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20
Taking control
The sun is shiningin through the windows when I wake up. Rolling over, I’m alone in bed. Reaching over, the sheets are still warm where they were sleeping, so they couldn’t have gone far.
Their voices travel down the hall as I make my way into the kitchen. Lola is sitting on the counter, mixing something in a bowl. Wyatt’s next to her, adding ingredients. First eggs, then a dash of milk.
“Set that aside for a minute,” he says, helping her lift and move the bowl. “We need to heat up the griddle and soak the bread.”
French toast. Lola’s favorite.
Leaning against the wall, I watch as she tosses a piece of bread into the bowl and stabs it with a fork, flipping it over a few seconds later. They’re oblivious to the fact that I’m watching them.
The bond they already share, their complete acceptance of one another, as if they’ve never been apart, is mind-blowing. I was certain that it would take more than a few hours for them to be comfortable around each other. Apparently, I was wrong.
Especially Wyatt.
After spending five years apart, five years of silence, of missing out on time with his daughter, he’s stepping right up. Making the most of the days they have left together before life changes again.
The only question now is what happens next.
How do we make this work for everyone?
“How many pieces do you want?” I hear Wyatt ask Lola, but she doesn’t answer. When I look up, I see they’re both staring at me. That’s when I realize his question was not directed at her.
My cover is blown.
“Just two, thanks,” I reply, moving into the room and taking a seat at the counter.
Lola leans over and kisses me. “Morning, Momma.”
“Good morning, sweet girl. Did you sleep okay?”
“Daddy’s bed is comfy. I like it. We should sleep over here more often. Is that okay, Daddy?” she asks.
When I look up, Wyatt is watching me curiously. “I like that idea. Maybe your mom and I will talk about it later.”
“Okay,” she says, accepting his answer before stabbing the fork into the bowl again. “I think this one is ready.”
Wyatt places the pieces of soaked bread on the skillet, the sizzle causing Lola to lean back. She throws two more pieces into the bowl, stabbing at them as she flips them. The two of them work in tandem until there’s a plate overflowing with French toast.
“Can you go wake up Uncle Adam and Aunt Addy please?” Wyatt asks Lola as he gently lifts her off the counter. “Make sure you knock first, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy. Momma, will you cut up on toast the way I like it? I want two pieces.”
Before I can answer her, she’s skipping down the hall. I pray they’re both dressed when she barges in because Lord knows that girl will forget to knock.
“I have to get going in a few minutes. Are you coming down to the festival today?” Wyatt asks, handing me two plates piled with yummy goodness.
“Yeah, but I have something I need to do first.”
“Your parents?” he asks, his voice hesitant, mimicking the look on his face.
“Yeah. I think it’s time I talked to them.”
“Do you want me to take Lola with me?”
“Addy will watch her. I know you’re busy,” I reply, reaching for a knife to cut Lola’s toast into triangles the way she wants.
