Chapter Text
Leighton is running so far beyond behind.
Wiping at her eyes, she turns into the school’s parking lot, taking off her glasses to clean the salty residue off the lenses as she walks the practiced route towards the usual pickup table.
Shoving them back onto her face, her heart sinks as she sees only two kids left running around on the field, and one, singular teacher manning the table. She’s somebody different than usual, and already, it makes blood rush to Leighton’s cheeks.
After taking a deep breath, she walks up the path, clearing her throat.
“Name?” the woman drawls, clearly annoyed.
“Leighton. Leighton Murray,” she states quickly, pressing her lips together.
“You’re very late, Ms. Murray,” the teacher tells her. “You know, After-School Stars ends at five-thirty, and right now it’s—”
“Almost six,” Leighton fills in, gritting her teeth. “I had an appointment that ran late. I’m really sorry.” She means that she’s sorry — she would hate to be the last teacher on duty waiting for one final mom to show up, but she doesn’t like this woman’s attitude.
“I would advise you be on time next time. It can make it so your kid gets the wrong message.”
Leighton shoves her hand into her pocket to conceal her balled fist. She’s had a hell of a day, and she’s not about to get run over by some peeved school teacher.
“Listen,” she starts, leaning forward and putting her free hand on the table. “What’s your name?”
“Alicia,” comes the reply, simple, direct, undaunted. If anything, the woman is faintly amused.
“Alright. Listen here, Alicia,” Leighton hisses. “You know nothing about me. You know nothing about my family, and don’t you dare tell me—”
“MOM!”
Leighton forces her features to brighten as her eight-year-old daughter, one Nicole Jackson-Murray, comes barreling towards her, latching onto her leg while a boy who’s several years older and clearly part of the volunteer team follows behind, jogging.
“Hi, honey,” she laughs, her heart already lifting as Nicki squeezes her. She leans down to kiss the top of her head. “Did you have a good day?”
“Yeah!” Nicki tells her. “This is my new friend I’ve been telling you about.” She points to the boy, a dark-haired, freckled fourteen-year-old in one of the neon-green shirts designated for counselors. On the pocket, it reads Eighth Grade Buddy .
“Hi.” He takes a step across the distance. “I’m Aidan.”
Leighton reaches out a hand to shake his. “Nice to meet you, Aidan.” She’s heard a lot about him, since he was assigned as Nicki’s buddy in August when the after-school program started. She’s glad to finally put a face to the name, and he seems equally happy to meet her.
Thoroughly calmed down, Leighton looks back at Alicia who’s sat at the table with her face leaning on her palms, watching her quizzically.
“I’m sorry I was late,” she apologizes again.
Alicia is silent until Leighton swears she sees Aidan kick her chair.
“I’ll check you right out,” Alicia starts, turning to glare at him playfully. “I just need a signature right here.” She passes the clipboard over to her.
Giving her a tight smile, Leighton grabs the pen, signing her name. “Thank you,” she says, before looking down at her daughter. “Okay, honey. You ready to go?”
“Mhm!” Nicki nods happily.
“Let’s get going then.” Leighton waves at Aidan and then Alicia. “Hope to see you again.”
“Us too!” Aidan calls for the both of them, waving back brightly.
***
“Into bed,” Leighton says gently, boosting Nicki up so she can cuddle under the covers.
After running around at school, bathtime, dinner — which was mac and cheese and some leftover chicken from the weekend — and working on the very minimal math homework she gets, her daughter’s eyes are already closing. This is one of Leighton’s favorite times of the day, watching Nicki feel safe enough to fall asleep in her presence; it’s something she always missed as a kid, her dad caught up in work and her mom caught up in herself. Honestly, Leighton’s parenting philosophy started as just a quest to be everything her parents weren’t, and since then, she’s learned steadily each day beside her daughter, decidedly growing up so that Nicki never had to live with that unsettling feeling that she always experienced, the one that compelled her to take care of her own parents rather than be the kid.
She’s grown into a softer kind of maturity than in college, one halfway founded on love — rather than the pressure placed on her that was far too much, far too young — as well as the tragedy that struck that’s left an unresolved emptiness, that everyday, leaves her with a wish that can never come true.
“Tell me a story about Dad?” Nicki cuts in sleepily, bleary eyes opening just barely to reveal that soft brown that so resembles her father.
Leighton’s breath stalls in her chest, and she tastes salt in the back of her throat.
“Your dad… he could fly,” she begins, reaching up to run a hand through Nicki’s hair. She puts on a smile, taking the creative liberty that she knows Nicki’s father would have wanted. He wanted to be a cool dad. “One time, he told me a story about how he did three flips in the sky in a row. He was so brave. Just like my baby.”
Her daughter grins up at her, eyes sparkling in awe. “Did he have a cool jacket?”
“The coolest,” Leighton tells her, emphatic. She thinks of her best friend, how he left them too soon, how different it’s been raising Nicki, how it’s not at all how she thought life would go, though she wouldn’t change it for the world, now. “And he would always carry our picture inside, so it’s like we were flying with him.”
