APRIL
Harriet's room in my house is painted pink, and the ceiling is covered with glow-in-the-dark stars stuck with sticky tack. Right now, with only her little lamp on as I tuck her into bed, they're shining like the real thing.
I hold her hair, in its natural curls, for her as she slips her silk bonnet on. After that, she plops down and smiles up at me after nestling under her thick comforter.
"Hey, listen," I say, sitting on the floor with an elbow resting on her mattress. I use that hand to hold hers, and I stroke her soft knuckles while I talk. "I have something to tell you."
She lifts her wispy eyebrows and grins wider. "What is it?" she says.
"In a month or so, we're gonna do something pretty big," I say. "We're gonna make a big change."
"A good change?" she says.
I nod and say, "Very good. You remember where your daddy grew up? How he grew up in a city called Boston?"
She puckers her lips and moves them to one side, a classic Harriet expression of confusion, then shakes her head.
"Yes you do, silly," I say, touching her cheek with my thumb. "I'm sure he's told you. But Daddy grew up in a big city called Boston that's all the way across the country, by New York. We know New York, right?"
She nods, then asks, "Is Boston even longer away than Ohio?"
"Further than that," I say.
"Further away than that?" she says. "But the plane to Nana and my aunties is so long."
"I know," I say. "But it's usually a fun trip, right?" She nods, wondering where I'm going with this, so I decide to just spit it out. "The whole reason I'm talking about Boston is because we're moving there."
She's quiet and gives me a look that mirrors Jackson almost identically. If I can read her thoughts, which I'd like to think I can, she's thinking something along the lines of 'what in the world do you mean?'
"Moving is a big deal," I say, "and it can be scary. But with me around, there's nothing to be scared of."
"What about Daddy?" Harriet asks. "Is he coming?"
"Yep," I say, then take both of her hands in mine. "The three of us are heading to the other ocean."
"No more specific ocean?" she says.
"Nope," I say, chuckling. "We'll be closer to the Atlantic Ocean after we move."
"Me, you, and Daddy all together!" she says, wriggling around under the covers. "But where will he sleep? He can't sleep on my floor, because then his back will hurt him."
It dawns on me that I really should have explained this better. I stressed all day over the words I would use to tell Harriet that we're moving, yet I still found a way to mess it up.
"No, no, honey," I say. "Things in Boston will be like they are here, just in a different state. With Daddy in his own house and Mommy in another one. And you get both houses, and both of us. Just like you do now."
She squints, thinking hard again, then says, "And Matthew is not coming back?"
Talking her through mine and Matthew's breakup is another hurdle I've been constantly jumping ever since it happened almost a year ago. Talk about mistakes - he was my biggest.
"That's right," I say. "Matthew isn't coming back, not ever."
She sits up with a gasp, then looks around her room in a panic. "What about my toys?" she says.
I smile and tell her, "They're coming, too. Everything that you have in this house, you'll have in our new house in Boston."
"Will I have my own room?" she asks.
"And your very own playroom," I say, eyes wide. "And we can paint the walls whatever colors you want."
"Pink and pink and pink?" she says, excited all over again.
"If that's what you want," I say, "you got it."
"Yay!" she says. "We gotta tell Daddy!"
I cup her face in my hands, give her a kiss, and say, "He already knows. Don't you worry about that. It was actually his idea, and he asked us to come along with him."
"'Cause he would miss us way too much if we didn't," Harriet says matter-of-factly.
"You're right," I say, one hand on her lamp as I get ready to shut it off. "I don't think he could live without his little princess."
"That's me," she says, beaming. "And he couldn't live without you, either, Mommy."
With a good-natured grin, I say, "Oh, you think so?"
She nods to set it in stone. Then, she says, "I know so."
…
On moving day, the sky is overcast and there's a cool breeze blowing through the house with the front door perpetually open. Jackson is running late, so Harriet has made it her job to wait in the front yard for him.
"Harriet Samantha," I say, bringing a box outside for our movers to load into their giant truck. "I could use some help."
"I'm helping!" she says. "I'm watching for Daddy."
"He'll be here in a second," I say, "and he's going to help me. Why don't you set a good example? Go grab those last few boxes from your room."
She's just about to turn around and do it when Jackson pulls up in his black Lincoln and parks behind my car in the driveway. He rolls down the window as Harriet bounds over - both of them wear a big grin. "Hey, Peep!" he says.
