The sun falls further in the sky behind us and I breathe in the ocean air, letting it relax me as I work to remember every piece of this moment.
Samantha clears her throat and I’m jostled back to reality as our waitress sets down the dessert plate on the table between us. “If you need anything else, please let me know,” she says, also placing down two waters that we didn’t order but I’m glad she brought.
The yokeof one of my eggs pops, the gooey yellow substance running over and sizzling in the pan.
Screw it.
Breakfast just became scrambled eggs.
Emma squeals in the living room as Nate chases her around wielding a hairbrush like a sword and I chop up the egg into pieces pretending like they were scrambled all along.
The toaster pops, and before I can turn around to grab the warm bread to slather it in butter, Nate is there taking out the four pieces.
“I got it,” he says, grabbing a butter knife from the drawer.
“Did you talk Emma out of wearing the dress?” I ask. They don’t care if she wears dresses at daycare but want them to have shorts on underneath. It sounded like a simple enough request, but Emma hates wearing shorts — a fact I didn’t learn until recently when she kept pulling them off halfway through the day and her daycare kept sending me texts about it. Like I could somehow make her keep them on from my desk in Clearwater.
He nods and cuts a piece of toast in half before sprinkling pepper over a small portion of the eggs off to one side.
“Hey! Emma can’t have pepper.”
“Just separate them,” he says bumping me with his hip and stealing my position in front of the stove, which forces me to step to the side. “We’ll cook this half away from her half.” He uses the spatula to divide the two eggs, slipping the peppered eggs to the side of the pan.
Nate is cute, good with the baby, and he cooks. How did I win the man lottery?
At times like this, I wonder if he hit me with his truck a little harder than I realized and I’m in a coma in the hospital and this is all a dream. One day I’ll wake up and five years will have gone by where I lay in the hospital bed dreaming up the perfect man.
Nate isn’t distracted daydreaming in the middle of the kitchen. He grabs two juice glasses and set them on the counter before filling each up with orange juice.
“Here I’ll take them to the table,” I say, trying to be a little helpful.
I give Emma a small plate of eggs and she claps her hands twice, smiling. We both know where these eggs are going, and for most of them it won’t be her mouth. She’s wearing a black pair of leggings and an oversized purple shirt with Disney’s little mermaid screen-printed on the front. Something isn’t right, and it takes me a moment to put my finger on what’s off. Nate’s new ability to coordinate the outfit doesn’t catch me off my guard. It’s the fact Emma’s hair looks…
Normal.
Two little pigtails, both containing almost the same amount of hair, stick out evenly from the sides of her head.
“Did you do Emma’s hair?” I ask thinking maybe in my morning frazzlesness I forgot I put them in this morning.
Nate stops by the table with one hand on his hip admiring his work. “I did. Only took six tries, but look at how even they are.”
I nod. Six tries isn’t that bad. Some days it’s taken me more, especially if she’s feeling wiggly.
“You did great, Nate.” I tap the knuckle of my index finger on the table before sitting down to eat breakfast.
Then sitting at the table with Nate across from me and Emma to my side, each of us eating our own plate of eggs, it hits me. It’s a Monday morning. It’s my first day back to work, which means Nate is also going to work and Emma will go back into daycare.
It’s a day I’ve lived many times before. Well, never with Nate here, but breakfast with Emma before daycare is a scene I should be used to at this point.
But for some reason I don’t want to send my rambunctious toddler back to a daycare center with thirty-five other children. I want to be at home with her. It’s quiet as we eat, no one noticing the life-changing freak-out happening in my brain. Everything I’ve said and believed since the divorce doesn’t sound as sane as it did days ago.
I meant it when I told Nate I never want to find myself in the same position Barry left me in with the divorce. At first the job search had been so stressful I didn’t think I’d make it, but I enjoy working. Bank accounts in my name and making my own decisions helped me gain confidence. The last year was hard, but also satisfying. Would it be so horrible if I found another person, a man like Nate, to put my trust in at some point? Could I love that way again?
I thought I had my life all planned out, but fate had a different plan for me. Barry might have been an ass, but his actions didn’t reflect on me. I wish I had caught him cheating sooner, but there’s nothing to be done about it now.
Even going to work this morning I’m happier now than when I was married. I’ve smiled more and enjoyed life more with Nate and Emma these last few weeks than in the last few years.
Nate’s hand flies into the air and he catches the first bit of eggs before they hit the wall. Emma laughs, but from the look on her face she doesn’t plan to give up on her mission to redecorate anytime soon.
