"What if she belly-flops?" He's so full of questions, and I'm enjoying this more than I thought I would.
"Then we'll hear about it for a week." I grin at him and he grins back, and the kid has so much energy bouncing around inside him, I can feel it from ten feet away. He's been cooped up with the stress of everything his parents are going through, and even though he doesn't know the details, kids pick up on tension.
"Can I have a burger before she gets here?" he asks, and it's almost a complaining grumble. I bet I could hear his belly rumbling a block away, but I won't cave in. I want a family meal because I feel like I'm becoming part of this family.
"No, sir," I respond, putting the lid on the grill so the briquettes get warm faster.
"Can I have some watermelon?"
"Nope."
"Can I have anything?"
"You can have patience." I wipe my hands on my jeans and turn to see the pool getting there. It’ll be icy, but you only live once.
"I don't like patience," he says, picking a blade of grass and tearing it in half. "Patience is boring."
While the briquettes heat, I stack the burgers on a paper plate and season them with salt and pepper then set the plate on the porch railing. As I look down at the bench, I remember a few nights ago when Olivia and I sat and talked, then ended up in her bed. God, I want more of that, and I want it every night. I think I'm helplessly in love with this woman, and tonight may be the night I tell her.
The pool's about halfway full now and Ethan abandons the hose to run over to inspect my burger-making process, standing onhis toes to see the plate. I'd never let him touch the grill while it's hot, but I let him peek at the food.
"Those are huge," he says.
"They'll shrink when they cook."
I hear a car pull into the driveway out front and Ethan's head snaps toward the house. "Mom's home!" He takes off running around the side of the house before I can say anything, and I hear him yelling through the front yard about the pool and the burgers and the watermelon. I can't believe I'm already smiling before she's even out here. What has this woman done to me?
Olivia comes around the corner a minute later with Ethan pulling her by the hand, still in her work clothes with her purse slung over one shoulder. She stops when she sees the backyard—the pool filling up, the grill smoking, the watermelon sitting on the porch steps, and me standing there with a spatula and a paper plate of raw burgers.
Her face lights up brighter than I've ever seen it as she glances at the sitter and then me. "You did all this?" she asks.
"It's just a pool and some burgers."
"It's not just a pool and some burgers, Caleb." She sets her shoes and purse on the porch and after paying the sitter, she walks across the grass toward me while Ethan runs back to the hose to finish watching the pool fill. "When did you even have time to do this?"
"Oh, I managed…" I lay the first burger onto the grill, and it sizzles and spits. "You've had a rough few weeks and Ethan needs a normal night. So do you."
She stands next to me at the grill and bumps her shoulder against my arm. "Thank you."
"Go change. Burgers will be ready in about ten minutes."
She heads inside and comes back a few minutes later in shorts and a T-shirt with her hair pulled up. When she walks over to the pool, Ethan's already sitting in it with the water up to his chest, splashing and kicking.
"Mom, get in!" he shouts, slapping the water with both hands. The icy pool water splashes up and she squeals and jumps back.
"Let me eat first, buddy."
"No, now! The water's perfect."
"Let your mother eat, Ethan," I call over from the grill, flipping burgers. "She just got home."
"You sound like a dad," Ethan says, and though I'm sure he doesn't understand what he's saying, it makes my chest twist.
Olivia looks at me from across the yard, and I see something flicker behind her eyes, but neither of us says anything about it. I turn back to the grill and press the burgers down with the spatula, listening to them pop as I wrap my head around the fact that if I end up with Olivia, I'll be a stepdad.
I don't hate it at all.
We sit on the grass with paper plates in our laps eating dinner. It doesn't feel like a real family dinner, at least not the kind when I was a kid and my parents were comfortable with each other, but I have no doubt that if we do this often enough, it’ll start to.
