It can wait. We have time.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway.
We have time.
And we do, just maybe not as much as I think…
Twenty-One
DEAN
Five Days Later…
Bella hasflour in her eyelashes, on her chin, and up both nostrils.
I don’t know how she managed it—she’s not even on crust duty; I put her on chopping veggies with her safety knife for a reason—but she’s having so much fun, I can’t bring myself to ask her which pizza she stuck her face into. Any germs should be baked away in the oven, I guess, and mine and Clover’s pies are guaranteed to be sanitary.
Besides, the fun is the most important part of family pizza night.
Family pizza night…
We never had pizza night when their mom and I were together—the girls were both still too young—and Clover is just our friend, but she feels like family. Hell, it feels like she’s always been here with us. I honestly have a hard time remembering what we were like before.
Probably because I don’t want to remember.
I want to pretend that we’re already a done deal, which is stupid, but I can’t help it. It’s impossible to keep my guard up when everything feels so right. Ava and Bella at the table, laughing as they make a huge mess, the jazz in the background, the silly, easy conversation about the latest drama at preschool—it’s like something from a sitcom.
Or the end of a rom-com.
Or the beginning of a suspense movie, right before something terrible happens and the hero’s life is shattered into a million pieces as he hunts his family’s kidnappers across the desert with nothing but a Swiss Army knife and a belly full of rage…
“Daddy, come on.” Ava glances up from her crust, pulling me from my “the other shoe has to drop, sooner or later” thoughts. “You have to do your job. I’m about to need more cheese.”
I give her a quick salute. “Yes, ma’am. On it.”
“Okay, but I think you could go faster.” She sighs through her nose, the sigh of a girl who has carried this family long enough, and Clover snorts with laughter.
“She’s not here for your monkeyshine, mister.” She shoots an amused gaze at my cutting board, currently only half full of shredded mozzarella. “Let’s see some hustle, Kate.”
“Maybelline wrote a poem with that word!” Bella pipes up.
“She did,” Ava says, her brow furrowing for a beat before she quotes, “In the hustle and bustle of the dark, the bunny vampires play their part. The bayou shimmers and…” Her nose wrinkles. “Something about fireflies and crickets singing, but I forgot that part.”
“That’s still amazing, Ava,” Clover says, clearly impressed. “You have a great memory.”
“You do,” I agree, before following up with, “But I’m confused about the bunnies and vampires. Why are they hanging out? I thought bunnies were nice.”
“The bunniesarevampires, Daddy,” Ava says as if that should have been obvious. “Like in that book, Bunnicula, that our teacher read at school. We told Maybelline about it, and she said it made her want to write a poem. So, she did! It’s so good, too. It gives me the spooky chills just like Halloween, but not too scary. Just scary enough.”
Bella nods. “Yep. She’s super good at poetry.”
“She is,” Clover agrees. “But I can’t believe we didn’t realize we were living across the street from a two-time Louisiana poet laureate. I’m ashamed of us.”
“Maybelline’s a private woman,” I say, grateful that she’s decided to become less private with us. The girls love their new babysitter, and Maybelline loves having surrogate grandkids around. “I can respect that.”
“Still, we should have recognized her name,” Clover insists. “She must think we’re all illiterate.”
I grin. “Well, I’ve only read one book this year, so…”
