In the past, I think this kind of conversation would have ended in a series of conciliatory answers in an attempt to keep the peace. We’d shrug off each question with some passive affirming answer and never really say our underlying thoughts. It hasn’t been easy. There’s been a bit of an adjustment period, and we’re still learning how to be open and honest with each other, but this is a start.
“Listen,” I continue just as his other line rings. “Go back to work. You sound busy, and we’ll talk later when you get home. Okay?”
“Yeah,” he answers. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I don’t know if this is something I should be concerned about. I know James is just worried about me. We’re just barely settling into what feels like a new norm, and he doesn’t want to get too comfortable. He wants to make sure I’m okay as we navigate this new step in our relationship. But I also don’t want to be babied.
But James is trying. He’s talking to me. And more importantly, he’s listening to me. He hears me when I tell him I’m okay. And he hears me when I’m not, especially when I need him a little more than other days. And I’m learning to let him know when I need him to be there for me instead of trying to work through things on my own. We aren’t perfect, by a mile, but we’re us. And that’s what we’re going to work on.
“Mommy?”
My thoughts are interrupted by a mousy whisper, and I’m greeted by a nest of bedhead and a lopsided nightgown.
“Good morning, Fifi,” I say softly, bending down to scoop Sophia in my arms.
“Mommy, I want bananas.”
“Sure,” I tell her. “You want some eggs too?”
She nods, rubbing her fists into her sleep-riddled eyes.
“Okay,” I tell her, setting her back down. “Mommy’s going to make you some breakfast.”
She grins at me, offering me her toothiest smile, and I go about fulfilling her request.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Kendall
NOW
“Where’s the sunblock?”
“It should be in the side pocket,” I tell James, pointing to the side of the tote bag he’s rummaging through. He dips into the hidden pouch to his right and retracts his hand with the plastic orange tube gripped in his fist. He grins at it, victorious.
“Sophia,” he calls, getting her attention after a wayward kite claimed it for a whole thirty seconds. “Come on. You need to put some on before you play.”
“Daddy! Can I fly a kite?” She juts her index finger toward the clouds, a gust of wind lifting said kite in a long swoop before it glides across the air once more.
“Yeah,” he answers, his laser focus on applying the lotion on her face. “After we get the lotion on you.”
“Don’t get it in my eye!” she warns. Which is exactly what he did two summers ago, and she screamed claiming her eyes were on fire. After several attempts to rinse her eyes and tamp down a meltdown, the tears came to a stop with a lollipop in her hand. It was a mistake she’s never let her remorseful dad forget even to this day.
“I won’t,” he assures. He looks up at me with an eye roll, and I have to purse my lips to keep the laughter from escaping my lips.He works the lotion through the creases from her scrunched-up scowl before announcing, “Okay. All done.”
Just as James finishes and wipes at the greasy remnants into his palms, we’re approached by the first of many of his coworkers we’re going to have to make small talk with today.
“Hi, Diane,” James says as a middle-aged woman with shoulder-length curly black hair approaches us. She has a toddler perched on her hip and another child around Sophia’s age latched onto her free hand.
“Hi, James,” she responds. She turns to me with a smile, and though she doesn’t have a free hand to extend in my direction, she greets me cordially. “It’s Kendall, right?”
“Yes. Hi.” I remember meeting her once or twice at the company’s Christmas party. Though all we’ve exchanged in the past are a few hellos, I know she’s someone who works fairly closely with James. “How are you?”
“Good,” she answers with an exasperated sigh, showing she’s not actually as “good” as she says she is. She nods at her full hands and adds, “Just counting the minutes until my husband gets here.” Even though she appears flustered and at the tail end of her patience, there’s a glittering sparkle in her eyes. One I’m assuming comes with the joys of motherhood, no matter the challenges it brings. I wonder if I have that sparkle. I wonder if I ever even had it. If I ever gave myself a chance to bask in all that being Sophia’s mom has to offer without feeling guilty or ashamed.
“Is Malik coming later?” James asks.
