Page 48 of Finding the Pieces

“I can’t—” I start to say before Bec shoves a palm over my mouth and I startle in surprise, letting out a giggle behind her hand.

“No take backs,” she yells, before grabbing Abby’s hand, and the two run inside, Hopper prancing alongside them, leaving me in the middle of the parking lot with my camera around my neck, my bags and supplies around my feet, and an envelope stuffed with cash in my hand. I drop my head back, closing my eyes and letting out a sigh.

I’m not sure why I try to fight it, but I fail. A huge grin stretches across my face. Could this be a way forward? Could this be what I want?

There’s no comparison between sitting at my desk in the office or at home working at my laptop andthis.Thisignites a fire in me that I can’t describe. I shake my head and check the time on my phone. Time to go home and start the second shift.

Luca lets out a shriek of excitement when I join him and Dom in the living room. I bend down and wrap him in my arms, breathing him in. Dom kisses me on the forehead, another touch of affection long missing from our daily life that he’s recently brought back, and I feel my face flush.

Later that night, I don’t mention anything to Dom. But when Luca finally goes to sleep, and I can hear the rhythmic breathing of Dom next to me telling me he’s asleep as well, I let my mind wander…and wander…and wander. Thinking through pretend logistics, imaginary budgets, and possible schedules to make something part time work. Me doing freelance photography instead of my current job. It’s crazy and just pretend…right?

Chapter twenty-four

Ellie

“Wow. I didn’t realize how much I needed that.” My body feels like it just woke up from a year-long nap. A little sweaty, topped with a little ache. I’ll be sore tomorrow.

“We should have done this sooner,” Mom says, leaning back in her wrought iron chair as she peruses the menu. I don’t know why she bothers. We both know she’s getting the quiche and I’m getting the banana bread.

My favorite hidden gem in the city, Pat’s Cats. The owner, Pat, believe it or not, loves cats, and the entire café is decorated with mismatched cat pieces. It’s chaos, whimsy, humor, and cuteness wrapped into one historic home turned restaurant. In the cold months, they use multiple patio heaters so they don’t lose the space to Ohio’s cold winter and unpredictable spring seasons. The result is a secluded slice of heaven that feels like a fairy tale. Evergreen trees surround us, twinkle lights decorating their branches. Small, delicate chandeliers dangle above each of the four tables. Music drifts softly through the speakers, a classical piano soundtrack.

“Did you talk to Jake?” I ask, eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“A little birdy might have mentioned that someone was missing yoga class, and I might have borrowed the idea. I needed a little inspiration for my puzzlepiece. It’s been years since we’ve taken a class together, and I know you’ve been wanting to try the new studio since it’s so close to your house.”

“The instructor was incredible. I already want to go back,” I say before taking a sip of my tea.

“We could make it a monthly mother-daughter date if you want? I’m not opposed to the post-yoga brunch, of course.” She smiles and holds my hand while she keeps searching the menu.

My eyes fill with tears. It’s impossible for me to hold myself together in front of my mom when I want to fall apart. Around anyone else, it’s almost natural. But in front of her, all my strongest armor falls away and I feel like I’m nine years old again, stepping into her arms and asking her to keep me safe from the reality of the world. Coming out of class today has me feeling extra sensitive.

“I’d like that.” She must hear the shake in my voice, thick with emotion.

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I giggle as tears fall. “This past year has felt like I’ve been stuck in a pattern of surviving. It was nice today to just…connect with my body like that. It made me realize how much I’ve been ignoring what it needed since…everything changed.”

I have complicated feelings about my body. I’ve never been what you’d call skinny. I’d describe my pre-baby body as medium build or average. I gained weight, too much weight per my OB—fuck her very much—during my pregnancy.

I lost almost none of it.

My body looks nothing like it did before. Itfeelsnothing like it did before.

Exercising and good nutrition are the last thing on my mind when my mental health is tanking and I haven’t slept in a year. Plus, my body is a little busy making food for my son.

Between trying to work and be a good parent, wife, friend, and daughter, who has time to take care of themselves?

But today, having an hour to myself, my body untouched and unneeded, eyes closed, and breaths synced with the instructor’s pacing, felt unreal. The calming scent of essential oils filled the air, and several salt rocks lining the room gave offjust enough light to navigate the space while still making the whole experience feel almost dreamlike. Everything about the class felt like I had stepped into an alternate reality, and the splash from diving back into my daily struggle is going to be a stark contrast.

“You’re a mom, so I know you understand sacrifice,” Mom says. “You know what it means to choose to stay still, watching your child sleep on your chest when you could really use a good meal, a bathroom break, and a nap. You know what it means to give up sleep to comfort another and be everything that they need. You know the impossible struggle of trying to be everything to everyone, everywhere, all the time. If I could tell myself anything after you were born, it would be to trust myself, love myself, and find ways to take breaks when I can.”

“Taking a break feels impossible most days.”

“That’s why I love that Dom and you are doing this. Maybe it’s a good push to remind you that youcantake time away. Plus, you know you can always call your father and me when you guys need a hand.” She pauses, sliding her menu onto the table, giving me her full attention. “I hope these special moments give you time to focus on more than justsurviving. Do you think it’s helping?” my mom asks, her voice lifted with hope.

I know it hurts her to watch me struggle. The guilt that comes with knowing I’m causing her stress weighs on me. Add it to my mental health tab.

“I think so,” I say, hesitant to get her hopes up. “I’ve had a lot of fun with everything so far. Everyone’s put a lot of thought into it. I’m really grateful.”

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