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“The trick is getting to it before the water and flour set into a concrete mixture.”
I accepted the plate Harrison offered. “I thought you didn’t have food fights often.”
“That was a first. I just know it’s not a good combination.”
I stacked a couple of pancakes, one chocolate chip and the other blueberry, onto my plate before accepting a coffee mug from Harrison. His fingers brushed mine, and my body felt flushed from the contact.
We ate the pancakes, talking about what we should do for the day. I wondered if they normally planned an outing or if it was for my benefit. I was looking forward to doing something fun with them today.
When Wren was finished eating, she said, “My hair is so long; it takes forever to dry.”
“I can help you. I have a dryer brush that makes your hair super soft,” I said to her as I ran my fingers through her damp hair.
“You’d do that?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll get the dishes,” Harrison offered as we headed upstairs.
“Your mom doesn’t dry your hair?” Too late I realized I probably shouldn’t have asked.
Wren’s face pinched. “She said it takes too long.”
I drew the dryer brush through her hair, taking my time. The movement was slow and methodical, soothing even. I wondered if Wren felt the same. “I’m sure she’s tired since she’s pregnant.”
In the mirror, Wren’s brow furrowed. “She was like that before she was pregnant.”
“Are you excited about being a big sister?” I asked, wanting to avoid the pitfalls of complaining about her mother.
“Eh.”
“You’re not sure about how things will change.”
Wren was quiet for a few seconds, and then she finally said, “Everyone expects me to be happy.”
I turned off the dryer to say, “You’re free to feel however you feel. Nothing is wrong with that. Okay?”
Wren’s shoulders lowered. “Yeah.”
She didn’t say anything else about her little brother or sister, but I sensed I’d said the right thing. I didn’t have any siblings, and other than Wren, I’d never been around kids, so I wasn’t sure I’d said the right thing. I could only hope I wasn’t messing things up more.
When her hair was dry, I sifted my fingers through it. “There. Isn’t that nice?”
Wren smiled. “It looks great.”
“Your hair is so beautiful.” Meeting her gaze in the mirror, I smiled. “And you are, too.” I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to tell a girl she was pretty. Was that good or bad? I made a mental note to do some research on talking to eight-year-old girls. When I was just a friend, it was different. There wasn’t this pressure to get things right. But now I was going to be her stepmother, or she thought I’d be, and there was weight to that.
Wren turned to play with the ends of my hair. “I want my hair to look just like yours.”
“Would you like me to curl it for you?”
Wren’s eyes widened. “Yes.”
“I think I still have a curling iron in here.” This was the hallway bathroom I used when I stayed overnight normally. I opened the cabinet and unraveled the cord from the iron.
“What are we doing today?” Wren asked.
Before I could answer, Harrison said, “We haven’t decided.”
