Owen makes the girls hot chocolate with milk while I race back outside. Chase is nowhere to be found on the sidewalk or at the park across the street. I move quickly to the busy end of the street and check there. He’s gone and my heart sinks. I pull my phone from my pocket, but then I realize I don’t have his number. When he permanently moved overseas, he’d gotten a new one.

I feel physically sick as I walk back to my apartment. Having no other choice, I call my brother, Mark.

“Hey, stranger,” he says by way of greeting.

“I deserve that.”

Before he can answer, a female voice in the background says, “Hey, babe, come back to bed.”

“Is that Riley? You guys weren’t …” I can’t even finish. Images of my brother and his girlfriend naked only make me want to gag.

“Having sex?” he asks, chuckling.

“I don’t want to know.”

“I can tell you I might not have answered the phone if it was anyone but you.”

“Why?”

“Well, I don’t hear from my sister that often. So when I do, I have to wonder if there’s an emergency.”

I sigh. “I’m not that bad.”

“Really, I haven’t seen you in two years, Andi. Two years. It’s not like you live on the other side of the world.”

I cover my eyes. “I know I owe you an explanation. But I need to explain to someone else first.”

“Who? Mom and Dad?”

“Not exactly. Look, I don’t want to keep you from Riley.” I can hear her cajoling him back to bed in the background. “Do you have Chase’s number?”

“Riley probably does. But she’s not in a position to get her phone.”

I get his meaning and push a hand through my hair.

“Yeah, no explanation,” I say before he can add details. “Can you text it to me when you get a chance?”

“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

Over two years ago, I felt like a lone survivor on an island until Owen showed up. I’ve wanted to be strong to prove to myself I could handle my life—my choices—without help. But it’s cost me. Seeing Chase reminded me how my decisions have separated me from the people I love.

“I will. I promise. Just get me the number.”

He’s silent for so long, I glance at the phone to see if we got disconnected. When he finally speaks, his voice is filled with too much emotion.

“I want you to know that I’m here for you, sis. I don’t care that we don’t share blood. I love you and you can trust me. I’ll help you through whatever is going on.”

My eyes burn and my throat seizes up. I croak out my next words. “I know. And I love you too. I promise we’ll have a long talk soon.”

After we hang up, I walk back to my apartment, replaying the look on Chase’s face. Had he been surprised to see me, disappointed, shocked? So many things played over his beautiful face, I can’t begin to figure out why he’d come. More than that, how had he found me? I shake my hands like they have goop on them. There is so much I need to explain to him.

I take a deep breath before I use my key to enter Owen’s apartment.

“Everything okay?” he asks, appearing almost instantly as I open the door.

“Yeah, I’m good.” But I’m so not.

“Who was that?”

When I meet his eyes, there is only concern in his. “Chase.”

His expression turns almost cartoonish. “The Chase.”

I nod slowly.

“Is he in your apartment? Did you two talk?”

My nod turns into a headshake. “No, he was gone by the time I made it back outside.”

The pause is short before he asks another question, “Did you try to call him?”

I shrug. “I don’t have his number. Not anymore.”

He shocks me when he finally speaks again. “Are you still in love with him?”

I gape for a few seconds, surprised he went there.

“No.” My face screws up in that are you crazy expression, because the lie is easier than the truth. “He’s engaged. He’s probably in town, maybe to see his cousins, and dropped by to say hi.”

Owen must see something because he steps forward and envelops me in a bear hug. For a second, I let out a choked breath and a contained sob before I muffle it.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple.

Needing reassurance, I glance up. The moment changes too fast for me to comprehend. His mouth descends and his lips press firmly to mine. Like I’ve been electrocuted, I jump back because it’s Owen and we’ve been friends for so long. Yes, I’ve considered the idea of us, but Chase is here, in Chicago. No matter what I say to Owen, I need to be sure there’s no possibility of a reconciliation with Chase before I move on.