"You're late," I call out to him, craning my neck over the box that I'm holding.
"Uh-oh," I hear Jackson say, lowering his voice to conspiratorially talk with his daughter. "I hear the Mommy voice."
As I set the box down, he gets out of the car and strolls over with our daughter on his hip. "Where've you been?" I ask, retying my hair into the bun it had fallen out of.
"Finishing up a few things," he says. "I'm all set to go now."
"Hmm," I say, taking a deep breath. I'm stressed, and I don't want to take it out on him - but we've always been an easy target for each other, no matter the state of our relationship. "I was just about to send this one up to her room to bring boxes down. But she had her own ideas in mind."
"Hey," Jackson says, setting Harriet on the ground. "Listen to your mom."
"I don't wanna…" Harriet whines.
I give her one of my classic looks and Jackson does the same, and she knows there's no further argument. She trudges into the house, curls bouncing, and I turn back to Jackson after she disappears. "So, I was thinking," I say.
"Uh-oh," he says, smirking.
"I'm serious," I say. "We should use one moving truck - look how much space there is left in it, and my whole house is pretty much packed. There's plenty of room for your stuff, too."
He raises his eyebrows, then shakes his head. "I think two trucks is fine," he says.
"Don't call me cheap," I say, "but it would save us a lot of money. This is a cross-country move, Jackson."
"And I'm paying for it," he says with a warm smile. "Why are you stressing?"
"Well, because I'm picking up my entire life for a second time and going somewhere completely new," I say. "I'm just trying to make this easier on all of us."
"Would it make you feel better if I put my stuff in there with yours?" he asks.
"It's a semi truck," I say. "And we're going to the same neighborhood. So, yes, it would make me feel better."
"Alright," he says, "then I'll make it happen."
"Good," I say. "Thank you."
"On one condition," he says. "We take the Avery plane to Boston."
…
We're 36,000 feet in the air, on our way to the other coast, and Harriet is bouncing off the walls.
"We said bye-bye to Seattle!" she says, running up and down the aisle. One of the flight attendants gave her a packet of Pop Rocks before we took off, and I think she's still riding the high of them. "We're going to Boston! We're going to Boston!"
"That's right," I say, trying not to give into the monster headache that's pounding behind my eyes.
"Hey, Mommy," Harriet says, placing one hand on each of my knees while bouncing up and down. "Hey, Mommy. Hey, Mommy."
"Yes?" I say.
"Watch me!" she says, then climbs up on the leather chair across from Jackson and jumps off of it to land hard in his lap.
"Holy-" Jackson begins, doubling over as he catches her. He stops himself before he swears, though, and sets Harriet on her feet. "Watch where you're jumping, Undertaker."
"I'm the Undertaker!" Harriet shouts, then climbs on the chair across from me.
Luckily, I know what she's going to do before she does it, so I soften the blow by catching her mid-air.
"Whoa, Mommy, that was fun. Do it again!" she says.
"Harriet, no more," I say sternly. "You can sit down and close your eyes, or you can get out your toy bag. No more roughhousing."
She furrows her eyebrows, then turns around and climbs back on the chair on Jackson's side. She does a flying leap and he catches her like I had, not letting her full weight hit him, and she laughs like it's the best thing in the world.
"Do that again, Daddy," she says, grinning.
"One more time, and that's it," Jackson says.
"Hey," I say, frowning. "No. I just told her no more roughhousing."
"Just one more time!" Harriet says.
"You have plenty to do in your toy bag," I say sternly, yanking the bag up from the floor and placing it on the soft couch behind me. "Choose something, or I'll choose for you."
Harriet narrows her eyes and turns her lips down in a dramatic frown. "You're mean," she says, but she complies and hops up on the couch to dig through the bag.
After she's thoroughly distracted with a few of her plastic pink ponies, I turn to Jackson. "We have to get on the same page about stuff like that," I say.
"She just wanted to do it one more time," he says. "She's bored. Can you blame her?"
"No," I say, "but that's why I packed her a toy bag. One more time jumping on you would've turned into forty times."
"Right, I know," he says.
"I don't wanna always be the bad guy," I say. "Like I'm the mean mom and you're the fun dad."
"But if the shoes fit?" he says, a glint in his eye.
"You're horrible," I say, then reach across the aisle to swat him on the arm.
"I'm kidding," he says, promising me with a steady expression in his eyes. "I'll be better. We'll be better." He gives me a reassuring smile, and a solid nod. "It'll all be good."
