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Making my way to the television, I snag the remote and switch it on to channel nine so I can catch Tiffany Hewitt’s segment the guys have arranged, then I turn toward the kitchen in hopes of starting fresh coffee, but stop again when, in my peripherals, I catch a rumpled little girl standing at the entry to the hall.
Mia hugs a stuffed purple monkey tight against her chest. Her hair stands tall, and at least half of it drapes across her face.
I turn in her direction, risking a small grin to battle her sleepy frown. “Hi.” I keep my movements slow. My words soft. “Mia, it’s Mink—”
“Are you and my daddy getting married?”
“Wha—” I choke on the word so it stops in my throat and threatens to cut off all my air.
I take a stumbling step forward and, when I’ve caught my breath, lower into a crouch. My sore knee rebels against the move, but my mind, my entire soul, is focused on the thought of marrying Charlie Fletcher.
“No, honey. I’m not. He’s just my friend.”
“Mommy has friends that like to spend the night too.” She snuggles her monkey a little tighter and pads closer on tiny, bare feet. “She said she might marry them, since daddy doesn’t want to be married to her anymore.”
“Oh, well…”
No good deed goes unpunished. I offer to have a meal with the kid, and now I’m playing shrink and hoping I don’t cause damage.
“Daddy and I aren’t friends like that. We don’t…”Kiss. “Um… we don’t spend the night together. I didn’t sleep here last night.”No, I slept at Archer’s. “I only just got here, because your daddy had to go to work.”
Mia opens her mouth as though to speak, but nothing comes out. Her brain works overtime to process whatever she’s thinking, then she closes her mouth again and wanders toward the television. “Okay. Do you think Mommy and Daddy will marry each other again?” She stops in front of the couch and peeks across at me. “We could be one family again.”
“Er…”Dammit, Mayet! Next time, just go about your business and eat breakfast alone.“I’m not sure, Moo. Mommy and Daddy are grown-ups, and sometimes grown-ups make decisions that kids don’t understand. But theyalwaystry to make decisions that help you be happy.”
Mostly.
I push up to stand and slowly cross the room. “Uh… Whatever Mommy and Daddy decide, it’ll be because they thought of you first and want you to be okay. But if you have any questions, it’s probably best if you ask your dad. He’ll know the answers better than I would.”
“Okay,” she says, like everything I just babbled at her makes complete sense. Then she turns to the TV… and scowls.She was probably expecting cartoons.“Can I have something to eat? I’m hungry.”
“Of course.”
I spin in a circle and head toward the kitchen. Yanking the fridge open, I look inside and find an uncountable number of the yogurt and muesli pouches that Archer has been known to shove in my face when I work long hours and forget to eat.
“I was thinking we could go out to breakfast.” I look back to find her flicking through channels and pressing buttons on the remote.
She’s screwing with the settings, and I have zero interest in stopping her.
“Moo? You can have one of these pouches if you’re starving. But I was thinking we could go out to eat. Would you like that?”
“Where would we go?” She doesn’t take her eyes off the screen as she makes the volume wonky and the brightnesslow. “Can I get a hotdog on a stick?”
“For breakfast?” I snag a pouch and close the fridge again. “I don’t think you should have one for breakfast. You might feel a bit yucky and tired for the rest of the day. But you can get basically anything else.” I cross the room and come to sit on the edge of the couch. “Scrambled eggs. Bacon. Toast. Your choice.”
“I like scrambied eggs.” Turning to me, she extends her hand for the pouch. “I like scrambied eggs very much.”
“Well, great. Why don’t we get dressed, then we can walk around and find somewhere that serves eggs. Then after that, Daddy asked me to take you to the daycare.”
“Oh, I love daycare! They have fun toys.”
“You love it?” A smile grows across my lips as I watch the girl peek back at the TV and bring the pouch to her lips. “It’s not boring or anything?”
“Nuh-uh. It’s boring staying homewifMommy. I have to watch the TV all day, or visit Mrs. Harburger.”
Pushing up to stand, she sets her stuffed monkey on the couch and fusses until it’s sitting up and watching the TV—the settings screen. Placing the pouch in front of the toy, she steps back and surveys her work. “I’ll get dressed. Then we can go.”
“Great.” My head spins as the little girl escapes the room and dashes into the hall.
