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“Yup,” she says chomping on the fruit. “Are we going to wait for her to cook ours?”
“Depends.” I start spreading cheese over the sauce.
“On what?” she asks, head tilting to the side, ponytail swinging behind her in a way that has my heart squeezing.
Because it reminds me of her mom.
And the conversation with my doctor.
And thinking about Brit finally being done with my dumb ass.
And…about not being able to be here with Rox, making pizza and pretending not to see her stealing more pineapple.
“Dad?”
“Depends on how hungry you are.”
Rox freezes with a pineapple halfway to her mouth. “I’m not that hungry.”
My lips twitch. Because she’d eaten half a pineapple in the last five minutes.
I finish with the cheese, start in on the olives. “I bet.”
“So, we’ll wait for Mom?” she asks.
“Sounds good to me,” I tell her, snagging the remaining pineapple and spreading it on top of the cheese and olives.
“Dad?” she asks in between bites of fruit.
“Yeah?”
“Are you and Mom going to live together again?”
I nearly drop the bowl.
Luckily, I manage to keep hold of it long enough to set it in the sink, to turn on the water, to add soap, to fill it up.
Delaying.
Because my daughter is too fucking smart.
Because I’m a dumbass.
Because…I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.
Her arms wrapping around my waist make me jump. “It’s okay if you’re not,” she says quietly, but I see the sadness in her eyes before she deliberately tries for something positive. “Teddy’s parents are divorced and he gets two Christmases.”
Or maybe calculating.
Christ.
Kids.
“Will I get two Christmases too?” she asks innocently.
“I—”
“And birthdays? And?—”
