“Met too,” I said, sitting up. “What do you want to eat this morning?”
“Umm,” she said, lifting her eyes to the ceiling. “French toast.”
“French toast?” I asked. I hadn’t made that in a long time.
“Yeah,” she said. “With syrup.”
“French toast and syrup, it is,” I said, scooping her into my arms.
I carried Gina downstairs, all the while she giggled and squirmed.
“Can I help?” she asked when I put her down in her chair at the kitchen table.
“Sure,” I said. I retrieved a shallow bowl and the carton of eggs from the refrigerator. A half of loaf of bread was left from when Jess went to the bakery several days ago. I placed the bread on a cutting board and cut thick slices.
“Jess lets me crack the eggs,” Gina said.
“She does?” I asked.
Gina sighed. “No. But I want to know how.”
I smirked. “How about I teach you how to do it?”
“Really?”
I kissed the top of her head. “Of course.”
I went over to the pantry and grabbed a stool.
“I want my apron too!” she trilled.
“Your apron?” I asked. I never knew we had aprons. It was one of those things that never crossed my mind.
Gina showed me where two white aprons were hanging in the pantry. I lifted the smaller one off the hook. On the front were two small handprints in green and blue paint with Gina’s name painted in Jess’s handwriting.
Gina put hers on, and I glanced at the bigger apron. Jess’s hand prints were on the front of that one along with several other small hand prints from Gina.
“When did you make these?” I asked, trying not to think of Jess at that moment. The handmade aprons were the sweetest thing I’d ever seen Gina make.
Gina shrugged. “A while ago. Jess said it helped keep my clothes clean.”
“She was right,” I said absently.
I placed the stool next to the counter while my mind filled with thoughts of Jess. There were little reminders of her throughout my house. My chest tightened, thinking of the impact Jess not only had on Gina and me but our lives.
“I’m ready, Daddy,” Gina said, bringing me back to the present. Her apron almost reached her toes. I tied the back of it so it wouldn’t trip her.
I lifted her up onto the stool and made sure she was firmly in place before bringing the eggs closer to her.
“All you have to do it crack the egg on the side of the bowl, like this,” I showed her.
She grinned from ear to ear. “My turn!”
I allowed her to crack three more eggs for practice, though we didn’t need that much for the egg wash, but she was having fun and learning at the same time. And it gave me some time to finish cutting the bread into thick slices.
After picking out several egg shells from the wash, we were ready to dip the bread. That task was easier for Gina, albeit a bit messy.
By the time I placed the toast down on the frying pan, the countertop appeared as if someone had doused it with eggs. Though, the smile on Gina’s face was worth the wreckage.