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Is that how you do it? Did I sell my act?
Madison rushes towards me with the flowers.
“Here! Daddy and I got them for you. Mrs. Owen says you should get flowers for people you love.”
Logan falls into a coughing fit. “Like,” he says, still coughing. “She means people you like.”
Madison shrugs. “Like. Love. It’s the same thing. We love Lily, and Lily loves us. Right, Lily?”
I panic for a full minute before I stumble on a response.
“Of course, I like you, Madison. You gave me the name, and now you’re giving me the flowers. Plus, you’re amazing company. There’s not one boring moment when you’re around. You’re the best.”
“And daddy is the best too.”
“Y-yeah.”
Unsure of where to go from here, I accept the bouquet from Madison.
“Thank you,” I say, “I’ll put these in a bowl or something. Don’t want them to die before I have the chance to appreciate how beautiful they are fully.”
“We have flower vases,” Madison pipes up. “Don’t we, daddy?”
I look at Logan briefly, and my eyebrows furrow as I see a look of pain?
Nostalgia? Longing? I don’t know which of the emotions for sure, but it passes along as quickly as it appears, as though he doesn’t want anyone to see it on his face. It bothers me, though, so I shake my head.
“I think a bottle would be nicer for today, Madison,” I say in a soft but firm tone, knowing she would understand not to push the issue any further but also feel appreciated for the flowers.
She shrugs. “Okay. What are we having for dinner?”
“I didn’t—”
“I’ll handle that,” Logan cuts in before I finish my sentence. “I’ll make us dinner. Nobody is against pancakes, right?”
“Right.”
For the first time, I envy the obliviousness that comes with Madison’s innocence. I envy that she can't see the tension in the room well on its way to hitting the roof, that she doesn’t have to deal with the feelings I grapple with. That as I hold the bouquet, my mind is torn into different places, and I struggle to interpret the look on Logan’s face.
“Alright,” he rubs his hands, “looks like we’re settled. We will have pancakes and eggs for dinner. Everyone can go ahead and tend to their usual business, and I’ll let you know when it’s time to eat,” he adds.
I abandon my intention of placing the bouquet in a water bottle because the bottle is in the kitchen, waiting for Logan to walk away before making a beeline for my room.
“The flowers,” I hear the pit patting of footsteps behind me, and I turn to see Madison. “You said you would put them in a bottle of water. They die quickly, so you have to do it fast,” she says in a stern tone that only a nine-year-old can pull off.
It makes me laugh until I realize she doesn’t mean I get to do it later, as she wants me to turn around and head to the kitchen.Where I’ll find Logan.
“Uhm—”
How do I explain this to a nine-year-old? And I don’t want to hand it to her because she needs to cut a bit of the stem, which Logan will end up doing. He might then think that I don't like or want the flowers, which is the exact opposite.
“Alright,” I say when I see her waiting with hands thrust on her hips. “I’ll get it into water right away.”
I turn back to the kitchen, dragging my steps to make the time longer. Maybe before I get there, he’ll step out to get something. We’ll brush past each other, and I will only have to deal with a few seconds of torture before I’m safe in the kitchen. Once in the kitchen, I will make a beeline for a knife and a bottle—
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” I mutter.
“Shouldn’t be doing what?”
