Chapter 16 Tiny Bomb, Bigger Heart 2

Chapter 16 Tiny Bomb, Bigger Heart 2
I look at the creature. “Why does he only have one wing?”
“Because he fell,” Hazel says seriously. “But he got up again.”
I blink.
Jade and Gemma go quiet for a beat too, then glance at each other.
“I’ll take that as a metaphor, thanks,” I mumble, patting Hazel’s head.
Hazel beams, her small crooked teeth on full display. “Mommy, put him there too?” She points at the shelf where I just installed the toilet family. “He lives there.”
I carry the ghost cat to the shelf and set him beside the toilet family. The shelf is now full of cheap paper, googly eyes, glitter, and way too much symbolism I did not order.
“Done.” I turn around. “If a curator ever comes over, I’m telling them this is an exclusive collab with an unstable four-year-old.”
Hazel is already crawling across the floor, chasing Bruno again. “Bruuuno, you’re a ghost too!”
“Hazel, if you glue my cat again, I will glue you to the ceiling,” I threaten, half serious.
She laughs like I just pitched a cartoon idea.
Gemma lifts her mug, looking at me over the rim. “Does Luca know about tomorrow?”
My stomach tightens a little, instantly.
“Not yet,” I answer, looking away.
Jade grabs a throw pillow and whacks me between the shoulder blades with it. “MAYA.”
“What?” I turn, the pillow stuck at my lower back. “He’s busy. I’m going to tell him. Relax.”
“Your deadline is when?” Gemma asks. “When Rafael is already sitting in your studio, and Luca spots his car in the parking lot, and we end up with an emotional Fast & Furious remake?”
“Gemma, I’m not ready for a second child named Drama,” I mutter.
“Too late,” Jade points at Hazel, who is now doing something that looks suspiciously like an exorcism dance in front of the shelf. “You already have one.”
Hazel hears her name and whips around. “What?”
“No,” the three of us answer in unison.
Hazel shrugs and bolts into the kitchen. “Mommy, I’m hungry again. I want cereal. The rainbow one.”
“There is no rainbow cereal until you eat real food,” I say, opening the fridge. “This is not a casino.”
She lets out a long, tragic sigh and collapses onto the kitchen floor like an adult who just got laid off. “Life is hard.”
Jade snickers. “She really is your child.”
I pull out yogurt, fruit, and leftover pancakes from this morning. “Okay, deal. You eat three spoonfuls of yogurt and two bites of pancake, then cereal. If not, I give my cat the right to choose a new owner.”
Hazel jerks upright, horrified. “Mommy’s mean.”
“Yep. I’m mean and I have a spoon,” I say.
Gemma stands, smoothing down her shirt. “I have to go. There’s a contract waiting. And I need time to prepare my ‘you need to tell your boyfriend the truth’ speech, round two.”
Jade gets up too. “I’m coming. I need to go home and shower. My client’s kid put slime in my hair this morning and I can still feel it… spiritually.”
They head for the door. At the threshold, Jade stops, turns back, and lowers her voice. “Maya.”
I look at her, yogurt in one hand, spoon in the other.
“Tomorrow, don’t be alone in your head,” she says. “If you’re going to lose it, at least let it be a group project.”
“I’ve been crazy since high school,” I reply. “You two are just VIP audience.”
Gemma steps in, presses a quick kiss to my cheek. “Text us before and after. If you don’t reply within an hour, I’m calling the police. Or Javier. Whichever you fear more.”
“Javier, obviously,” I mutter.
They laugh, then step out, the door closing softly behind them. The house instantly feels a little bigger, a little emptier.
Hazel is perched on a barstool, mouth full of yogurt, cheeks smeared. “Mommy.”
“Yeah?” I wipe the corner of her mouth with a tissue.
“Can I go to the office tomorrow?” she asks, dead serious. “I want to see Mommy’s drawing house.”
I freeze for half a second.
“Tomorrow…” I set the spoon down and look at her small face. “Tomorrow you’re going to play with Kayla at the beach. Mommy has to work with very boring grown-ups.”
Hazel whines softly. “I don’t like grown-ups.”
“Me neither,” I say quietly.
She studies me for a moment, but the sound of cereal hitting the bowl steals her attention. She dunks one piece, drips milk on the counter, and laughs at herself. Her life is simple. Love, snacks, cats, sand. No altar, no ring in a drawer, no promises that didn’t survive.
I wash my hands and glance out the kitchen window. The ocean is out there, calm, pretending to be harmless. The sky is blue. From here, my life looks clean.
Behind me, Hazel sings nonsense lyrics, Bruno meows, a spoon clinks against a bowl.
And in my head, the clock is already counting down to four p.m. tomorrow, when my past will knock on the studio door and see the woman he left at the altar standing upright, with blueprints in her hands and a child he doesn’t know exists laughing in a beach house whose walls are covered in toilet-paper art.