When I got home from work Thursday, I was ready to practically chase the woman from my cabin to get some peace. It felt crowded even with the scent of her vanilla lotion that seemed to cling to the couch, her forgotten phone charger on the counter or her hairbrush on the bathroom cabinet. Bits of her, her scent or her belongings, a jacket left on a chair or a pair of flip-flops by the door. She’d invaded my home and left a proverbial trail of breadcrumbs, it seemed. I couldn’t look anywhere without seeing a trace of her. Even Sadie, at bedtime, now snuggled with a somewhat worn-out-looking pink mouse called Miranda along with Mooshie the rabbit. It was too much for a man to tolerate.
As soon as I was in the door, Sadie begged me to let Rachel stay for supper. That was a major ‘oh-hell-no’ that skated up my spine in response.
“Actually, Rachel has to get to her other job tonight, Sadie. I’m sure she has lots to do,” I said, giving her a really obvious out to turn down the invitation. Making it rather clear that I didn’t intend for her to stay.
“No, it turns out I have tonight off. I’m covering Sunday afternoon for Tim so he can go to his girlfriend’s grandma’s birthday party. I’m free as a bird.”
“Okay then,” I said, trying not to sound as resigned as I felt.
I had been counting on being alone with Sadie after a long week. I wished she’d just go home if she didn’t have to work. Deep down, I wanted her to stay and longed to spend more time with her, but knowing the circumstances were entirely inappropriate, it would’ve been easier for me if she’d just go. I felt worn down by avoiding her, by thinking of her. All of that mental energy that normally ran through me, the free time I channeled into designing and making furniture—all of it was burned up, consumed by her. By the monumental effort it took not to be with her.
“Would you like to stay?” I managed in a neutral tone, hoping for a Hail Mary play, plans she suddenly recalled or a need to go to the store or something.
“I’d love to. What are we having?”
“Mac and cheese?” Sadie wheedled.
“Sure,” I shrugged. “I have some broccoli, and we can have melon for dessert.”
“Sounds great. I’ll go wash up and I can help.”
“No, really. You can hang out with Sadie and watch some TV. I’m sure you’re worn out from a long week.”
“True, but I’m also starved for adult conversation. Don’t you ever get like that?” she quipped.
“Not really,” I said stiffly.
She laughed, “Right. So, you’re good with talking about Fancy Nancy all the time and what color of nail polish Hayden had on when we saw her at the library. Absolutely,” Rachel said. She wasn’t wrong.
“I take an interest in the things that interest my favorite person,” I said.
“That’s me!” Sadie chimed in.
“That’s right, Sadie Cakes,” I told her lovingly.
“So which My Little Pony is your favorite?” she challenged.
“Rainbow Dash,” I said.
“I’m not surprised. Rainbow Dash is active and impatient and goal-oriented.”
“But very loyal. That’s her magical thing.”
“Element of Harmony,” she corrected. “Her element is loyalty. And she’s a warrior and a champion. She’s—the most alpha male of the ponies,” Rachel laughed. I couldn’t help laughing at that.
“And you are?”
“Pinkie Pie works in a bakery, hello?” she teased.
“You are pretty hyper,” I said teasingly right back.
“I know. It’s always been a thing, but I try to use my powers for good.”
“Your pies are good,” Sadie said.
“Thank you. That means I’m succeeding,” Rachel said.
I looked at her then. How could this be so much fun, so charming? Joking about a pony cartoon over supper with my kid’s sitter? How did it feel so damn right? I rubbed my chest, where I felt a sharp tug. Maybe I’d pulled a muscle chopping wood earlier.
Or maybe I hadn’t.
Rachel offered to do the dishes while I bathed Sadie. After I got Sadie dried off and in her nightgown, I asked what story she wanted.
“Can Rachel put me to bed? Both of you? Please?” she said.
I was stopped in my tracks at that. Bedtime was a sweet, private ritual between us, and had always been. It was a quiet time to connect with my daughter and reassure her, comfort her if she needed it. Even if Denise put her to bed on rare occasions, she’d just tucked her in and left a nightlight on. She didn’t do the story and the song and the tradition of it. It wasn’t like this, like bringing Rachel into something that was family–only.
“If you want to,” I said. “I’ll ask her if she can stay for bedtime.”
“Okay,” she said brightly. “I’ll go pick a book.”
I turned and went to the kitchen where I found Rachel picking at the leftover melon. She looked up sheepishly at me.