hadn’t clung to our nights of eating pizza on the floor and putting together a one-thousand- piece puzzle in a single sitting. I hoped Madeline clung to her kids, and that they clung right back.

“Well, on that note, you ready, Ma?” I asked.

Mom nodded and reminded Madeline once more to call her if she needed anything. She then scampered off to grab her purse, leaving only Madeline and me.

“Thank you again,” she said.

“You’re welcome again,” I replied.

We sat there in silence for a moment, just looking at each other. Watching our chests rise and fall. Watching her fingers twitch delicately, mine curled into fists by my sides. Watching her lips, luscious and so perfectly pink, part like she had more to say but couldn’t piece it together. I did the same.

I heard Mom’s footsteps coming closer and halting at the corner, where she was definitely listening in. I rolled my eyes and mouthed the word nosy to the girl in front of me. She smiled at that. A real, happy, Madeline one.

“Sleep good, all right?” I lifted a hand and pushed her shoulder a little. “Actually good. Not up-for-hours-watching-New?-Girl good.”

She snorted. “I’ll try. These are my me hours.”

“What else do you do during your me hours?” I wiggled my brows and laughed when I heard a thud from the corner where Mom was. Served her right for listening in. There was no questioning where I’d gotten that from.

Madeline laughed and turned pink before my eyes. “Not thinking of you, that’s for sure.”

I raised a hand to my chest. “Gah, it hurts.”

“Good,” Mom said from down the hall.

We both snickered.

“I’ll see you around, Madeline. Breakfasts and not-dates next week.” I winked.

She nodded and bit her lip. “Breakfast and not-dates.”

I pulled her into me, chest to chest. Heartbeat to heartbeat. My head rested on her shoulder as her arms wrapped around my neck. So easy. Like everything felt when it was just the two of us. A little more than friendly but nothing we hadn’t done before. I breathed in to memorize her scent. Cinnamon, vanilla, and something extra sweet I couldn’t put my finger on.

Mom and I both said a swift goodbye to Mini Coop on the way out the door, and when we got back in the car, she nodded. “You were right. She is different.”

I smiled, and for the first time in a long time, I took my mom to get ice cream and watched a movie on my couch with her, soaking in our time together.