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“What did you do to make her cry?” The chastisement is clear in his voice.
“I didn’t,” I argue. She wasn’t crying when she left the room at least.
“Her face was covered in tears when we just bumped into her.”
“Coffee?” I ask, rather than answering the question.
I don’t know if it was something I did, or something I didn’t do that upset her, and since I can’t decide on my own, I can’t really answer him.
“I’ll get it,” Dad grunts, the only sign of his frustration at my refusal.
I move to the fridge, opening it to find something for breakfast even though my stomach is in knots. I need to do normal things right now, especially if my parents are going to be here to witness the shit going on between Ali and me.
“Do you want something to eat?” I ask, bent in the middle as I peruse the fridge.
“We had breakfast at the hotel. Your mother insisted.”
I grin at his answer. Mom grew up poor, and was living not quite paycheck to paycheck when I was younger. There were times we had to stretch a dollar further than anyone could imagine to make ends meet. Although they have a very comfortable life now and travel often, she still can’t let go of her penny-pinching ways. She doesn’t have a problem staying in places that don’t have a complimentary breakfast, but if it’s offered, she’s going to take it.
“I figured you’d stay at that new place out on the highway,” I tell him as I pull a jar of baby food from the fridge.
Aria will be getting up soon, and she’s a little devil when she’s hungry.
“She said that there’s no sense in spending extra money for a place to sleep.”
“Still making you get interior cabins when you cruise?” I ask with a chuckle, grateful he isn’t pressing me more about Ali.
I place the jar of peaches beside the box of baby cereal and reach into the cabinet. It’s muscle memory to reach for a bowl to put the peaches in as another memory of Lana hits me in the chest.
“What are you doing?” Lana hisses at me as I pull my fork from the can of mixed fruit.
“Eating,” I say around a smile and a bite of pears and cherries.
“Don’t eat from the container. Are you a savage?”
I nod my head, giving her a salacious look.
She giggles, her teeth digging into her bottom lip.
“Don’t eat from the container. Get a bowl.”
“But I plan to eat all of it.”
“A bowl,” she snaps playfully as she slaps a dish towel in front of me.
“But then I’ll have to wash the bowl and the fork.”
Arguing with her is the highlight of my day.
She raises an eyebrow. “The bowl, Harley. Now.”
God, I love her fire. Just to rile her up, I take another bite of fruit before pouring what’s left into the bowl.
I don’t know if it’s because I want to put some distance between me and those memories, or if I want to irritate her on the off chance she’s able to see what I’m doing, but I pull my hand out of the cabinet with it still empty and opt to grab a baby spoon from the drawer. I don’t have to parent the way Lana would expect me to, to still be a good parent, and as far as I see it, there’s no harm in feeding Aria straight from the jar. She’s going to eat the entire thing anyway. It’s not like I’m going to put it back in the fridge and let bacteria grow in it or anything.
“Did you hear me?”
“What?” I ask, looking back at Dad. “Sorry. I got lost in my head.”
“I said sometimes she believes me when I tell her I get a free upgrade on the cruises. I’ve learned I have to go from an interior room to one of those tiny ocean-view rooms instead of a suite.”
“Too big a jump?” I ask with a chuckle, opening the cabinet again to pull out a bowl for the cereal. I can’t make that inside the box.
He laughs, answering my question.
“Look who’s already awake?” Mom asks, carrying a rumpled-looking little girl.
“Yeah right,” I mutter.
“You went and woke that child up?” Dad chastises, but immediately holds his hands up, expecting to take her. “Come see Pops, sweet girl.”
Aria looks around the room, her lower lip trembling, and I can’t help but think she’s looking for Ali. The woman has been a part of her morning routine for weeks now, and although she loves my parents, she knows what she wants.
Sadness deepens on my little girl’s face.
“She wants Ali,” I confess. “I’ll go get her.”
I don’t care what she claimed about work and roles getting blurred, I know Ali would never let my girl cry if she had the power to stop it.
