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After blowing a raspberry on Juniper’s belly, I sniffed her to be sure she didn’t need a diaper change, then lowered her into her high chair while I found myself some breakfast.
Quincy didn’t cook every day, but she made breakfast often enough that I’d gotten spoiled.
“I can make breakfast,” I muttered, determined. I was fine with cooking. I’d done it all the time before Juniper. Before Quincy.
As I opened the refrigerator, my daughter started banging her hands on her tray and vocalizing. I let the fridge close and turned to her.
“Are you hungry, or are you playing me?”
Of course, my daughter only hollered louder and continued her rhythm on the tray. It was a happy holler, I noted. Maybe she was just feeling musical.
Quincy would know exactly what she wanted.
It was high time I learned to figure out the same.
“Cereal?” I asked her as I went for the box. I spread a few oat rings in front of her, earning a wide grin. “That’s what you wanted.”
I had enough time to pull the eggs and a pan out before I noticed Juniper was systematically picking up each piece of cereal, dropping it over the side of the tray, and watching it land on the floor.
“Maybe we’ll get a dog.” As if I needed another living creature depending on my caretaking. “June.” I went over, bent down and picked up the cereal, and tossed it in the trash. So that wasn’t the answer after all.
As soon as I had the stove warming for an omelet, my good-natured daughter started to crank. I knew there was some ham and diced onions and jalapeños in the refrigerator, but I decided scrambled would be easier and good enough.
“June Bug, what’s wrong?”
Before I committed and poured my eggs into the pan, I lifted her and did a more thorough check of her diaper. It was dry, light, and unstinky. She quieted, her grumping turning more chatter-like.
She waited until the eggs were cooking to start fussing again, and I closed my eyes, searching my mind for what she could possibly need right now. I could hear Quincy’s voice in my head saying,Babies don’t cry for no reason. The trick is figuring out if it’s a legit reason and what it is.
As I went back toward her high chair, a stench that wasn’t there two minutes ago hit me. “Okay then,” I said, flipping off the burner on my half-cooked eggs. “Maybe your tummy hurts.”
I had her diaper changed in no time, then brought her back out to the kitchen. As I walked up to the stove, still holding her, I eyed the runny, half-cooked eggs. My hunger had vanished. Eating seemed like too much.
Cleaning the kitchen seemed like too much.
The day itself seemed like too much.
Leaving the mess, I did a one eighty to the living room, stretched out along the sectional, settled Juniper between me and the back, and closed my eyes.
I’d done the right thing. Quincy would be better off this way.
Juniper and I would be okay too. We’d get used to being on our own. We’d master all of it.
But right now, I couldn’t deny…nothing felt like it would ever be okay.
CHAPTER31
QUINCY
Imight still be a mess, but I was maybe a little less of one today than the past two days.
Maybe.
I pulled my car into the back of the lot behind the flower shop, cut the engine, and climbed out later than planned.
The sky was heavy with winter clouds, and it was close to dusk even though it wasn’t five p.m. yet. Ignoring the back door of the shop, knowing it was locked during business hours, I went down the narrow alley beside our building, passed the stairs to our apartment, and went inside Oopsie Daisies.
“There she is,” Piper called out from the sales counter in the back of the room.
