Page 29 of Wood You Knot

Once we got inside, I tossed an easy dinner together for Daph before sneaking into my bedroom to give my aunt a call. It rang once, and Auntie Em picked up. “Hello, Sage. I was just going to call you.”

“Oh really?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes, I wanted to remind you about your cousins coming to town tomorrow. Are you and Daphne able to make it to the barbecue? The girls would love to see you.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, we’ll be there,” I said, a little too chipper. Suddenly, asking for a favour felt wrong. I hated asking for help, especially when I felt like I’d be an inconvenience.

“Perfect.” Auntie Em paused. I drew in a breath, trying to work up the courage to ask. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, everything’s great. Well, kind of…I forgot about the Fall Fun Fundraiser planning committee meeting tonight.”

“Oh, right, Laurel mentioned that was happening. Did you need me to watch Daphne?”

“Could you?” I bite my bottom lip, peering down the hallway to look at my daughter as she sits at the island counter eating her dinner. I braced myself, expecting her to tell me she was too busy like my mother would have had I asked her.

“Of course! Why doesn’t she come over for a sleepover?” Auntie Em suggested. “We’ll watch a movie, eat some junk food, and stay up late. You could go to the meeting, maybe go out with Tabitha after, maybe even sleep in tomorrow. I can only imagine how long it’s been since you had a night to yourself.”

“Really, you’d do that?” I couldn’t keep the skepticism from my voice.

“Absolutely, I’d love to,” Auntie Em insisted. “Bring her over; we’ll see you soon.” She hung up, and I stared at my phone in dumbfounded shock.

My mom would have never responded that way. In all the years I’d been a parent, she’d taken very little initiative to be a part of Daphne’s life. She insisted on being called “Mimi” because “Nana” and “Grandma” made her feel old. I could count on one hand the number of times she held Daphne as a baby, and she’d never offered to take my daughter overnight.

She’d made it perfectly clear from the very beginning that Daphne was my child and my responsibility, and she’d done her time raising me and had no interest in repeating the process.

“Hey, Daph?” I said tentatively as I rejoined my daughter. She looked up from her half-eaten bowl of mac and cheese.

“Yes, Mommy?”

“Do you feel like going to Auntie Em’s for a sleepover tonight?”

Daphne’s face lit up. She’d only ever experienced a sleepover with me—after we left Warren’s and ended up on Nellie’s couch for a couple of days before her roommate got angry and demanded we leave. Then I had to run with my tail tucked between my legs back to my mother’s.

“Okay! Are you coming too?”

“No, not this time. Auntie Em wants to have just you over. I’ll be going to the school for a planning committee meeting for the fundraiser.”

“That sounds boring.” Daphne’s little nose wrinkled with disdain. “I’d rather go to Auntie Em’s.”

“Well, you are. Finish eating. I’ll go pack your pyjamas and a change of clothes.”

* * *

An hour and a half later, I found myself walking into Mr. Robertson’s class. There was a bunch of other parent volunteers waiting for Mr. Robertson, who wasn’t there yet. The parents were all chatting with one another, sipping coffee or eating from the snacks provided.

I spotted Lilah, Tabitha, and Tabitha’s mother-in-law—Nix’s mom, Laurel—all standing by the refreshment table set up on the far side of the classroom. I made my way over to their familiar faces.

I tried to act confident, like I belonged there, but memories of my previous attempts at the PTA at Daphne’s old school resurfaced.

The parents at the old school hadn’t exactly been friendly toward me. I think a lot of it had to do with my age: I was a lot younger than they were. I was also single, or at least…I had been when Daphne started school. The other moms at the school had made me feel as if I was too young and naïve, too inexperienced to have a say.

Worse than being treated like a pariah was after things got serious with Warren, their attitudes toward me became a little more inclusive and a lot less frosty.

I wasn’t looking forward to being the single mom again. Not that I minded being alone—I was kind of used to that. I had spent a lot of my childhood alone. I just wasn’t looking forward to the way people treated me, like I was either out to steal their man or in desperate need of their help landing a date.

“Sage! You’ve got to try the pumpkin spice latte,” Tabitha insisted, grabbing a paper cup and filling it from one of the coffee urns.

“What kind of latte?” I frowned mistrustfully at the coffee she was holding.

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