Page 4 of Mother's Day Inn

I hovered over Lyn, who was stacked with every possible floaty device I could buy, and didn’t let her go past the slope that leads into the actual pool.

Theo was a new lifeguard, but somehow convinced me that her being in all the little contraptions was doing more harm than good. Then he asked if he could teach her.

Maybe it was the fact that she was obsessed with water and I wanted her to know the survival skill, or I, for some reason, instinctively trusted him, but I agreed. If he could touch her without her screaming bloody murder, I was all for it.

After taking the four floats off, she nearly tripped running to Theo’s outstretched arms.

It took him one summer.

Two and half months of swimming lessons every morning, and he had taken both Lyn and me over a bridge I’d never thought we’d cross. The beaver nickname is from how, at first, she never wanted to use her arms, only her legs to propel her through the water.

“I want to show you a new trick Mommy taught me. Come see?” She smiles, her round cheeks forcing her eyes closed, making her puppy dog face somehow exponentially cuter.

“Of course. Let’s go.” He turns back to us briefly. “Duty calls, ladies. Ms. Tran, I’ll be at Carnations around noon till two. If you decide you want me to take a look, leave it in the lobby with my mom. No pressure either way.”

I nod once, trying and failing to ignore the myriad of butterflies engulfing my stomach as I watch him walk to the pool with Lyn. Even all these years later, I’m still not used to the heartwarming bond they created over the water.

When they’re close to the edge, Theo lightly tosses Lyn into the pool before flopping down on the side and submerging his legs. A second later, Lyn pops up, her laugh cutting through the sound around her and filling me with a foreign joy. One I’ve only ever felt when she’s laughing at something her father does—which feels so distant and rare, it’s easy to forget.

“Not interested, huh?” Molly coos, one side of her lips curling into a knowing grin. “Convincing yourself or us?”

“He’s young and too handsome to want to date a mom.” I brush them off, not wanting to entertain the idea. I’m not good when my hopes are dashed, so I make it a habit not to put stock in them. Especially when I can’t control the outcome.

Especially when I tried my hand, and it didn’t pan out.

“Little presumptuous, if you ask me,” Gennie gestures toward where Lyn is showing Theo she can make water angels. “Looks like you having a kid is giving him visuals of being a dad himself, and he enjoys it.”

I want to tell myself and her that there’s no way that’s possible. That men in their twenties know a woman with a child means settling down and not one-night stands, which leads to them avoiding us like the plague.

But as I watch him root Lyn on and applaud her, Gennie’s words stick to my skin and soak in regardless of how hard I want to scrub them away.

* * *

Dragging Lyn away from the pool after playing with Theo for an hour was harder than a finance meeting with an irresponsible trust fund baby. Luckily, Theo promised to visit the pool in a couple of weeks and bring the frozen blackberries she likes—one of the things that got her using her arms in the pool because she had to reach out and grab them.

Now, it’s just a matter of getting us both ready in the next thirty minutes before my ex comes to pick her up.

Thankfully, we laid out her clothes this morning before going to the pool, and already have her backpack stuffed with the essentials.

Favorite water bottle. Check.

Drawing pad and tool zipper pouch. Check.

Two sealable baggies, one with pretzels and the other with white cheddar popcorn. Double check.

I also snuck in an extra outfit because any six-year-old with an arts and crafts addiction should always have a backup, and Sam never seems to have clothes that fit her at his place.

After she showers, I brush her hair, quickly throw her black strands into two space buns, and set her up on the living room floor with lunch and her favorite show to keep her occupied. Then I nearly sprint to take my own shower.

By the time I’m out, the bathroom is covered in steam, and I’ve got eight minutes left before he gets here. The one thing he always got right in our brief marriage was being on time, and he was always ready to tell me when I wasn’t.

I brush some of the fog away from the mirror and take in my weary features. My sleek black hair brushes against my collarbone and is the only thing I’ve managed to keep intact over the past three months of my busy season.

Light shadows highlight my dark eyes, and my faux lashes have long since fallen out, leaving me with my naturally straight ones. My skin is dehydrated, the result of my nightly skin routine being skipped a little too regularly in exchange for some mommy time at the end of a long day. Not to mention, my lips are perpetually chapped, thanks to Lyn always needing to borrow my lip balms for pretend makeup, then somehow losing them. I can’t wait for the day I find the stash.

My eyes travel down to the scar right below my collarbone. It’s from last summer, a week before the pool closed. I reach up, my finger brushing over the raised skin, the memory of its origin sweeping over me.

ONE YEAR AGO

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