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Shawna
It’s a quarter after five when I get home. Pulling up to our old farmhouse takes me back to the conversation with Nate and Rob earlier when I was telling them about my mom’s relatives being some of the first settlers to live here. This house has been in my family since the early 1900s. My parents bought it from Mom’s Aunt Mary and Uncle Phil when we moved here after Dad retired. Mary and Phil inherited the house from Mary’s parents, who inherited it from one of their relatives, the original owners. Of course, it’s been renovated a few times, the most recent being about ten years ago. Dad did a lot of the work himself, and I even helped him with some of the projects. It’s a fond memory, and I’m grateful I got to grow up here.
I’m even more grateful Noah gets to grow up here, too. We have over half an acre of land that backs to a treed area, which provides a lot of space to play outside. Noah constantly plays in his tree house, which was originally my tree house as a kid that my dad built.
As I enter the house, Noah runs down the stairs with excitement. “Mom! You should see the present Grandma got me!”
“What?” I ask, confused. I close and lock the door behind me. “Grandma let you open your present already?”
Noah hops from one foot to the other. I wish I had his energy. “No, not yet. But it’s huge!”
Smiling, I wrap my arm around my son and pull him in for a hug. “Oh, I see.” If he’s this excited about just seeing the gift wrapped up, he’s going to flip out when he sees the huge Lego set Mom got him. I kiss the top of his head, then let him go. “Did you have a good day?”
“Uh-huh! I had some cupcakes leftover after I passed them out to my class, so I shared them with Callen at recess.”
“Oh, really?” Now I know why he’s more energetic than usual. “How much sugar have you had today, anyway?”
Noah doesn’t answer. His smile widens, then he giggles and hops down the hall toward the kitchen. I hang my purse on the coat hook in the entryway, then take off my jacket and hang it there as well. I can hear Mom in the kitchen telling Noah to settle down.
“I told you before that we’ll have cake after dinner,” she says to him, and I can imagine how many times he’s asked her since he got home from school.
Walking into the kitchen, I find Noah sitting at the table, coloring in his Hot Wheels coloring book while Mom puts the finishing touches on the cake, writing Happy Birthday, Noah! across the top. It looks delicious. I don’t blame Noah for asking when we’ll get to eat it.
Mom looks up at me briefly. “Hi, dear,” she says. “How was work?”
“It was good. This cake looks fantastic,” I tell her.
“Thanks,” she replies as she finishes and sets the piping bag down. “It’s a chocolate cake with raspberry buttercream filling, just like Noah asked for.”
I look over at Noah, still coloring intently. “Has he been full of energy since he got home?”
“Of course,” she says with a smirk before turning around to wash her hands at the sink.
Slipping my phone out of the pocket of my jeans, I take a seat at the table next to Noah. “Wow, nice coloring,” I say, admiring the picture of the sports car.
“Thanks,” he replies as he sets the red crayon down, then picks up the blue one and continues coloring.
“Wow, a red and white car with blue wheels. Very patriotic! Grandpa would love that.”
Noah doesn’t stop coloring as he replies, “Yeah, that’s why I’m coloring it like this. Red, white, and blue for Papa.”
I ruffle my boy’s hair, trying not to get choked up. Noah loved my dad, and he took it extremely hard when he passed away. My dad was—and has been—the only father figure in his life, so it wasn’t just losing a grandparent to Noah. It was more like losing a parent.
Clearing my throat, I hold back the tears threatening to fall. “What kind of pizza do you want, bud?”
“Pepperoni,” he says, moving from coloring one tire to another on the page.
“You got it,” I reply as I pull up the pizza shop’s website on my phone, then proceed to order.
“What time will Kim and Trevor be here?” Mom asks as soon as I finish ordering the pizza.
“They should be here any minute,” I reply.
Noah sets his crayons down and looks up at me. “Yay! I can’t wait to see Auntie Kim and Uncle Trevor!” Just then, there’s a knock on the front door. Noah jumps up with excitement. “I’ll get it!” he exclaims, running toward the door.
“Ask who it is first,” I say, trying to instill some basic rules of safety as I follow him.
“Who is it?” Noah asks, his ear pressed against the door. One hand rests on the deadbolt and the other on the doorknob, ready to open it.