…
"Animal crackers in my soup, monkeys and rabbits loop-the-loop," Harriet sings, splashing with her bath toys as I sit with my elbow resting on the lip of the tub. "Gosh, oh gee, but I have fun-"
I hear a key card slide into our door and Jackson's voice rings out from the entryway: "Swallowing animals one by one," he sings back to his daughter.
Harriet's face lights up. "Daddy!" she squeals.
This is our second night staying in the Four Seasons Hotel Boston as everything gets moved into my house and Jackson's penthouse apartment. We landed late yesterday, so we went right to sleep. Today, we spent time with Jackson as he showed us around the city where he grew up. We saw Fenway Park, Boston Common, the Boston Public Garden, and The Park School, which is where Jackson went to elementary. To say that Harriet will sleep well tonight is an understatement.
"Hey, Peep," Jackson says, leaning against the sink after coming into the bathroom.
"I'm having a bath now," Harriet says,
"I see," Jackson says, "I heard you singing your bath song."
Harriet giggles. "And you sang it, too," she says.
"Oh, always," he replies, then smirks. "I'm gonna let you finish up with Mommy, okay? I'll wait out here and then you can pick out a book." Harriet nods, and Jackson meets my eyes to ask, "Is that alright?"
"Of course, it is," I say, scrubbing Harriet's bath with a hotel washcloth. "We'll only be a few more minutes."
After my girl is all clean, I drain the bath while she puts on her matching pink set of pajamas, then I sit her on my lap to moisturize her hair. Once that's done, she slips her bonnet on and runs, in bare feet, to go join Jackson on the queen bed in the middle of the room, the one that she and I have been sharing and will continue to share for the next day or two.
She snuggles up next to him and I sit on the other side of her, one knee bent as I pull out the only book that isn't packed - The Kissing Hand by Audrey Penn.
"I get Mommy and Daddy at bedtime," she says, slipping under the thick covers and getting cozy.
She looks between me and Jackson with a big grin, and I want to smile back - but I can't. Her words make me think of the fact that she's never, not once, had both of us put her to bed at night. At four-and-a-half years old, this will be the first time. It weighs heavy on me.
"Read now, Mommy, please," Harriet says, her little voice growing quieter as she gets more comfortable in bed.
I read the book, but my heart isn't in it like usual. That book can get me to cry on especially sentimental nights, but tonight I barely registered what I was reading. She's asleep by the end of it, though, and Jackson and I are able to stand up off the bed without waking her.
"I was gonna have a cup of tea, if you want one," I say, watching as he lingers halfway between the door and the bed. I can tell he's not quite ready to leave; I'm not ready for that, either. It feels like there's a big conversation waiting to happen between us, but neither of us have cracked the ice yet. I think it's about time we do.
He hesitates, but eventually says, "Sure."
I know why he hesitated, and it's not because he doesn't want a reason to stay. It's because I make my tea too sweet. "No sugar in yours," I say, working with the electric kettle with my back turned. "And just a little milk."
I don't have to look at him to know what expression he's making; I hear him smile. Then, he says, "Thanks."
Once the tea is ready, I carry our mugs to the couch and join him, sitting on the cushion right beside his.
"Careful," I say, "it's really hot. Blow on it." He gives me a playful look, and I realize what I've said as I roll my eyes at myself. "Sorry," I say. "I'm too used to her."
"I get it," he says, but then he appeases me and blows on the tea anyway before taking a sip. "It's good," he says, then sets it down. "I am gonna let it cool down, though."
I nod and face him, holding my mug with two hands. I take a deep breath, let it out, then say, "Before we left, I told Hattie that nothing would change once we got to Boston." I give him a long look. "But I think a lot of things are going to change."
The look in Jackson's eyes is thoughtful, and a handful of beats pass before he speaks. "I think so, too," he finally says.
We lock eyes for a long moment. I always used to be able to read his mind this way, his eyes gave everything away. But I'm having a hard time now - they're full of so many thoughts and emotions that I can't begin to parse through them.
I know how he feels, though, because I feel the same way. It's a lot to figure out, especially in such close proximity, with no distractions - on a small scale and a big one. There's no distractions in this hotel room, not with Harriet sleeping, and there's none in this big city that we now share. We're the only two here, the only two from our old life. What is there to do but work towards a future… a future together?
