The older one, Sophia, unpeeled herself from my leg and got a bottle of maple syrup from the refrigerator, but Freya stopped short, looking confused.
“In the drawer with yourPaw Patrolcup,” Rory encouraged, and she raced over to a drawer and pulled out a stack of colorful plastic plates. He looked me up and down and whistled. “Hey, pretty lady, what’s the occasion?”
Really? Was a sundress and some deodorant a high bar for me these days? What did I usually wear? This was just sad. “Just felt like enjoying the sunshine,” I said cheerily.
Rory gave me a surprised look. “You don’t usually celebrate Tampa weather,” he commented, then added, “But I like it when you wear that necklace.” He put the pancake turner down and came around the island, encircling me in a hug. I stiffened by instinct, then relaxed in his familiar embrace. He murmured in my ear, “Every time I see it on you it reminds me to never give up hope, to seek happiness, and to remember that life is full of second chances.” He pressed a quick kiss to my temple and jogged back to the stove to flip a pancake that was starting to get too done.
“I love it,” I said lightly. What was the significance of the necklace? Maybe an anniversary gift? I turned to help the girls set the table. Tampa. We were in Florida. A relief to at least narrow my location down to a city and state.
Through the sliding back doors I could see a fenced yard with a pool glittering in the sun, and outside the door the patio was a riot of blooms, pots holding dozens of edible flowers and herbs I recognized. Apparently, I was gardening in a big way in Florida. The sun was sobright already at eight in the morning. The light was sharp, piercing. It was true, I wasn’t a big fan of sun. I was a Pacific Northwest girl through and through. Heat and sun felt foreign, almost a little hostile.
Rory slid pancakes from the griddle onto a plate. “Babe, can you grab milk for the girls and my cold brew coffee from the fridge?”
It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me.Babe. I paused for a moment, soaking it in. I was standing in our kitchen while a bare-chested Rory made pancakes for our children. My heart squeezed. How heartbreakingly, wonderfully improbable.
“Sure.” I rummaged around the refrigerator and found the beverages. When I closed the door, a postcard caught my eye. It was a photo of Dad, his arms wrapped around a woman with dark red hair and kind brown eyes. She had her hand over Dad’s hand, their fingers entwined. A small princess-cut diamond ring adorned her ring finger. I froze, staring at the ring, at the expression on Dad’s face. My father was gazing down at her with a look of adoration. The text below the photo read:
You are invited to share in the wedding joy of Martin Blanchard and Ramona Flores.
I caught my breath. My father was getting remarried? My father was in love with a woman named Ramona? I stared at the photo, dumbstruck. I had rarely seen him look so happy.
Glancing over at Rory, who was busy plating pancakes, I carefully removed the invitation from the fridge and flipped it over. It was crumpled at the corners and worn soft around the edges, as though it had been handled a lot. On the back were a few brief sentences.
Ramona came into Martin’s life as his caregiver during his recovery.
Recovery? Recovery from what? I wondered.
Martin was drawn to Ramona’s caring spirit and her strength and energy. Ramona admired Martin’s work ethic and his dedication to his family. They are so thankful to find love again and look forward to spending the rest of their lives making each other laugh. Please join them as they celebrate the start of their life together. For more information and all the details about the wedding and reception, please visit their wedding website.
And then there was a website address for an online wedding-planning site.
I studied the photo again on the front of the card. Seeing my dad with another woman hit me like a punch in the gut. I was so not ready for this new twist. Although I had to admit that it beat finding Dad’s ashes in a box, that was for sure.
“Pancakes are ready.” Rory’s voice snapped me from my daze. I hastily stuck the invitation back on the fridge and brought the beverages to the table. The girls helped me, so it took roughly three times as long. Doing tasks with children, I quickly realized, was sort of like performing every action while wrestling an octopus. You’d no sooner have one arm contained than the other seven were making mischief. Still, I couldn’t stop looking at the girls, giving them sideways glances, these children who were such a mixture of Rory and me. Sophia had my pointed chin and wide brow, but her hair was dark, almost black like my dad’s and curly like Rory’s. Freya looked like a mini Rory—same lively brown eyes and high square cheekbones speckled with freckles, same gingery coloring, but her coppery locks were thick and straight like mine with adorable bangs. She was wearing only underpants, and her tummy stuck out like half a cantaloupe, her legs chubby with sturdylittle knees. The girls were adorable. They were mine. Ours. I shook my head, dazzled at the thought.
We sat down and held hands for a quick blessing, and then, at Rory’s prompting, each person said one thing they were thankful for. It seemed like a family tradition, and the girls jumped in immediately.
“I’m thankful for Olivia. She’s my best friend,” Sophia said solemnly.
“I’m fankful for Bunny. He’s my best fwend,” Freya echoed, clutching a very bedraggled neon-orange stuffed rabbit to her chest. Her mouth was ringed with syrup and half of her bangs looked suspiciously sticky.
“I’m thankful for my three girls and for our life together,” Rory said. When it was my turn, I squeezed Sophia’s and Rory’s hands on either side. “I’m thankful to be here with you. I’m thankful for this day.”
And it was true. As the girls kept up a constant stream of chatter, I picked at my pancakes and watched my new family around the table. Normal people got married, got used to being married, got pregnant and had a baby or two after a good long gestation, and then gradually adjusted to being parents. I’d awakened this morning to an instant family. It was all a bit overwhelming. Glorious and overwhelming.
After devouring a stack of pancakes, Rory pushed back his chair, gulped his coffee, and circled the table, kissing the girls’ heads. When he got to me he leaned down and, instinctively, I raised my face to his. Like a thousand times before, his lips came down on mine, that delicious ridge of his upper lip, the taste of maple syrup and cold brew. I leaned in just as he pulled back.
“I’m going to head up to shower,” he told me, obviously distracted, his mind already on something else. “One of the new recruits injured his knee training, and I’ve got to monitor the situation, see if he can still play. I’ll get ready fast and get out of here.”
He was so close I could feel the heat of his body next to mine. Itwas doing funny things to my insides.Act normal, I told myself.It’s just Rory. But there was no “just” about it. It was Rory, here, in the flesh, so close I could touch him. For now he was mine once more.
“I’ll be home in time for dinner,” he continued, pulling back and heading for the stairs.
“Okay,” I said with false cheer, attempting to cover the sinking feeling in my chest. He was leaving. Most of the day would be spent without him. How utterly disappointing. When I’d taken the lemon drop I’d imagined... what? Candlelight and wine on the veranda? Gazing at Rory for uninterrupted lengths of time? Not a day spent away from him while I navigated motherhood solo.
I glanced across the table to find two expectant little faces watching me. What did a day being a mommy entail? Did they go to school? What did a normal day look like for them? I stared at the girls across the table. They looked back at me.
“Do you know where my phone is?” I asked, feeling foolish asking the question.
