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Someone tapped my shoulder. “Auntie Nikki,” a small voice said. I forced my eyes open. My face was smooshed into blue sofa cushions. A small hot hand pulled my arm. “Where’s Mommy and Daddy? Why are you here?”
I flipped over so that I faced the room and not the back of the couch. Cameron, light-brown hair sticking straight up in the air and lines from his pillow on the side of his face, stared down at me. “I want Mommy.”
I pushed myself up to a sitting position. “Your mom and dad went to the hospital to have the baby.”
Cameron tilted his head. “Baby Sharon’s here?”
I held up my phone. “Want to see a picture?”
He plopped down on the sofa next to me. “Why’s she so wrinkly?” he asked.
“The wrinkles will go away.”
“I’m going to be the best big brother to Baby Sharon,” he said. “I’m already a great big brother to Noah.”
“I know you are.” I patted his hair, trying to flatten the pieces that stuck up near his forehead. “What do you say we go get Noah and make some breakfast?”
With Noah strapped into his booster seat and Cameron standing next to me, I pulled the pancake mix from the cabinet. “Mommy lets me help,” Cameron said.
I placed the box on the table so he could reach it and handed him a stainless steel measuring cup. “Fill this to the top.”
He dug his spoon in and scooped out some of the powder. When he transferred it to the measuring cup, most of it landed on the floor or table. I flashed back to my father teaching me how to make pasta at DeMarco’s Diner. I was about the same age as Cameron then. My dad had pointed to the mound of flour on the butcher’s table. “We’re going to dig a volcano right in the center of it.” I stood on a chair with his arm curled around my waist so that I wouldn’t fall. The silky powder slipped through my fingers as I dug a hole in the middle of the pile. By the time I finished, there was more flour on me and my dad than on thewooden table. “You’ll get the hang of it,” my dad had said. Eventually, I had, but I never loved cooking like my parents did. Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t have sold the restaurant to Hank.
I showed Cameron how to scoop the pancake mix out of the box with the measuring cup, and he did it perfectly. “Quick learner,” I said, tousling his hair.
“Mommy never lets me do that part because I’m messy, and Dad gets mad.”
A layer of powdery dust covered the floor. “That’s what brooms are for,” I said.
While I measured the water, he pulled a wire whisk from a drawer. “This is the part Mommy lets me do.” He blended the mix together. Something about the way his little tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on his task undid me. A collage of everything I would never experience with a child played through my mind—first words, first steps, first day of school, teaching him or her to drive, first date.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. This wasn’t the time for a pity party. I made goofy faces at Noah until he started laughing while Cameron finished mixing the batter.
I had him sit down next to Noah while I cooked the pancakes, shaping them like a bear. “What do you think this is?” I asked.
“Pancakes.”
“Does it look like anything?”
“Three circles.” He sounded proud of himself.
I laughed. “Any other guesses?”
He studied his plate. His tongue slipped out of his mouth again. “Oh, I know, a snowman.”
I smiled at him. “It’s supposed to be a bear!”
“That doesn’t look like a bear.”
The doorbell rang. Kyle stood on the front stairs, shifting his weight from one leg to another. “Rick told me you came over in the middle of the night. I figured you might need to grab some sleep.”
Cameron ran up behind me. “Uncle Kyle.” He pushed past me and opened his arms. Kyle scooped him up. Noah started to cry, so I left the two of them at the door and ran back to the kitchen. Kyle and Cameron came in a few minutes later, and Cameron insisted on making more pancakes for Kyle.
After he finished eating, Kyle took the boys into the backyard to play. I went up to the guest room to nap.
Kyle’s voice drifted in through the open window. “You’re doing great, Cameron.” A few minutes later: “Noah’s flying.”
I peeked outside. Kyle stood in the middle of Sharon’s two sons, alternating between pushing Noah on a swing and tossing a ball to Cameron. Even from the second floor, watching him through a window, I could sense his joy. His body easily swayed from left to right as he turned to face Noah and then Cameron. His shoulders hung loosely, free of all tension. His forehead was smooth, with none of the rigid lines that were there when he spoke to me, and his lips curled upward. He looked happier than I’d seen him in months.He’s going to be an amazing dad,I thought. For a split second, an overwhelming sense of joy filled me. I was glad he was going to be a dad, knew his daughter would be getting a wonderful father. The good feeling was short lived, replaced by an all-consuming rage directed at my own body for betraying me, preventing me from giving him a child. My anger switched course and landed on Kyle for his infidelity, and with it came a feeling of envy toward Casey and her fertile, young body that so easily made Kyle a father.
