Page 53 of Holding Ground

That’s all I can think about as I sit across the dinner table from Emelia, and she smiles at my daughter, who is regaling her with tales of life in a kindergarten classroom.

I’ve been quiet, replaying what might have happened if I had acted faster, before she pulled away. Would she have pulled away anyway, or would she have sunk into the kiss as my lips met hers? What would she have tasted like? Would it have escalated to something more?

“Can I, Daddy?”

Baylor’s voice draws me from my thoughts. The way the two of them are staring at me makes me think this isn’t the first time they’ve tried to get my attention.

“Sorry. What did you say, kiddo?”

“Can I have some raspberries for dessert?”

“Yeah, of course. One second.”

I consider it a small parenting win that very often, Baylor prefers any type of berry for dessert over ice cream or chocolate.

I go to the fridge, pull out the berries, and give them a wash while Emelia and Baylor continue their conversation. Baylor is telling her about the rocking horse her Uncle Hollis made for her when she was little.

“It’s the one in the corner of my room. But I’m too big for it now.”

I’m not facing them, but I can imagine my little girl puffing her chest out when she says it, full of pride, since she’s coming up on her sixth birthday.

After I’ve put the berries into a bowl, I walk back over to the table and slide it in front of Baylor. “Did you want anything, Emelia?”

“No, you sit down and relax. I’m going to clean up in a second.”

We’ve developed a routine since she moved in. I do the cooking, and she cleans up after. The two times she cooked a meal for the three of us, the kitchen was a write-off after. Emelia doesn’t seem to have learned the fine art of cleaning up as you go, though she’s done a pretty good job of keeping her untidiness to the guest room. It only occasionally spills out onto the bathroom counter when she’ll leave various beauty and hairstyling products there.

It doesn’t annoy me as much as I thought it would.

“Look, Emelia.” Baylor has a raspberry on the end of each of her fingers.

It’s something she’s done since she was little. Back then, she liked to pretend she had her nails painted red. Now she just thinks it’s fun to eat the raspberries off each of her fingertips.

Emelia laughs at her and ruffles her hair. “That’s a neat trick. I’ve never seen anyone do that before.”

Baylor’s eyes light up as if Emelia just crowned her princess of the world. “Wanna try it?”

“I think my fingers might be too big, but let’s see.” She takes a raspberry out of the bowl, but when she tries to put it on the end of her finger, it splits apart. “No go.”

“That’s okay. Don’t feel bad. Your fingers are just bigger.”

Emelia tries not to laugh. “I’ll try not to worry too much about it. Are raspberries your favorite?”

Baylor goes into ranking the different kinds of berries she likes, in order from five to number one, while Emelia listens intently. When she’s done, Emelia starts to clean.

“Can I help you?” Baylor asks.

“Of course. Why don’t you carry the dishes over to me at the sink, and then I’ll give them a rinse and put them in the dishwasher?”

“Okay!” Baylor hops off her seat and gets to it.

When I try to help out, Emelia pins me with a stare. “Sit. We’ve got this. You know the deal.”

“Yeah, Daddy, you know the deal.” Baylor looks up at Emelia, clearly looking for her approval.

Emelia and I share a look and a sly smile.

When they’re done cleaning the kitchen, Baylor asks Emelia if she wants to play Barbies with her in her room.