Or the ones that never came in.
My mind replayed my conversation with DirtyLife as I got ready for bed. I couldn’t figure out where I went wrong, but I wasn’t going to be the same person I was during my marriage. I couldn’t chase after someone who didn’t want me. Not again. Not ever again. I knew what that did to a relationship, and to me.
Maybe I’d hear from DirtyLife again, and maybe I wouldn’t, but either way, I was not going to let it ruin my life. I’d survived worse than a rejection.
My alarm broke through the haze of the early morning. I reached for it on my nightstand and silenced it before the noise gave me a headache. I sat up in bed and stretched, knowing I needed to get up or I’d curl back into bed and never emerge. I was usually up early, but if I slept long enough to have the alarm wake me up, it was never good.
I stumbled to the kitchen to start the coffee and breakfast casserole, then headed for the shower. In less than twenty minutes, I was back in the kitchen with my first mug of coffee and debating looking at my phone.
I caved and flipped it over.
A text from Natalie was the first thing I saw.
Natalie
I guess you weren’t happy with the draft you showed us. I wish we’d known you saw us this way. It’s too late to make any changes, but I’m not sure this is a good idea going forward.
Um, what?
It took a minute for my caffeine-neglected brain to put things together and understand.
Gretchen changed my story.
I pulled up the newspaper site and tapped to read the article. My article. The one my name was on, but not the one I wrote.
“Dammit,” I breathed.
Mikayla stumbled her way into the kitchen. “Why are you mad?”
I looked up at her, then locked my phone and set it down. I would deal with the article and Gretchen after Mikayla went to school.
“I had an article published, and my editor changed it without telling me.”
“Oh. Is breakfast ready?”
I smothered my grin and checked the oven. The cheese on top was bubbly and slightly brown. It was perfect. “We need to let it cool for a minute. Do you want to pack your backpack first?”
“Sure.” She slid off her chair and dragged her feet to the fridge. I handed her the lunchbox she’d packed the night before, adding two ice packs to make sure everything stayed cold enough, then she let her arm fall as though carrying it was the hardest thing she’d ever done.
Kids are funny.
I sipped my coffee and checked the time. I cut into the casserole, steam escaping from the slice I made. It would have been better to wait another five minutes, but we didn’t have time. I dished up a piece for Mikayla and told her to blow on it. I cut one for myself and sat at the table as she touched the tip of her tongue to the edge.
“It’s hot.”
“I know. Food don’t cook cold.”
She snorted. The silly phrase was one we’d been telling her forever. One that always made her laugh.
I cut my casserole into chunks to let the heat out from as much of it as possible, and we finally ate our breakfast without scorching our mouths.
My fingers itched to grab my phone and read the entire article, but I resisted. I wanted to be present for Mikayla. It was important to me that she knew I was there for her. Always.
“Have you been practicing for your audition?” I asked as she emerged from the bathroom with freshly brushed teeth.
“Yeah.”
“Thursday, right?”
