“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m not going to sit out here and listen to your damn kid whine all morning.”
Mean Tristan was back in full force. “God. Sometimes I start to make believe that you’re a decent person, but then you just go ahead and remind me of how much of a jerk you are.”
He didn’t reply, but disappeared once more into his darkened home.
“Mama!” The next morning I was awakened to a hyper Emma bouncing up and down on my bed. “Mama! It’s Daddy! He came!” she screamed, pulling me up to a sitting position.
“What?” I muttered, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Emma, we sleep in on Sundays, remember?”
“But, Mama! He showed up!” she exclaimed.
I sat up straighter when I heard a lawnmower outside. Tossing on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, I followed my excited girl to the front of the house. When we stepped outside, a small gasp left my lips as I stared at the porch, which was covered with white feathers.
“See, Mama! He found us!”
My hands covered my mouth as I stared at the white feathers that were starting to float around the space from the bursts of wind.
“Don’t cry, Mama. Daddy’s here. You said he would find us and he did,” Emma explained.
I smiled. “Of course, honey. Mama’s just happy, that’s all.”
Emma started picking up the feathers and smiled. “Picture?” she asked. I hurried inside to get Steven’s old Polaroid camera to take the usual picture of Emma holding the feather for her ‘Daddy and Me’ box. When I came back, Emma was sitting on the porch with her bright smile and dozens of feathers surrounding her.
“Okay, say cheese!”
“Cheeeeeseeee!” she screamed.
The picture printed out, and Emma ran inside to add it to her collection.
My eyes looked out at Tristan, who was cutting the grass as if he had no clue what was happening. Walking over to him, I shut off the lawnmower. “Thank you,” I said.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Tristan…thank you.”
He rolled his eyes. “Can you just let me be?”
He went to turn it back on, but I placed my hand over his. His hands were warm—rough, but warm. “Thank you.”
When our eyes locked, I felt his touch grow even warmer. He smiled a true smile. A smile I hadn’t known his lips were capable of creating. “It’s no big deal. I found the freakin’ feathers in Mr. Henson’s shop. It didn’t take much work.” He paused. “She’s good,” he said, gesturing toward the house, speaking of Emma. “She’s a good kid. Annoying as all get out, but she’s good.”
“Stay for breakfast?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Stop by for lunch.”
He declined.
“Dinner?”
He bit his bottom lip. He glanced down at the ground, debating my request. When our eyes met again, I almost fell over from the single word he spoke. “Okay.”