“Okay, can I put my dress on now?” she asks, skipping across the tiled floors.
“Let’s eat lunch first,” I answer, tightening my robe and ushering her out of my bathroom and downstairs.
As I finish making instant macaroni and cheese paired with steamed broccoli and sliced apples, I holler for Henry in the playroom to join us. He reluctantly pulls away from his toys, and they both devour their lunches. The amount of artificial cheese on each of their chins and shirts makes me give a subconscious pat on my back for not having them get dressed yet.
“Where’s Daddy?” Henry asks, taking a long slurp of water.
“Outside,” I say, then add inside my head,cleaning the grill because he’d rather do that than participate in this family.
“He’s coming to Serene’s wedding, right?” Suzy asks, smacking her broccoli.
“Close your mouth when you chew, please,” I chide softly. “And yes, of course, he’s coming.”
She shrugs, satisfied with the answer.
I check the time. We need to leave in forty-five minutes. “Okay, finish up, please. I still have to do your hair and iron your suit, Henry.”
Their heads bob in acknowledgment, and I hurry upstairs to iron Henry’s suit, only burning my hand once. I lay his suit on my bed and call for Suzy to come upstairs to do her hair, but I forgot to plug the curling iron back in.
“Dammit,” I mutter, feeling the deadline to leave inching closer.
“What’s that mean?” she asks.
“Oh, nothing... darn it,” I correct my language and hoist her up on the counter. “Shall we do your makeup?”
She squeals and claps her hands together. I don’t add much—she’s only seven. But a little blush on her cheeks and highlighter on her lids goes a long way. I open my makeup drawer to her and help her off the counter. “Pick out your lipstick.”
“Any color?” she asks, eyes wide in amazement.
I smirk at her. “Within reason.”
She pulls out all twelve tubes, lining them up based on color. Pinks, mauves, corals, reds. Shimmery, glossy, matte. She’s an expert organizer when pressed to make a decision.
I let her take her time while I curl her hair.
“Mom, can you help me?!” Henry yells from the other room.
“If you need me, come get me!” I holler back, not unkindly.
I hear his footsteps stomp through the upstairs until he reaches the bathroom. “Mom, can you help me?”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Please,” he adds. Manners are brutal at five.
“Not right this second. If it’s important, you can ask Dad.”
“I did. He said to ask you.”
My jaw tightens.Of course, he did.“Well, what do you need help with?”
“Opening my toothpaste.”
A brief wave of gratefulness passes through me at the simplicity of the task. “Sure, bring it here.”
Once the toothpaste is opened, John enters the bathroom in a T-shirt and jeans. “I need to shower.”
“We’re almost done,” I answer, not meeting his eye.
