Page 51 of Knights Like These
She doesn’t say anything to me. She finishes buckling Luke on the other side, walks around to the driver’s seat, and pulls away from the curb. I stand in the driveway with Lily’s words still ringing in my ears and the look on Bree’s face burned into my memory.
The following Monday, I’m at preschool drop-off, holding Lily’s hand in the parking lot while Luke walks three steps ahead of us with his backpack straps pulled tight because he likes them that way. A woman I’ve seen a few times in the pickup line stops me on my way back to the car.
“Hey, excuse me—you’re Luke and Lily’s mom, right?”
I open my mouth. Then close it. “No, I’m—I’m a friend of their dad’s. I help with the kids.”
She smiles. “Oh, sorry. You just seem so natural with them. I see you every morning, and the way they hang on to you—I just assumed.”
“That’s really nice. But no, I’m just their Auntie Syd.”
“Well, they’re lucky to have you.”
She walks away, and I sit in the Lexus in the preschool parking lot for five minutes with my hands on the steering wheel, not driving.
You just seem so natural with them. I just assumed.
I turn the key and drive to the senior center.
The class is a disaster.
Not for the seniors—they’re fine, they’re great. Dolores has been practicing at home and is now adding a shoulder shimmy to the hip pop, which three other women are trying to copy. Gerald has figured out that if he just does the opposite of what his body wants to do, he ends up going in the right direction.
The disaster is me. I’m a half-beat behind the music, my counts are off, and I lose my place in the routine twice, which has never happened. Maryann asks me if I’m feeling okay, and I say I’m great. She gives me a look that says she doesn’t believe me.
After class, Dolores lingers. She’s standing at the folding chair where I keep my speaker, pulling on her jacket. “Bad day?” she asks.
“I’m fine.”
“You were off today,” she says.
“I know. Sorry about that.”
“Don’t apologize to me. I got my workout.” She zips her jacket. “But you should probably figure out whatever’s eating at you before Wednesday.”
She pats my arm and walks out, and I stand in the empty room, pressing my hands over my face.
Chapter Eighteen
The Birthday
Archer
Bree and I planned the party over text, which is how we do everything now—polite messages, logistics, the occasional emoji. She ordered the cake from a bakery the twins like. I handled the house. We split the guest list without arguing about it, which felt like progress.
Thankfully, the house is clean because Maria came yesterday. The cake arrives at eleven—two tiers, vanilla, blue frosting on one side for Luke and pink on the other for Lily.
Sydney helps me set up. She puts out plates and napkins and arranges the snack trays while I hang a HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner in the living room and stock the cooler on the patio with juice boxes and beer. She’s in jeans and a sweater, moving through the kitchen with the ease of someone who’s been here long enough to know which drawer has the serving spoons. I watch her reach for a stack of cups from the top shelf, and I almost tell her I’ll get those, but then I don’t, because she’s already got them.
Bree arrives at 12:30. On time, put together, carrying two wrapped gifts. She walks through the front door with a smile that doesn’t waver even when the first thing she sees is Sydney in thekitchen with Lily on her hip and Luke at her feet asking for more juice.
“Hey,” she says, giving me a one-armed side hug. Polite, cordial—the version of us we’ve settled into.
“Hey.”
She sets the gifts on the table and Lily scrambles out of Sydney’s arms and runs to her. “Mommy! Look at my birthday!”
Bree’s smile holds, but her eyes shift toward the kitchen.