I know it's what we both want. That's not hard to figure out. What's hard is saying it out loud and even harder is making it happen.
We've tried more than once and failed. Who's to say we won't fail this time, too? What if we do?
What if we don't?
That thought is scary, too. All of this is scary.
I thought this was a conversation I wanted to have, but I don't think I'm ready. I can only make so many changes at once, and we just moved across the country. Right now, movers are setting up our new home in a brand new neighborhood. I can't work through mine and Jackosn's layered past at the same time as we get settled. That would be doing what I always used to - biting off more than I can chew.
So, I keep it simple. I say, "Good changes, though."
"Yeah," he says, this time replying right away. "Yes. Definitely, good changes."
As we drink tea, I turn on the TV and keep the volume low while we watch the news. This is something we used to do on nights that we were home together, just as a way to catch up with the world after being sequestered in the hospital all day. It feels nice, doing it now. It feels comfortable, like home - we're in an unfamiliar hotel room, but it still feels like home.
I don't remember falling asleep, but when I wake up the first thing I see is the ceiling. I'm sitting up with my head on the back cushion, and the TV is playing infomercials. I lift up and feel how sore my neck is going to be tomorrow, but there's not much time to concentrate on it because of the familiar weight on my thighs.
Jackson is lying on his side with his head on my lap, one arm wrapped around my middle so his hand is sandwiched between my back and the couch. I've got one hand in his hair and the other on his shoulder, and we're wrapped around each other in the way we used to do. Two parts of our old routine, the news and this manner of falling asleep, have been checked off tonight.
As I wake up, I don't move him. I let him stay for a little while, just a few minutes, as I gently run my fingers over his growing curls. As I do that, he stirs - neither of us are sound sleepers anymore, it seems, not after Harriet - and pulls himself closer as he takes a deep, cleansing inhale.
Before he can open his eyes, I lean my head back and pretend to be asleep. I feel him get up carefully, moving slowly so he doesn't disturb me, then he smooths a hand over my hair once he's on his feet.
"Night, April," he says, with his hand on my head and his voice close to my ear.
Keeping up my ruse, I keep my eyes closed and I don't say it back. I listen to him walk away, then he turns off the lights. It's only after the door locks behind him that I head to the bathroom to get ready for bed.
When I climb under the covers beside Harriet, she huddles close like she always does. I hold her and, as I close my eyes, I can still feel the weight of her father's head on my lap.
…
"Okay, tell me again."
"Mommy, I already told you five hundred times," Harriet says, whining from where she's perched inside a big cardboard box. We're slowly but surely unpacking her room in our new house - the house that seems much too big now that we're actually in it.
"Make it five hundred and one," I say, while hanging up her clothes.
"9 Chestnut Street, Boston, Massachusetts, 02108," she says, completely fed up with me. "My mommy is April Kepner and my daddy is Jackson Avery and I'm Harriet Samantha Kepner-Avery and I'm four-and-a-half years old."
"Very good," I say, beaming while I pull another pile of folded t-shirts out from a box that's now only half-full. "Put these in your dresser for me, please, honey."
"And make sure they're folded nice, nice!" she says, accepting the armful of shirts that I hand over to her.
As Harriet gets the clothes situated in her dresser, the doorbell rings from downstairs.
"Pizza man?" she says, spinning around so her curls fly.
I chuckle. "I think it's your daddy," I say, then get up from the pink rug that we've spread over her wooden bedroom floor. "He said he was stopping by today."
"Maybe he has pizza," Harriet says, deciding to focus on the drawer instead of following me downstairs to get the door for Jackson.
I head down alone and navigate through boxes upon boxes as I make my way to the door. When I open it, Jackson is standing there in a pair of chino pants and a fitted t-shirt, looking fresh with a new haircut. "Hey," I say, welcoming him in. "You look nice."
He smooths a hand over his head, closely shaven now. "Just got back from the barber," he says. "I think I found a good one."
"That's nice," I say. "Hattie thinks you have pizza."
He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head. "Nope," he says, then tosses a shiny pamphlet onto the table. "I do have a brochure, though."
"Daddy," Harriet calls from the top of the stairs, "why aren't you at home unpacking my room in your house?"
"Excuse me, Sergeant," Jackson says, walking to the steps so he can look up at his daughter. "What, you afraid you're gonna have to sleep on the floor?"
"I'm not sleeping on the floor!" she says, hands on her hips. "You are."
