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“Yes.”
“Where’s Bonnie, then? And Mommy?”
“I don’t know,” she says, eyes blinking at me. For a two-and-a-half-year-old, she’s remarkably clever. Too clever for her mother and me on frequent occasion.
“Oh, really? I’m going to guess Bonnie put you down for a nap, and after you woke up, you were to go straight to the kitchen for snack time. But you went to my office instead. Hmm?”
She giggles, leaning back in my arms. A sticky hand presses against my mouth. “No!”
“No?” I mumble. “I don’t believe you.”
“Shhh, Daddy!”
“Mmhm. Right.”
We walk through the living room, past the French doors that open up to the backyard. Philippa makes a sound of protest.
“Nope,” I say. “We’re informing your mother about your little escape first, before we play.”
I find my wife in the dining room. She’s pacing in front of the reading nook she’d created, her headphones in and hands at the small of her back.
“No,” she says. “I don’t think that’s a good option. Can you get another appraisal? Thank you.”
I hoist Philippa up and we stand in the doorway, watching Cecilia pace.
“Mommy’s working,” my daughter whispers.
I nod. “She’ll be done soon.”
Cecilia spots us and gives us a wide smile. Then she looks down at her belly, back up to me, and rolls her eyes. Ah. So our son is doing backflips again. I’d tell him to be nicer to his mom if I he could understand me.
“Look,” Philippa says. “Look, look.”
She’s pointing at Cecilia’s feet. She’s in slippers, but they’re not matching. One is her gray, fluffy slipper and the other is too large and leather. She’s wearing one of mine and one of her own.
I chuckle, and Philippa laughs along, her toddler laughter filling the dining room. Cecilia turns to look at us with warm eyes. Her free hand is smoothing over her rounded belly, and I watch the movement. My beautiful wife. “That’s good. Thanks for getting back to me. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
She pulls out her headphones. “Sarah?” I ask.
Cecilia nods, pushing hair back from her forehead. She looks flushed. “It’s about the West Coast expansion.”
“She’s good. I’m glad you have her on board.”
“So am I. But what do we have here? Did you wake up from your nap, honey?”
Philippa squirms in my arms and I set her down. She’s moving before she hits the floor. “Yes! And Bonnie wasn’t there! So I went to Daddy!”
“We’re going outside to play,” I say.
Cecilia runs a hand over our daughter’s fair hair. “Oh, are you? Do you have time for that?”
“I do.”
“Good. But that means there’s a certain little girl here who has to have her afternoon snack.”
Philippa looks up at her mom, hopefulness etched on her face. “Can I have a Pop-Tart?”
“No.”
