When We Touch

Ember

Saying goodbye to Jackson filled me with such indescribable dread. I’m like a trauma survivor being hit with my worst fear all over again. My stomach is sick, my hands are clammy, breathing is labored…

But true to his word, Jackson calls and gets his update from Coco on Atlantia, and when I finally get the phone, his voice calms my fears.

“I’ve created a monster.” He laughs, warming me head to toe. “Who knew she’d take it so seriously!”

“She’s four. Everything is real to her—even fantasy.”

We’re quiet a moment, listening to the sounds of each other breathing. It feels too soon for him to be gone again, even if only for a few days.

“I had such a good time at the beach this afternoon,” I say softly, remembering holding him in my arms in the waves, lying on the sand and watching Coco.

“It’ll be our Sunday afternoon tradition.”

“I love it.”

Even after saying goodnight and disconnecting, I send one more text telling him I love him. It’s a luxury we never had when we were young. It’s a luxury that might have saved us.

I love making plans. I love that every time we talk, we’re moving forward with the life I thought I’d lost.

My argument with my mother lurks in the back of my mind, and I hate that she still has the power to scare me. Yes, she helped me when Coco was born. I’m grateful, and it’s a debt I can never repay. She says Coco is her granddaughter, and it’s her duty to help care for her, still, it feels like Coco is turning into another pawn in her game of control.

Pulling out my baking pans, I run down my new list of cake orders from the weekend. Most of them are simple two-tiered rounds, but a few want piping and more elaborate decorations.

Not a single one is a penis.

“Well, hallelujah,” I say with a laugh.

“The package is delivered!” The little bell over the door dings, and my best friend enters with a flourish. “I swear, they are such assholes about that preschool carline.”

“Enter from the left,” I say, without looking up from my book of decorator tips.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” she complains, crossing to where I stand. “Entering from the left means you have to pass the school and then loop back around. It would make more sense to enter from the right…” She looks at me. “Right turn? Get it?”

My eyes flicker up to hers then, and I just give her a look. “You’re fighting years of preschool traffic patterns. That flow was established when we were kids.”

“Doing something the way it’s always been done is no excuse to keep doing something wrong.”

Blinking fast, I try to sort out what the hell she just said. “Your logic is dizzying.” I go to the wall of ingredients. “Thanks for taking her in.”

The table makes a squeak when she hops on it. “Now! I’ve got gossip. Bucky Pepper has reappeared!”

“What!” I almost drop the big bowl holding the flour, baking soda, and vanilla extract I’m cradling as I climb down. “What happened to him?”

“Chad said he ran because he feared for his life.”

“He’d better fear for his life,” I grouse, placing the ingredients out on the table. “If Jackson gets a hold of him… Wait. Does this mean you’re talking to Chad?”

“I always talk to Chad.” She looks down at her nails, and I shake my head.

“You do not. You push him away, and Chad is smoking hot. You need to get over yourself and nail his ass.”

Red velvet lips part. “Such language! What would Marjorie say?”

“I don’t give a shit.” I measure out four scoops of flour for the banana sponges. “What else did Chad say about Stinky Pepper?”

“He said if you want to press charges, let him know.” She leans forward to catch my eye. “You never told me the whole story. It was you and Bucky, then Wham! You and Jackson. Not that I’m complaining…”