"Oh, we'll see about that," he says, shaking his head. He grabs the pamphlet that he left on the table and says, "I actually came to talk to you about schools."
"Okay," I say.
"Is she good up there?" he asks.
I tell him that yes, she's organizing her dresser, so we sit down at the dining room table after moving a few boxes out of the way. He sits beside me and opens the brochure, showing off a beautiful vista of a stately building with uniformed kids gathered in front of it. If the kids weren't so little, I'd think this was a college brochure.
"Remember The Park School, from when we first got here?" he asks. That was about two weeks ago, give or take. I nod. "I got some information about it. We missed the application and interview deadline for Hattie for this upcoming year, but since I'm an alumnus and a regular donor, they're willing to pull some strings."
I crinkle my eyebrows as I flip through the brochure. I'm not really reading it, but my hands need something to do. "So… you already talked to them?" I ask.
"Yeah," he says, nodding, "a couple days ago."
"I thought you came over so the two of us could discuss schools," I say. "Together. I don't know how I feel about private school, Jackson. She went to a public preschool in Seattle. What's wrong with public kindergarten here? Have you heard of Cambridge Montessori?"
"Yes," he says, "and The Park School is better. Plus, didn't we agree to pass up Montessori? We talked about that in Seattle."
"I know," I say, conceding. We have talked about it, and we're on the same page about that philosophy. It's not for Harriet. But the school's website drew me in, along with a few others. "What about McKinley Elementary?"
"You're really not going to find anything better than Park," he says. "I know from experience."
"I get what you're saying," I tell him. "But how is it fair that she's getting in with her Avery privilege? School starts in three weeks, and she's just sliding on in? Kids go through an arduous application and interview process - why shouldn't she have to do that, too?"
"Because we moved here late in the season and missed the deadline," he says. "We know she'd get in, anyway. Those things are just on principle."
"I know," I say. "I know she'd get in. But it still doesn't seem fair. We should've done this sooner."
"Well, we didn't," he says. "And that's on me. I sprung this move on us fast, and I know that. Which is why I'm offering this solution. She has a spot, April. Why not take it?"
I spend a while looking into his eyes, understanding that he's probably right. Still, though, it's hard for me to accept such gifts, even when they're for my daughter, when they're thrust into my lap.
I stay quiet for so long that Jackson starts talking again. "Before we had kids, I thought I'd want boarding school for them - just because it was something that I experienced. But now, I know I don't want that. I couldn't take it if Peep were that far away. But this private school, this is something I do want her to have. It's all for her, A. I'm doing it for her."
"I know," I say quietly, then push my hair back from my face as I take a deep breath. "I know."
"So, what's wrong?"
I shrug and say, "I don't know. I just always pictured myself as one of those really involved moms. You know, on the PTA and chaperoning field trips and being the lunch mom…"
Jackson chuckles good-naturedly. "What the hell is a lunch mom?" he asks.
"You know!" I say, fighting a smile. "When one mom comes in and reads a book to the class and then stays for lunch. The lunch mom."
"I think you made that up," he says. But when I open my mouth to refute him, he shakes his head to let me know he's kidding. Then, he says, "What's stopping you from being all those things at Park? Genuine question."
"Oh, don't tell me they have all those ways for parents to get involved at a private school," I say, widening my eyes for effect.
"Hey, hey, don't start hating," he says, then pulls out his phone. He opens The Park School's website, swipes around for a few minutes, then opens a tab called "Families," from which he reads aloud: "At Park, all parents and guardians are automatically members of the Park Parents' Association and are invited to attend meetings and participate in discussions and decisions. The variety of volunteer opportunities is possible for parents with different interests, talents, and schedules to participate in the life of the School. Whether a one-time or ongoing commitment – every contribution is needed and valued." He looks at me over the phone while wearing an interested expression. "Huh? How 'bout that?"
"That's good…" I say.
"PA for them is like PTA," he says. "And I'm sure there are ways to be the lunch mom, if you ask."
"Okay," I say, leaning back in my chair and smirking. "Okay. As long as I can be the lunch mom."
…
The Park School is bustling on the first day of class, and Jackson and I are standing with Harriet on the sidewalk amidst a bunch of other families. Well, he's standing and I'm kneeling in front of our daughter, fixing her navy blue uniform shirt and making sure the collar is straight.
"You feel good?" I ask her, licking my thumb and wiping a bit of toothpaste off the corner of her mouth.