“So I’ve been in the sky?” Nicki asks dreamily, starting to fall asleep.
“Yes you have,” her mom agrees, pulling the covers further over her daughter as she clutches tighter to her bear and her eyes close fully. “Sleep well, baby girl,” she murmurs, softly pressing a kiss to the top of Nicki’s head before she tiptoes out, hitting off the light before closing the door halfway.
***
Drying her hair off with a towel, Leighton settles on the edge of her bed to check the messages she missed since tucking Nicki in and taking a shower. At the top of the list, there’s one from Bela Maholtra, one of her best friends from college, that was sent a few minutes ago in a group chat they never went through a name change.
Roomies: 3 new message
[Bela, 8:35pm]: hey! r we still on for thursday dinner like usual? ik things must be crazy but if y’all are then what kinda food?
[Kimberly, 8:36pm]: Nico’s gotten Chinese the last three times we’ve done takeout. So.
[Whitney, 8:36pm]: damn. i was gonna say chinese. italian works for me then. leight?
Leighton types back a message quickly, knowing that Nicki will be good with Italian too. She’s going through a buttered pasta phase.
[Leighton, 8:47pm]: italian works for me. i can host? you know how i feel about the empty house on the holidays
[Bela, 8:48pm]: sounds great!!!!!! time?
Going through her schedule in her head, Leighton accounts for time at Thursday group counseling as well as for the commute to school for pickup and then back home.
[Leighton, 8:49pm]: 6:30? frude wants me at gc again, something about how we’re making progress or whatever
[Bela, 8:49pm]: yayyyy! 6:30 it is!
Leighton smiles as her phone quickly pings with thumbs-ups on the message. She’ll be glad to be occupied and to have more than a few somebodies to occupy her rambunctious eight-year-old so she can take a breath. She flops back onto the bed at the thought, taking the middle like she has for the last seven years, since there’s nobody coming home to lie down next to her.
***
Fuck.
She’s late again. And it’s Alicia at the table again.
Groaning to herself, Leighton picks herself up out of her annoyance and heads up toward the pickup area. She puts on her best Kimberly impression, forcing politeness to the front of her mouth.
“Thank you so much for staying after again,” she begins quickly. “I’m really sorry—”
To her surprise, Alicia shakes her head and holds a hand up.
“Hey. I was a dick last time,” she admits, looking up from her seat at Leighton. “So I’m sorry.”
Leighton pauses, unable to believe her ears. She can’t believe this is the same woman. In this new light, her voice sounds almost… calming. It’s kind for sure, something that Leighton missed while fire lit inside her as she attempted to defend herself last time.
“Besides, Aidan is my kid,” Alicia tells her, jerking her thumb backwards to where he’s still hanging out with Nicki, currently helping her to do the monkey bars. “And he’s really taken to your daughter, so I kind of have to stay anyway.” Her lip quirks up into an apologetic half-smile. “It was just a pretty bad day, but that’s no excuse. And Aidan told me that Nicole and you… haven’t had it easy, even if he doesn’t know everything. He chewed me out in the car on the way home pretty good.”
For a moment, Leighton is speechless. It’s not at all what she expected out of the day. Hell, she’s pretty used to people being pretty damn rude to her.
Stupidly, all she can say is, “Your son is so….”
“Old?” Alicia guesses, biting her lip around a smile and nodding patiently, as if she expected this. “I know. I adopted him.”
“Oh!” Leighton exclaims. “That’s amazing!” She really means it; there are too many kids out there that need homes. “You and your h—”
“I’m not really the husband kind,” Alicia interrupts, eyeing Leighton with a reserved kind of playfulness. “I’m actually raising Aidan alone,” she explains. “I met him when he was in kindergarten, and then I had him in sixth-grade English. I knew it was the right thing to do at that point.” In the background, Nicki laughs as Aidan spins her around on one of the playground areas. Alicia smiles. “But your husband must be happy.”
“He was. Yeah,” Leighton agrees softly, watching the kids, too.
“Shit. I’m so sorry,” Alicia says quickly, getting the meaning behind her words as soon as they reach her ears. “I didn’t—“
“Don’t worry,” Leighton assures. “Can we start over?” She reaches out a hand. Alicia takes it, shaking it. Leighton appreciates her firm handshake. “I’m Leighton. Cory was my husband. If you’ve been here long enough to have known Aidan since kindergarten, you may remember Nicki’s father as the one who passed almost seven years ago now.”
“Oh.”
It’s all Alicia says, and Leighton doesn’t fault her. Sometimes, that’s all you can say. There’s quiet between them for a moment, but it’s oddly comfortable.
“Then this buddy thing for the two of them is extra good,” Alicia finally adds, looking to their kids again. “When Ginger suggested it, I wasn’t so sure, but I’m glad it worked out.”
“Me too.” Leighton nods. While she and Ginger, the school counselor, butted heads in the beginning, she’s grown to appreciate her earnestness.
