His reply came slower this time.
Good. I’d rather see your pretty eyes anyway.
I did not mean to close my eyes. I definitely did not mean to smile the way I did.
Nicole said my name once.
Loud enough to pull me back.
I opened my eyes and found her standing there with both bowls in hand, watching me like I had momentarily floated three inches off the kitchen tile.
“Do not go all soft in my house over a man while I’m making noodles.”
I laughed hard enough to bend forward.
“That is so rude.”
“It is also timely. Take these bowls.”
I took them and followed her into the dining area while the twins came running because children possessed a sixth sense for buttered carbohydrates.
The rest of the evening settled around small things.
Feeding kids.
Nicole telling me about Jalen’s mother insisting on matching family shirts for the Fourth and the grilling competition and how she had politely declined to be photographed in anything that saidMeating with the Parkers.
Noah demanding juice with the full emotional intensity of a union organizer.
Nia ending up in my lap with a little braid half undone while I fixed it with one hand and ate with the other.
And under all of it, Micah lived.
Later, when the twins were in pajamas and the dishwasher was full and Nicole and I were standing shoulder to shoulder wiping down the kitchen, she bumped me lightly with her hip.
“So when do I get to see him?”
I laughed without looking up. “That is a crazy question.”
“It’s not.” She rinsed a cup and set it in the rack. “I didn’t ask when I get to approve him. I asked when I get to see him.”
I dried the counter slowly, buying time.
“That sounds worse somehow.”
“It should.”
I turned and looked at her. “It’s new.”
Nicole’s face softened.
“I know.”
That was the thing with sisters. Sometimes they teased because they saw too much. Sometimes they got gentle for the exact same reason.
I set the towel down.
“I like him,” I admitted, quiet enough that the words felt new even in my own mouth.
