Page 13 of Christmas in Paradise

And for someone like me who likes things precise and orderly, it’s an act of supreme willpower not to straighten Charly’s dress or put the shoes on the right feet until after she’s tried. Then I fix it.

I already get looks when people hear her call me mama. I had her at nineteen, and my small size makes people think I’m still a teenager. I feel their judgment for being a young mom and her mismatched clothes only gives them more reason to look down on me.

“Ready to do your hair?” I hold out my hand, and she puts her little fingers in my palm. My heart squeezes tight to keep from bursting, like it always does when she takes my hand with all the trust and confidence in her little body.

I lead her to the bathroom and set her on the counter. “What style today?” I ask while pulling elastics and ribbons out of the drawer.

“Buns!” Charly shouts.

Her answer is as predictable as her clothing choices. She always wants space buns, which is great. They’re adorable, and they don’t take long, which means she can sit through the process.

I part her dark blonde hair down the middle, then twist each side into a bun that I secure to the crown of her head with an elastic and ribbon bow. Then I hold up a hand mirror, like she’s in a salon, so she can admire herself.

“Sooo cute!” She bounces up and down with a huge grin on her face that makes me smile just as wide.

It’s times like this that I know I made the right choice keeping her, even though I’d planned to give her up for adoption. It changed everything, but I haven't looked back. There are times when I fantasize about the life I could have had—maybe I'd be running my own event planning business instead of working remotely for Carson. Maybe I'd have spent the full two months in Paradise instead of three weeks. Maybe Seb and I could have had a real relationship.

But I wouldn't be happier, and my life wouldn't be as complete.

I was meant to be Charly's mama and it's my best job. Just ... a complicated one I'm still trying to figure out.

The one thing I have figured out is that I can’t leave her again. That seemed like the best solution this summer when Carson offered me a job unexpectedly, but Charly had doctor and therapy appointments she couldn’t miss. Mom and my stepdad were all set to make sure she got to every doctor and therapist and take care of her all summer.

But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be away from Charly for so long.

And it’s worked out fine. Great, even. My job with Carson has gone from an eight-week internship to five months of steady, part-time work. I’m still learning from him; I’m just doing it long distance, and it supplements what I bring in from my clerk job at the grocery store.

My only regret is not telling Sebastian about Charly, but I didn’t tell anyone about her while I was in Paradise. I’ve had enough judgements piled on me here for being a single mom. I didn’t need those judgements in Paradise, or the judgement that would come once people knew I not only had a kid, but I’d left her for months. Explaining that Ihadto because of her special needs would only make things worse.

I didn't expect Seb to keep texting me after I left or expect how hard it would be not to reply. But he'd made himself clear—no kids—and I realized the mistake I’d made thinking I could pretend not to have one.

I retained my dignity by not marrying Charly's dad three years ago when he made the feeble offer. I didn't want to risk losing that dignity when I told Seb the truth and watched the light in his eyes disappear. It's nice to remember that light during the redundancy of my day-to-day life. It was better to ghost him before he dumped me.

Now I just wish he'd disappear from my thoughts the way he disappeared from my phone when I blocked his number. Maybe if I'd actually delete his number I could delete him from my head too.

I also wish the countdown to Evie’s wedding didn’t include a countdown to when I’ll see Seb again. Never ghost someone you know you’re going to see again. One more lesson learned.

I check my watch, then take Charly off the counter and set her on the floor, crouching down so I’m at her level. “Mama’s got to go.”

“No! Mama stay!” Her lip quivers, and my heart breaks again, like it does every morning when she does this.

“You know I can’t, baby. But you get to stay with Gigi.” I try to be cheerful as I brace myself for the approaching meltdown.

“NO!” Charly screams and throws herself to the floor.

“Come on, Charly. Don’t do this today.” I pick her up and tuck her legs around my hip.

She’s too big to carry like this, especially when she’s kicking and screaming, but it’s the only way to get her to the kitchen and Mom. Her back leg swings wildly while I hold her front leg across my belly. On my way out of our room, I grab her iPad, and one-handed, press play on the Sleepytime episode of Bluey.

The music immediately soothes her. She takes the iPad from me and stares at it, stray tears running under her glasses and down her cheeks.

I hate starting her morning with screentime. But I’m already running late, and the calmer Charly is, the easier it will be for Mom when I leave. Not just because Charly will be happier, but also because I’ll feel less guilty leaving her.

When I get to the kitchen, Mom is already there making breakfast for my brother and sister, Luke and Ashley.

“Morning, Mom.” I walk behind her toward the table and Charly’s highchair.

“Oh, good morning.” She turns from the stove, holding a spatula, and wipes her other hand on her apron. “She’s up early.”

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