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I hand Gracie a bag of her favorite cereal to munch on, since I suspect this is going to take a lot longer than if I did it. “Well, you’re going to make pasta tonight if it kills us both. Just focus on boiling the water.”
It takes twenty minutes of patient directions, but finally, the pasta is in the pot of boiling water, and the sauce is bubbling gently. For a second, I consider suggesting he bake the pasta, but then I’m afraid his head might explode. When Hawk dumps the noodles into the colander, he has a look on his face like he’s just solved a complex scientific formula, and I can’t help but laugh at him. I let him put Gracie’s bowl together, then I sprinkle on a tiny bit of cheese and blow on all of it to cool it off, before handing it to her. She digs in happily with her hands, and I don’t make a move to stop her. Hawk reaches for the plates, and I cluck at him.
“What?” he asks, confused, as he turns around.
“Oh, honey. We aren’t eating that. I’ll put the leftovers in the fridge for her lunch tomorrow. Your father will probably eat it too. I’ll make us dinner.”
For a second, Hawk looks wounded. Then, he looks at the jarred sauce and kid’s noodles in the shape of teddy bears and laughs. “Yeah, okay. Maybe you should make dinner.”
An hour later, Gracie is playing happily in her playpen in the living room as Hawk keeps an eye on her, and I’m plating dijon-smothered chicken legs with broccolini and lemon-scented mashed potatoes. I whistle for him to come in to eat, and he walks in with Gracie on his hip.
“Where do I put her?” he asks as he eyes the food hungrily.
“Actually, why don’t you put her back in her playpen? We can eat in the living room and watch a movie or something. Your mother never lets us
eat and watch TV in the house. I feel like being a rebel tonight.” Hawk laughs and takes Gracie back to her play area as I carry the plates out behind him. We sit on the couch next to each other, and Hawk snaps his fingers.
“We need wine. Can you have wine?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I be able to have wine?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Do young moms drink wine?”
I laugh hysterically again, so loudly, Gracie looks up from her dolls and starts laughing too, even though she doesn’t know why.
“Hawk, I’m pretty sure they keep the wine industry in business. Go get us some wine.”
He disappears and comes back with two glasses of Candy’s best white, and we eat, and drink, and watch Gracie play, and listen to an old black and white movie, and for a second, I think it might be one of the best nights I’ve had in years. I’m just about to finish my food when Gracie stretches and yawns, and says, “Mama. Sleepy.” I go to shovel in my last few bites when Hawk reaches out and coves my hand with his own, sending a thrill up my arm.
“You eat. I can put her to bed.”
“But, she needs to be changed, and washed up, and put in her pajamas. She’ll need a story, and you’ll have to sing to her,” I start rattling off her bedtime routine, thinking it will put him off. But he just smiles.
“No problem. You stay down here and enjoy your dinner. Have another glass of wine. Gracie and I can handle it, right Gracie?” he says as he winks at her. Gracie holds her arms out to him and says, “Hawky!” with a happy smile. I’m sure my face is reflecting my shock, but I don’t object.
“Well, if you say so. But if you need anything, just yell down. I’ll be right here.”
He scoffs at me, then picks up Gracie, and they disappear up the stairs. For the first few minutes, I mute the TV and try to listen for any signs of trouble. But all I hear is Gracie is laughing, and Hawk talking to her, so I start to settle down. Once I get a few sips into my second glass of wine, and several bites into a second serving of mashed potatoes, I feel a sense of calm that is relatively new, especially since my baby was born. It’s almost as if I’m truly comfortable with the thought of someone else watching Gracie, and the fact that I feel that way about Hawk of all people is an absolute surprise.
I’m just beginning to get lost in the movie when I feel my cell phone vibrate in my pocket. I pull it out of my jeans and see it’s Anna, and for a second I panic. She hasn’t been on a date in such a long time, I really don’t want things to go badly for her tonight.
“Anna? Honey? What’s wrong?”
Her voice is reverberating, as if she is in an echo chamber, but she laughs. “Nothing is wrong! I snuck out to go to the bathroom so I could call you.”
I choke on my wine. “Why would you do that?”
“I had to tell you! It’s going really well, Parrish. He’s so sweet. Nothing like I expected. You know how he looks during the day at a job site?”
I picture Sid Warren in his overalls and baseball hat and flannel and shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Well, he looks like a model tonight. He’s wearing a sweater over a button-down, and he has glasses on that make his eyes just pop. And he has these skinny jeans on that highlight his… everything, Parrish. His everything,” she accentuates “everything” and I burst out laughing.
“Sneak a picture! I want to see!” I say through my laughter.
“I’ll do what I can. But seriously, Pare. He’s so sweet, and kind, and he’s such a gentleman. I just want to rip his clothes off in the middle of the restaurant,” she whispers.
“Oh my God, Anna!”
