Page 65 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
Oyster shells crunch under my flats as Parker and I walk up the familiar path toward the T-ball field. The evening breeze teases the hem of my dress and brushes against the paper bag of snacks I’m gripping a little too tightly in one hand.
The bag crinkles with every step; it has pretzels, juice boxes, cut-up apples, and dinosaur gummies, and I’m glad I packed them all like I promised I would. I don’t want to show up empty-handed again.
But I don’t expect it to feel this hard to walk toward the field.
My fingers tighten around the paper bag until my knuckles pale. The field stretches out ahead, bright under the evening sun, dotted with kids in baggy uniforms chasing each other while the adults gather in little circles like they’ve all got it figured out.
If it weren’t for Parker, his excitement, his nonstop talk about being the team’s fastest runner, and his new mitt, I’d still be at home, barefoot and uselessly staring at the same unfinishedpainting on my easel. But I’m here. For him. Because he deserves normal, even if my insides feel anything but.
I take a breath. Then another. I keep my eyes on the ground, resisting the urge to search for Noah. Parker's skipping beside me and grinning, the bill of his cap too big for his little head. His joy doesn't match the tension I feel.
Parker skips ahead a little, then doubles back to grab my free hand, his small fingers curling around mine. “You okay, Mama?”
The question lands like a pebble dropped in still water, sending quiet ripples through me. I blink down at him, caught off guard. He’s peering up at me, squinting against the sunlight, but it’s more than that. He’s studying me. Like he knows.
Kneeling, I meet him at eye level. His eyes are so much like mine, but without the weight I carry. His gaze is steady. Unburdened.
“Of course, I’m okay, sweetheart.” My voice is light and practiced. Smiling while your heart is cracked open is a skill I’ve mastered.
But Parker frowns. “You look like your heart has a tummy ache.”
That stops me. I tilt my head. “A tummy ache in my heart?”
He nods seriously. “Like when Blaze has to stay home and I miss him a lot. It feels weird in here.” He pats his chest, small fingers pressing lightly. “Like something’s not right.”
My laugh almost slips out, but it dissolves into something quieter. I reach out and smooth his curls back from his forehead, letting my hand linger there.
“Oh, baby,” I whisper, smoothing his curls back with one hand. “I’m just… thinking too much, that’s all.”
He leans in and wraps his arms around my neck. “You don’t gotta think so hard. You can have my gummies if that makes you happy again.”
That undoes me. I pull him in tighter, burying my nose in his hair. “You are the sweetest boy, you know that?”
“I know, you always tell me,” he mumbles into my shoulder, and I smile through the sting in my eyes.
When I pull back, he’s watching me with the same expression I’ve seen on his face when he’s coloring outside the lines and worried I’ll say something about it. “Is that why you didn’t paint with me this morning?” he asks. “’Cause you were thinking too much?”
I nod. “That’s exactly it.”
He seems to mull that over, then shrugs with all the seriousness a five-year-old can muster. “Well… maybe you can paint tomorrow. Or paint now in your head while I go hit a home run.”
I laugh softly. “Sounds like a plan.”
I pat his bum gently. “Go warm up, superstar.”
He beams, then takes off across the grass, legs pumping; and I straighten slowly, eyes trained on the ground. I know better than to look across the field. I know exactly who I’ll see. I know if I even glance in that direction, I’ll falter.
I’ll feel everything all over again; his hands, his silence, the stupid hollow throb that creeps in when I think about what we had and how quickly it slipped through my fingers.
So, I don’t look. I won’t give him that power.
Instead, I lift my chin and slip on the smile I’ve worn many times over the years, the one that used to get me through stiff family dinners and photo ops at galas I didn’t want to attend.
It stretches too tight across my face, all teeth and nothing behind it. By the time I reach the bleachers, my cheeks ache with the strain of a smile that doesn't belong to me.
Emily sees me first. “Hey, you!” she calls, bright and familiar, already moving toward me like she’d been waiting for the exact moment I’d need her.
Her arms wrap around me without hesitation. She smells like sunscreen and vanilla lotion, and it almost undoes me right there. Ava is next, her hug firmer but no less warm.