For several more seconds, the two women just watch as Aidan and Nicki chase each other around, playfully jabbing at each other. It’s good to see them both acting like kids.
It’s so good to see them happy.
***
“How much do I owe you?” Leighton asks, pulling up Venmo.
“Like fifteen bucks,” Bela tells her, unworried. “You don’t have to pay me back. You can just get me next time or something.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Leighton disagrees like always, hitting send on the money before tossing her phone to the side on the couch. “Baby! Food is here!” she calls, and immediately, footsteps run along the carpet and down the stairs.
The adults smile, amused and affectionate as Nicki makes her rounds, saying hello to her pseudo-aunts and uncles.
Chatter quickly erupts in the room as they all ask the girl questions about her day. She answers them brightly between bites of pasta, remembering to chew and swallow before she speaks. Leighton looks on with an affection so pure it could move mountains, while her friends watch her with a relief that consistently comes each week, that comes knowing that their friend’s heart remains despite all of the hurt she’s endured.
Once Nicki is done with her pasta, she starts to doze, leaning against her mom’s legs until Canaan picks her up, the usual routine by now and carries her off to bed over his shoulder. She cuddles against him, and Leighton watches them go before she breaks the easy silence.
“I made a friend,” she offers, looking around.
“You don’t make friends, Leight,” Whitney teases, eyes flashing with affectionate challenge.
“Rude,” she grumbles in reply.
“The people you meet at group grief counseling and speak to once don’t count,” Bela adds from where she’s sampling the tiramisu.
“That happened— only twice,” Leighton complains. “Guys, I’m serious! I made a friend.” Her friends eye her. “Well, sort of,” she concedes. “Our kids are buddies, and they were paired up by Ginger, the school counselor, and I bring it up because I wanted to get your opinion on it. Is it a good idea? You know, for her to get attached to somebody else.”
“This friend,” Kimberly begins, putting on what Leighton likes to call her therapist voice that she’s acquired over the years ever since opening her own practice. “Does she seem like a good parent? And does her child seem like a good person? Because then it might be a good idea to spend some more time with them. Buddies are a really good system, actually, and as long as they seem like good people, Nicki having somebody at school that she feels comfortable with might be a good thing.”
Leighton weighs the question in her mind before nodding. “Alicia was nice,” she says. “And Aidan was too. He spent extra time with Nicki.”
“They were nice?” Bela cuts in, eyebrows raising into her hairline.
“Since when do you describe people as nice?” Whitney asks, in lock-step with her friend.
Leighton Murray doesn’t just go out giving compliments, so naturally, everybody’s taking the opportunity to say something while they can.
“She was!” Leighton argues before mumbling, “The second time, at least.”
“What was the first time?” Kimberly pushes gently, heading quirking to the side.
“A bitch, honestly,” Leighton laughs. “But we worked it out.”
“I hope you didn’t chew her out?” Whitney prematurely reprimands, though amusement fills her tone.
“I was too busy crying my eyeballs out over my dead best friend, thank you,” the woman snarks in reply, to which everybody groans.
“Dear God,” Bela mutters.
Leighton rolls her eyes, softening as she thinks of Cory. He really was her best friend. She doesn’t call him her husband to her friends anymore, because yes, she’s a widow, but everybody close to them knows they weren’t really in love. They loved each other, but they weren’t in love.
She’d told him she was gay when he came home for one of his short stints of break. It was a regretful time, something she wished she never had to do, but she cared for him enough to let him know. It was tough at first, but he was her best friend, so he wanted nothing more than to let her go. His time off was too short to get a proper divorce, to do all of the things he insisted upon: a willfully amicable split where they were both supported, working out the terms of co-parenting so that Nicki would be loved in every way she deserved, explaining to the family that would respect the ending of their marriage.
More than anything, Cory had wanted to do right by their family, and Leighton had agreed.
When he went back to work, they’d call on the phone most days, discussing the future and what it would mean. He’d promised bars — where he quickly stated he’d wingman her so hard that every girl would be falling over her— and even more family dinners and to be there, that one day, they would introduce each other to the people that love them how they truly did mean to love each other.
The things that never happened are some of the things she misses the most.
“Leight?” Kimberly prompts gently. “We’re going to go, okay?”
“What?” she asks, starting out of her thoughts. “Oh! Yeah. Okay.”
“You sure?” Canaan asks, having come back downstairs after inevitably having to tell Nicki at least a few stories.
“Yes. Yes. Go!” Leighton shoos them playfully. “It’s a weeknight and we all have work.”
One by one, her friends tentatively start to file out, and Leighton waits for them to go, urging them on with her eyes, before she heads upstairs to check on Nicki in the gap of the half-closed door. Relieved to see she’s soundly sleeping, Leighton crosses the hall into her room, flopping down into her bed that she forgot to make this morning in her rush to get out the door and drop her daughter off at school.
For a while, she just lies there, the virtual emptiness of the house apparent now that her friends have left. It’s so quiet that she can barely breathe.