He holds up his hand like I’m a cornered cat. Maybe I am. Feeling that my face is tight, I relax it.

“No, it’s fine,” I say.

“It’s not fine. I shouldn’t have.” He closes his eyes and blows out a breath. “I’m so out of practice. It’s just, you …”

He stops and I realize that I’m giving him the please don’t continue look.

Before things can get any more awkward, I jump in. “It’s getting late. I promised Violet some one-on-one mama and daughter time. There won’t be a problem with you getting her from preschool tomorrow, right?”

I pray that we can just forget the kiss and go back to being single parent pals.

“Yeah, no problem. This never happened.”

He waves a hand, dismissing it. But in his eyes, I see the disappointment. Still, I let out the breath I’ve been holding and go scoop up my daughter, who squeals in delight. When we get home, we play one for you and one for me with our dinner. It helps her to eat things she doesn’t like.

“Yuckie,” she says, scrunching her face at the green bean I offer her.

I pick one up. “One for Mama.” I put it in my mouth and say, “Mmm, yummie. Now one for you.” She shakes her head fiercely. “Then Mama will eat all the cookies.”

Her lower lip trembles before poking out. I again offer her the green bean. Reluctantly, she eats it. And we play this game until she’s eaten all her dinner.

“Cookie now,” she asks with her grabby hands out.

It’s times like this, her determination, she reminds me of her father. But when she flashes me a brilliant smile to add to her irresistible charm, I know she’s the light of my life. I can’t help the grin I give her because she knows she’s won in some way. “Yes, cookie now.”

I clean up while she devours her dessert. We play with blocks to build because girls don’t always have to play with dolls. We also watch Sesame Street and Barney before I give her a bath and put her into bed.

When I pull out the princess book we’ve been reading, because I have no problems with crowns and princes, she pushes my hand and shakes her head.

“Picture book, please.” Though it sounds more like picture book peas.

Because some wishes are automatically granted, I set down the book and go to the bookshelf. I pull out the scrapbook I began before she was born and have only added to it over time. We spend the rest of our nightly ritual going through it page by page. She asks lots of questions as she points to different pictures, like of me when I was pregnant and of my family she’s never met. She falls asleep shortly after I finish. I set the book in its place on the shelf, emotionally spent.

Back in my living room, I sink into my sofa and replay the events of the day. The kiss with Owen, my conversation with my brother, and Chase … He’s at the center of my emotional turmoil.

What am I going to say to him when we finally talk? I finally get a text from Mark, who has impeccable timing. It contains two numbers for Chase. One I recognize. It’s his old number in the U.S. This one can’t be good, because he’d contacted me shortly after he moved, letting me know he had a new number. Wallowing in hurt feelings, I hadn’t written it down, assuming I wouldn’t need it. It must have been the international number included in the text. I stare at it a long time before dialing it, intending to keep the call short. My budget is tight and international phone calls aren’t included.

My heart doesn’t beat as the phone rings and rings.

“Ciao,” a female voice says.

I say nothing for a second, thinking I might hang up. Then I decide it doesn’t matter if he’s brought her stateside. I have to talk to him.

“Is Chase available?”

“Chase,” the woman says with a thick Italian accent. Then she spouts off a string of words I can’t understand before hanging up on me.

I try again, but no one answers. Before I give in, I take a chance and call his old number. It’s answered by someone at a bar or club based on the background noise I hear. Another female voice greets me.

“Hello,” she slurs.

“Is this Chase’s number?”

“Ain’t nobody chasing anything, honey,” she says before disconnecting the call.

Clearly, Riley doesn’t know the U.S. number is no good. I put my phone down, leaving it on the sofa cushion before heading to bed. He didn’t come for you, I think. He came because he was in town, maybe to see family to introduce his fiancée. He dropped by to pay me a courtesy visit, nothing more. That doesn’t mean I won’t talk to him eventually … and soon. But it does mean I need to move on … finally.