Jamiewantsto, and at best, I’m being selfish by ignoring his messages. At worst, I’m actively passing the same pain onto my daughter.
She doesn’t deserve that, and I refuse to let my pride get in the way of their relationship. I need to be Ella’s mom and put her first.
Blowing out a breath, I take out my phone and make the decision before I can back out of it.
My thumb hovers over Jamie’s name, but then I falter again—what do I even say?
Hey, sorry I kissed you and then pretended you didn't exist for a week. Wanna hang?
It sounds ridiculous and stupid for the gravity of the situation, but the longer I leave it, the worse things are going to get.
Ugh, I need to stop overthinking, so I just type out a message.
Tiff:Short notice, but Ella has ballet class today at 4 at the rec center on campus. You can come watch if you want.
I hit send before I lose my nerve, then immediately regret everything. I’m such an asshole. Giving him five minutes to get here before she even starts. He’ll think I’m doing it on purpose, and I’m setting him up for failure. He won’t realize that my anxiety is making me feel like I’m drowning, and I’m worried about what I’ll do when I see him again.
The three dots appear almost instantly.
Jamie:I’m on my way. Thank you.
Simple. Direct. No pressure, no guilt trip, no attempt to turn it into something more than it is. Just… gratitude.
God, why does that make me feel worse?
Because while I’ve been over here fretting about every moment of being near Jamie again, he’s just been patiently waiting by the phone, hoping I’ll let him back into her life.
This is not about me. This is about Ella.
I slip my phone back into my bag and lean my chin on my shaking hand to watch her.
I’m nervous.
How can I not be? He’s coming. He’s actually coming, and it’s all starting to feel real, which scares the crap out of me.
As the class starts, Ella stands in the back row, her face serious with concentration as she attempts the first position. She wobbles, catches herself, and tries again. Somehow, I start to relax watching her. She’s doing so well, and I’m so proud of her.
Fifteen minutes pass. Then twenty. I check my phone twice, but there’s nothing.
He said he’d be here, but is he going to show up? I ignore the anxiety creeping up in my stomach and keep watching Ella.
She’s doing so well that I hardly notice when someone approaches and stops beside me.
“She looks good. Has she been taking lessons for long?”
His voice makes me jump, and I look to the side, seeing Jamie standing a few feet away. He's in dark jeans and a worn Southern Collegiate hoodie with his hands shoved in his pockets, looking nervous and hopeful all at once.
Relief washes through me as I take in his crooked smile.
“Jamie,” I breathe out, realizing how ridiculously wistful I sound. “You’re here.”
“You invited me.” His eyes shift to the studio window, and his whole face softens when he spots Ella. “I wouldn't miss this.”
“Right. Yeah.” I gesture to the space beside me, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of space between us. “You can sit.”
He does, and it doesn’t go unnoticed that he leaves a respectable distance between us. We’re close enough to talk, but not close enough that he can whisper sweet nothings into my ear—not that I’d want that.
“She’s been taking lessons for about six months now. Zach got them as a birthday present for her.”