"Oh, I meant to tell you," Jackson says, resting his fingertips on my shoulder. "I met with the Foundation Board members yesterday night, and we're talking about funding for those free clinics."
"That's nice," I say, "but I can't talk about it right now, honey."
I realize the term of endearment only after it's left my mouth, and there's nothing I can do to take it back that won't make the moment awkward, so I ignore it and hope he didn't hear. 'Honey' is such a natural name for me to call him - I'm surprised it hasn't slipped out before now.
"Mommy, do some deep breaths," Harriet says. I've been doing them all morning and encouraging her to do them, too, so clearly it stuck.
I take her advice and inhale, long and slow, through my nose, then let it out through my mouth. "Thanks, baby," I say, then fix the blue bow on her ponytail holder. "How are you feeling? Are you excited? Nervous?"
"Excited!" she says, bouncing up and down as I get to my feet. She stands between me and Jackson and reaches a hand up for both of us, both of which we readily take. "I'm going to kindergarten!" she exclaims. "I'm big now. Right, Mommy?"
"That's right," I say.
"Hey, don't start growing too fast on us," Jackson says. "We like you little."
"I am not little, Daddy," Harriet says, scowling playfully at him.
We start to walk with her up the stairs and into The Park School - luckily, we weren't too late to take a tour and the grounds are more familiar than they'd been a few weeks ago. Still, though, everything is so pristine and so new, yet old and practiced at the same time. This sturdy brick building saw Jackson at Harriet's age and looked the same then as it did now. I wonder if little Jackson was as excited as his daughter, or if he was feeling a bit more shy. If I know Jackson, he was more nervous than he let on. I wonder if he remembers.
We're about to walk through the front doors when we're stopped by Harriet's teacher, Miss Halina. "Good morning, Harriet," she says, kneeling down and giving Harriet's hand a little shake. "Mr. and Mrs. Avery," she says after, nodding at us.
I open my mouth to correct her, but the words die in my throat. My mouth is dry and my heart is beating too fast - the last name flub doesn't matter right now. "Morning," Jackson says, taking my place - thankfully - in the conversation.
"Right here is where you'll say your goodbyes," Miss Halina says. "It makes it easier for our new kindergarteners. It lets them know that school is a place for learning, but not a place for parents to stay. But parents will always be there when it's time to go home!"
I think I'm more upset than Harriet is, learning this information. I cast Jackson a quick glance and see the same worry in his eyes, but we're both trying to hide it.
"Okay," I say, then kneel down at the same time Jackson does. "You have everything you need?" I ask Harriet. "Your lunch is in your backpack. And your tennis shoes, too, and your pencils and crayons," I say. "Everything's in there."
"Okay, Mommy," Harriet says, then throws her arms around my neck to give me a big hug.
"I love you," I say, holding her tight.
"I love you," she says back, and I kiss her face when she pulls away and moves towards Jackson.
"You gonna be brave today?" he says, cupping the back of her head with his big hand. I hear her answer affirmatively, and he smiles with his eyes closed. "I thought so," he says, then kisses her forehead. "I'm proud of you."
She smiles, then comes back to give me one last hug and a kiss. "Will you come get me if I'm sad and I miss you, Mommy?"
There are tears brimming along my waterline, but I refuse to let them fall. Instead, I just sniffle and nod, then whisper, "Yes. Yes, of course. But you're gonna have so much fun, you won't even be thinking about me."
Harriet nods, growing a little more unsure as Miss Halina takes her hand and starts to lead her away. She turns back once she's taken a few steps, then says, "I love you," while looking at me and then her father.
We both stand up and wave, not moving an inch until she's rounded the corner. Once she's gone, I let the tears fall and Jackson lets out a long, heavy sigh. We stare into the distance for a few beats, towards the space Harriet just vacated, and he does something I don't expect - he takes my hand.
Then, I do something that I don't expect - I let him.
With our fingers intertwined, our feet stay rooted in place until the final bell rings and the hall starts to empty out. Then, Jackson turns towards me and I turn towards him. We spend a while just looking at each other, smiling - sad and happy at the same time. Then, he squeezes my hand and says, "Here's to new horizons."
I smile bigger, feeling comforted by his words, and nod. I close my eyes for a moment, then open them and feel ready to leave Harriet at her new school. "New horizons," I say, then I lead the way down The Park School steps - still holding onto Jackson's hand.