One day down, eight to go.
FOUR
When I show up at Jesse’s house the next morning, he looks slightly less perturbed to see me, but definitely doesn’t chat with me any more than the previous one. That being said, I don’t think he had much of a chance, considering this morning, Emma seems much less tired and starts chatting with me the moment I walk in. With a few grunts and alet me know if you need anything,he’s out the door, and I can breathe.
After she finishes her bowl of cereal, Emma cleans up breakfast, and I take her to my car to show her the few small things I got last night on my way home to help decorate her room. It’s not much—a small rug, a poster, two frames, and a makeup organizer—but she squeals and jumps and gives me the biggest hug before running to start putting things in their place.
Afterward, we decided to have lunch with Mrs. King, a double-duty task since we were also there to pick up a few things for today’s cooking lesson and activity. While cleaning yesterday probably wasn’t the most fun, I think I made up for it with Emma by agreeing to play restaurant for her dad today. This required us to borrow some china, decorations, and linens from her grandmother. We spent the afternoon making dinnerand decorating the kitchen and dining room to beEmma’s Restaurant.
Learn to cook was also on her vision board for the year, which at first confused me because she bakes all the time with Wren and her grandmother, but she clarified that she meant cooking meals, and then confided in me that she really wants to be able to help more with her dad.
I’m not nearly as good a baker as Wren, but Icancook, something I taught myself mostly out of necessity. Colt and I were latchkey kids entrusted with frozen meals and fast food. When I was about fourteen, I got tired of eating pasta and jarred sauce or grilled cheese (Colton’s specialty since he was the one watching me most of the time) and started watching the Food Network and following cooking blogs. I started small, but by the time I was sixteen, I was making dinner for my small family every night, and I still love the ritual of cooking, even if these days it’s just for me.
When she asked me to teach her how to make dinner for her dad, she was a young girl who, while she has a support system to teach and guide her, doesn’t have a mom here for the day-to-day, a mirror of who I once was. As it always happens when I spend time with Emma, I felt that deep kinship of a girl raised by a single dad.
Emma’s excitement can’t be contained as she spends every minute between four forty-five and five fifteen staring out the window for her dad. She actuallyshriekswhen she sees him coming up the drive.
Looking around the kitchen and the chaos we created one last time, my heart is in my stomach. Maybe this was a bad idea. He’s already frustrated that I’m here, and even though we did a bit of cleaning yesterday, which may have bought me some goodwill, we also made a bit of a mess with this little scheme of ours. But I don’t have any extra time to overthink it as thedoorknob turns and the door pushes open. Emma greets him, and an excited look spreads across her face.
“Hey, Dad!” she says as he walks through the door.
I step to the side to get a better view of them from my spot in the living room without interrupting their moment. Jesse steps in with a cautious look on his face and hangs his jacket on the hook in the mudroom, then takes off his worn Three Kings Tree Farm hat and flips it around in an incredibly smooth move. My heart flutters in the way it always does, my childhood crush flaring up momentarily before I stuff it back into the box where it belongs.
He looks down at his daughter, who is nearly jumping up and down, a small smile spreading across his lips, and for a moment, the stress and exhaustion that seem to haunt him constantly fade away.
“Hey?” he asks, confusion and entertainment in the single word.
“We made a restaurant!” She’s nearly jumping in place now, smiling from ear to ear, and it’s contagious. I can’t help but let a smirk of my own grace my lips.
“You did?”
“Yeah! Hallie helped me cook it. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, gravy, corn.” She ticks the items off on her fingers, realizes she forgot something, and quickly adds it. “And a salad! We even made the dressing!” While she wasn’t super excited about the basic dinner at first, Emma had a blast mashing the potatoes and shaping the meatloaf, and she’s already asking about what we can do tomorrow. I have a night of Pinterest scrolling and a trip to the grocery store on my to-do list once I get out of here, but the unencumbered joy on her face makes it completely worth it.
“You cooked?” Jesse asks. “You did something nice for me? Onpurpose?” It’s a joke, but there’s something in the words as well, a hint of a disbelieving tone. It’s as if he can’t believe hiseleven-year-old daughter, who clearly thinks the world of him, would willingly make him a meal. In response, Emma rolls her eyes, not nearly as shocked as I am.
“Yes, Dad. God, you’re so dramatic.” She waves off her father and heads toward the kitchen, where everything is keeping warm, and Jesse watches her walk off in shock.
I roll my lips between my teeth, trying to fight back a laugh, but a slight sound comes out, and Jesse’s eyes snap to me across the room like he forgot I was here. I give him a small wave, and that smile still graces his face when he tips his chin in my direction before he follows her.
Emma and I had to take three trips to and from Mrs. King’s house to grab linens, candle holders, candles, and, of course, the dishes to make the place lookextra fancy—Emma’s words, not mine. The menu Madden printed and delivered to us sits on the plates, along with placeholders Emma decorated, and it brings me so much joy to see her so excited about it.
“We got the fancy dishes from Grandma, and Uncle Madd made us menus. There are rolls in the oven, though they aren’t from scratch, just the kind that explode out of a can, which was really fun to do. Hallie screamed.” I give her a faux stern look, and she shrugs, the sass that is ever-present shining bright. “Do you like it?”
Jesse looks around, then shakes his head as if snapping himself back into this reality before nodding and smiling at Emma. He puts an arm around her shoulders and tugs her into his side in a move so sweet and intimate, I immediately feel like I’m intruding.
“You did great, kid. It’s better than a fancy meal out, for sure.”
She looks up at her dad with pride and bliss on her face, and when it settles uncomfortably in my chest, I mark that as my time to leave.
“Okay, well, I’ll let you two get to it,” I say. “Emma, remember what I told you about afterward.” I give her a stern look, since my number one rule with doing this was that I didn’t want her dad to come home to more work just because we were being fun and whimsical. “Tomorrow morning we’ll bring everything back to your grandma’s, so just leave it in a pile, okay?”
“Yup! And I’ll make sure everything gets cleaned up and that Dad doesn’t have to do it all.”
I nod, a hint of relief moving through me, knowing I did my best. I don’t know if she’ll actually stick to her word, but it’s the thought that counts, right?
“Okay, good. Remember, I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow, Em, so if you don’t stick to our plan, I’ll be so disappointed.” She gives me a dramatic roll of her eyes, one I’ve seen a handful of times today, and each time, I have to bite back a grin. Her antics are much more entertaining than they are annoying, but I don’t wantherto know that.
Without another word, I wave to Emma as I move to the front door. Jesse, still in his boots, moves as well, tipping his chin toward the door.
