Maisy stares behind her glasses like I’ve just told her we’re packing our bags and moving to Peru. But when I pick a cafe table against the wall and pull out a chair for her, she scrambles into it and digs into her raspberry fudge.
“Mmmmm.”
“Mmmmm,”I echo, taking my own bite. But honestly, I hardly taste it.
I’m wondering where Lark went after class. Probably apartment hunting. Who could blame him?
Maisy loads a spoonful of gelato into her mouth and then tries to talk around it. “Awe you shtill shick, Mama?”
“Maiz, I can’t even understand you when you talk with your mouthful,” I correct gently. “Finish your bite and then try again.”
She gulps her bite before swiping her plump little arm across her mouth. “Are you still sick, Mama?”
I blink. “I’m not sick.”
Maisy twirls the tip of her spoon through her chocolaty treat. “Yesterday when Uncle T and I made pancakes, Pen said you weren’t feeling good.”
“Oh.” I sniff and study my pistachio gelato. “I—um—I needed some rest yesterday morning. But I’m okay now.”
The way Maisy’s lenses magnify her eyes gives me the feeling she knows I’m fibbing, but that can’t possibly be true. Can it? She’s only four.
She keeps staring. “But your eyes are all red. Do you still need rest?”
My nose stings. Her concern is a sweet assault that takes me off guard. I bite the inside of my cheek to stave off more emotion.
“Maybe,” I manage, wrinkling my nose. “Maybe a little.”
My daughter brightens. “It’s okay with me if we have Sonic tonight.”
I throw back my head and laugh. “Thanks, Maisy, I appreciate that. We’re having chicken fajitas.”
She wrinkles her nose. “With the red things?”
“Red peppers? Yes.”
“Eww.”
I make no apologies for my chicken fajitas. They’re one of the easiest hot meals in my repertoire. The secret? Layer chicken breasts with sliced onion, red bell peppers, green bell peppers, and one jar of mild salsa in a slow cooker, set it on high for four hours or low for eight, and walk away.
When it’s done, the chicken shreds with a fork, and the flavor is unbeatable. A little guacamole, shredded cheese, sour cream, and tortilla wraps, and you have dinner. The best part is how amazing the house smells when you come home from work.
I get that a four-year-old might not appreciate this. “What if I pick out the red ones and just give you green ones?”
Maisy nods, eyes wide.
“Can we all watch a movie after dinner tonight? Like when we ate popcorn and watchedInside Out?”
My stomach drops. I don’t know what the vibe will be like once we’re all back at the house, but I doubt it’s going to be all cozy cuddles and cartoons.
I shake my head. “Nina starts her new job tonight, and I think Uncle T is going to have dinner at her new restaurant.”
I don’t think this. I know it. Pen’s dropping them off for Nina’s shift any minute now. I don’t know how Nina’s manager will feel about Tyler sitting at the bar all night, but I don’t think my brother cares. According to Pen, he’s not letting her out of his sight.
It’s sweet and it’s scary at the same time.
“Maybe you and I could watchFinding Nemobefore bed instead.” If there’s a better Disney movie out there thanFinding Nemo,I have yet to see it.
“Lark and Livy and Pen could watch too!” Maisy sings, bright-eyed.
