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Ryan doesn’t even bother—his gaze is focused on the foil-wrapped dish in my hands. Leaning close, he gives it a whiff, his eyes lighting up in appreciation. “Brownies?”
I sidestep around them, lifting the plate away just as Ryan is plucking at the edge of the foil. Grinning, I swat at his hand. “Hang on, let me put them down at least.”
Once I get to the small kitchen area, I put the dish down with a flourish. Peeling away the foil, I announce, “Double fudge brownies with chocolate chunks.”
Ryan immediately snatches one up and takes a large bite. After a second, he moans in appreciation. “This is amazing. I need to change my schedule to work with you every shift.”
Willow takes a small taste and sighs with pleasure. “I don’t know why my brownies never taste this good.”
I sit at the small dining table and smile at both of them. “Because my mother has been using this recipe for the last thirty years, at least. She’s had a lot of practice.”
“It’s so sweet that she’s teaching your daughter to cook.” Willow takes the seat across from me and her expression softens. “I would have loved that when I was a kid.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “And Laila loves spending time with her grandmother. When I left today, she was practically pushing me out the door. Tonight they’re doing mani-pedis, whatever those are.”
“A manicure and pedicure,” Ryan laughs, speaking through a mouthful of brownie. “You know, nail polish? On their fingernails and toenails? How do you not know this?”
Wait. My seven-year-old daughter is going to be wearing nail polish? My mother didn’t mention that when she came over to babysit tonight. What’s next? Makeup? Piercings?
As a single dad with sole custody, I’ve known I’d have to deal with all these topics, eventually. I guess I was just thinking eventually would be a few more years away.
Or decades, even. That would be okay, too.
“It’s just nail polish, Ben.” Willow kicks my knee under the table. “It’s not like she’s dating.” Her lips twitch as she adds ominously. “Yet.”
“Stop. I don’t want to hear about dating. She’s seven.”
Ryan says thoughtfully, “You know… My niece is nine and she had a boyfriend last year. They exchanged valentines.” His eyes crinkle up as he teases, “So you have two years, at least.”
The idea of Laila dating sends anxiety rocketing through me. My voice comes out in a growl. “Laila isn’t dating. Ever.” I glare at Ryan and Willow. “And if you two keep it up, I’m not bringing any more desserts in. I’ll keep them all for myself.”
The two of them chorus, “Noooo,” while giving me matching apologetic looks.
I’m not mad, of course. And I wouldn’t hog all the desserts. But this teasing is just part of our routine at the Ambulance Corps. It’s one of my favorite things about volunteering here—during the slow times, it’s just like hanging out with friends. We take turns bringing snacks, picking what to put on TV, and taking turns making fun of each other.
It’s not the only good thing about working as a volunteer paramedic, of course. There’s the whole saving lives part of it, too. Working in cooperation with the fire department, we provide emergency services to Sleepy Hollow and its outskirts. I’ve been a part of the Corps for the last three years, and aside from raising Laila, it’s the most rewarding thing I do.
When I was younger, I worked as a volunteer firefighter, instead. But once I became Laila’s only caregiver, I decided to do something a little less dangerous. Not that being a paramedic is without risk, but at least I’m not running into burning buildings anymore.
Do I still miss the feeling of being on the first line of defense? Yes. But staying safe for my daughter matters more.
Now that the obligatory teasing session is over, we move on to what to watch on TV. Ryan always wants to watch soccer, Willow loves any kind of competitive reality show, and I’m a fan of anything sci-fi. Since I’m the one who brought dessert, I invoke channel selection privileges and find a movie about an alien spaceship that crashes in Manhattan, but it ends up being mistaken for a tourist attraction.
It’s not intellectual, or high quality, but it is entertaining.
The first hour of our shift is quiet—Ryan polishes off two more brownies while Willow snickers at the ridiculous alien costumes. I send a text to my mother and she replies with a picture of Laila’s fingernails, which are thankfully painted in a very subtle shade of pink.
The movie is just getting to the climax—the president is visiting the spaceship and the main alien guy is about to eat him—when the dispatch alert goes off.
As we rush to the ambulance, the details come through. A single car collision just outside town, the female driver still unconscious when a passerby spotted her.
Ryan stays back while Willow and I head to the scene. For overnight shifts, we rotate calls so someone can stay back and get an hour of rest while the other two are working.
We’re nearly there when the radio crackles with an update. The firefighters from Station 4 just arrived on scene—the guys that volunteer there are the ones I know the best.
I recognize Ian’s voice immediately. “Just arrived. Grant and Dave are working to extricate—” He pauses, and his voice goes rough. “Fuck. It’s Ari’s friend.”
Ari’s friend?
