PART 2:

They do. Lena pou her tea, watching the amber liquid stream into the white cup. What grade do you teach? Third, 8, and 9year-olds. They’re at that perfect age where they’re old enough to have real conversations, but young enough to think I’m actually cool. He grinned. Give them two more years and I’ll be the lamest person they know.

I’m sure that’s not true. Oh, it absolutely is. I’ve seen it happen. Fifth graders are ruthless. He took a sip of his coffee. But third grade is magic. They still believe in possibilities. Lena found herself relaxing despite every instinct telling her to stay guarded. How long have you been teaching? 8 years.

I started right out of college. Thought I’d do it for a year or two and then he shrugged. Then I realized I’d found my place. Some people spend their whole lives looking for where they belong. I got lucky early. That is lucky, Lena said softly. She’d spent most of her 20s feeling like she was constantly swimming against a current, never quite reaching shore.

Maya held up a piece of cantaloupe, offering it to Evan with the generosity only toddlers possessed. “You for me? Thank you, sweetheart.” Evan took it solemnly, eating it with exaggerated appreciation. “Delicious!” Maya beamed, then offered Lena a strawberry. “Mama, thank you, baby.” Lena took it, her heart squeezing.

These small moments, the sharing, the joy in Maya’s eyes, they were everything. She calls you mama, Evan observed. It wasn’t a question, just a statement. But Lena heard the curiosity behind it. She does, Lena confirmed. She didn’t elaborate. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Some truths were too complicated for first dates.

Even first dates that were going impossibly well. Sarah mentioned you moved to Seattle 2 years ago. almost exactly two years from Portland. Lena stirred honey into her tea. It was time for a fresh start. I get that. Fresh starts are Evan trailed off, his expression growing distant for a moment. They’re harder than people think. They really are. Lena agreed.

She recognized that look, the shadow of grief, the weight of starting over when you never wanted to start over in the first place. Sarah said, “You lost your wife. I’m so sorry.” Evan was quiet for a moment, his hand absently rubbing Maya’s back as she munched contentedly on her fruit. “Thank you. It’s been almost 3 years. Cancer.

She fought for 18 months, but he cleared his throat. Sophie was one when she died. She doesn’t remember her mother, and I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a tragedy.” “Maybe it’s both,” Lena said gently. Yeah, maybe. Evan looked up, met her eyes. Sarah probably told you this would be my first real date since since everything.

She mentioned you’d been focused on Sophie. Focused is a generous word. Terrified is more accurate. Terrified that any relationship would confuse her, hurt her, make her feel like I was trying to replace her mom. He laughed without humor. My therapist says I’m projecting that Sophie is resilient and would adapt fine.

But when you’ve already watched your kid lose one parent, you become pretty paranoid about doing anything that might cause more pain. Lena understood that fear intimately. What changed? What made you decide to try dating again? Evan glanced at Maya, who was now singing softly to her elephant, then back at Lena. Sophie asked me if everyone has a mama and a daughter.

One of her friends at preschool has two mamas. Another has a dad and a stepmom. And Sophie wanted to know why it was just the two of us. He ran his hand through his hair again, a nervous gesture. And I realized I’d been so focused on protecting her from loss that I wasn’t showing her what it looks like to be brave, to take risks, to build something new.

That’s incredibly brave, Lena whispered. Or incredibly stupid. I haven’t decided which yet. He smiled, but there was vulnerability in it. What about you? Sarah was mysteriously vague about your dating history. That’s because there isn’t much to tell. I’ve been on exactly seven dates in the past 2 years. The longest one lasted 23 minutes.

Lena tried to keep her voice light, but she could hear the bitterness creeping in. “Turns out a lot of people are very excited about the idea of dating someone with a kid and much less excited about the reality.” “Then they’re idiots, too,” Evan said firmly. all of them maybe. Or maybe they’re just honest about what they want.

Not everyone is equipped to be a steparent. True, but there’s a difference between knowing you’re not ready and treating someone like they’re damaged goods because their life doesn’t fit a neat little box. Lena felt tears prick her eyes unexpectedly. She blinked them back, took a sip of tea. You get it? I do. Evan’s voice was soft. The number of women who’ve told me they’d love to date me but can’t handle the kid thing is depressing.

Like Sophie is some kind of unfortunate complication rather than the best part of my life. Maya is the best part of mine too, Lena said fiercely. They sat in silence for a moment, a comfortable silence that felt rare and precious. Mia had finished her fruit and was now attempting to climb into Evan’s lap, her earlier stranger danger completely forgotten.

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