“I love you… so much, Hazel.”
She squeezes me then draws back. “Does Mommy have one too?”
I shake my head, and she frowns.
“I was hoping you’d help me with that part.”
Her eyes widen with excitement.
So I tell her my plan, and I carry her downstairs to the kitchen to put our plan into motion.
Chapter
Fifty-Five
Penelope
* * *
I hear them before I’m fully awake.
Whispering outside my door. Although I wouldn’t consider it whispering. It’s louder than regular talking and proof that Hazel has not yet mastered the concept of volume control.
“You have to let me carry the tray,” she says.
“Better if I do. You’ll drop it.”
“I will not drop it.”
“I’ll carry the tray,” Decker says. “You can open the door.”
“Fine. I carry the tray next time.”
“I’m hoping there isn’t a next time,” Decker says.
I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, listening to Decker and Hazel negotiate tray logistics outside my bedroom door at eight in the morning, and I feel something so large and warm in my chest I don’t have a word for it that is sufficient.
The door creaks open, and I pretend to be asleep, peeking through one eye as they file in with the focused energy of people executing a plan. Hazel first, both hands wrapped around a glass of orange juice, tongue pressed between her teeth in concentration. Decker is behind her with the tray.
Hazel makes it to the nightstand without spilling, and her expression when she sets down the glass is the specific triumph of someone who has been doubted and proved a point.
“Breakfast in bed,” she whispers.
I pretend to just wake up, but I’m pretty sure Decker knows I wasn’t asleep.
“There was a disagreement about the tray,” he says.
I sit up. Decker sets the tray across my lap, and I look at the eggs slightly overdone, the toast cut diagonally, the coffee in the right mug. “This is wonderful. Thank you both.”
“It was Decker’s idea,” Hazel says, sliding up and over my legs to the other side of me.
“It was a team effort,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed.
They look at one another, and I’m definitely not missing anything.
“Is this about the dog thing?” I ask. “Trying to butter me up?”
“Would it work?” Hazel asks. “If I make you breakfast in bed, we can get a dog finally?”
