Page 51 of Cooking Up My Comeback
“But you didn’t.”
“But I didn’t.” The admission is like stepping off a cliff. “And now I don’t know how to protect them if this goes wrong. Or how to protect myself.”
Mom doesn’t rush to reassure me, which I appreciate. She just watches the sky and lets the moment breathe.
“When your father and I first bought this house,” she finally says, “I was terrified we were making a huge mistake.”
“This house? But you love this place.”
“Now I do. But then? It was old, expensive, and needed more work than we could afford. I spent the first six months convinced we’d end up losing our shirts.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Your dad.” She smiles softly. “He never tried to convince me I was wrong to be scared. He just showed up every day, worked on one small thing at a time, and proved we could handle whatever came up.”
“This is different, Mom. I have the kids to think about.”
“I know. And you’re right to be careful.” Shereaches over and squeezes my hand. “But honey, being careful doesn’t mean you have to be alone forever. It means being smart about who you let in.”
“What if Brett decides this is too much? What if he realizes he doesn’t want to be part of a package deal with three kids and an ex-husband who can’t be counted on for anything?”
“What if he doesn’t? What if he’s exactly what you and the boys need?”
“I can’t know that. Not for sure.”
“You can’t know anything for sure. But you can pay attention to how he shows up. How he treats you and the kids when he thinks no one’s watching. How he handles the hard parts.”
I think about Brett learning to use the drill bits, never complaining when I rearranged our festival setup for the fourth time. The way he redirected Mason’s tantrum instead of getting frustrated. How he acknowledged Crew’s relationship with Dad instead of trying to compete.
“He’s been showing up,” I admit quietly.
“Then maybe the question isn’t whether you can trust him. Maybe it’s whether you can trust yourself to recognize the difference between a good risk and a bad one.”
The words settle into the quiet space in my chest where fear and hope have been wrestling for weeks. Because she’s right—this isn’t about Brett provinghimself. It’s about me being brave enough to believe I deserve someone who stays.
But believing and being ready to act on it? Those are two different things.
And I’m not sure I’m there yet.
TWELVE
BRETT
Ikick off my boots at the door at Jack’s place and follow the sound of classic rock to the back patio. His seventeen-year-old daughter, Caroline, is at the kitchen table painting her nails purple, foot propped up like she’s royalty.
Caroline doesn’t look up from her nails. “Wow. It’s the man, the myth, the flannel.”
“Evening, Caroline.”
“Don’t ‘evening, Caroline’ me. I know you’re here to drag my dad away for some manly bonding ritual involving power tools and beer.”
“Actually, we were thinking more along the lines of?—”
“Save it.” She finally glances up, one eyebrow raised. “Promise me you won’t let himgrill anything. Last time he tried to ‘experiment’ with marinades, I had to order pizza to save us all from food poisoning.”
Jack appears in the doorway. “I heard that, and my grilling skills have vastly improved.”
“Oh please. You burned water last week.”
