“I’ll walk you to your car.”
I don’t bother to argue today, knowing it’s no use. When we enter the mudroom, he watches me grab my bag, slide my shoes on, shrug into my jacket, then open the door and step outside. We’re almost to my car, the keys in my hand, when I speak, rambling uncomfortably as is my way.
“I know the dinner thing looks like a mess, but anything she doesn’t handle with the cleanup, just leave, and I’ll take care of it tomorrow. She actually did make most of the dinner herself, and I think it’s pretty good, but try not to make a big deal if it’s not. There’s a pizza in the freezer just in case,” I say. He looks at mefor a moment, then shakes his head as I stop at my car, turning toward him.
“What’s with the sudden need to cook?”
“Hmm?”
“She’s never wanted to cook dinner. What’s with the sudden interest? Is it just something you’re doing or…” His words trail off, and I shake my head before explaining.
“It’s all Emma. Learn to cook was on the list we found, so I’m teaching her a few easy meals.”
Her interest in cooking isn’t just about her need to cross something off her list, though, something I learned this afternoon when we were standing side by side, peeling potatoes.
“Did your mom teach you how to cook?” she asked.
I let out a loud laugh and shook my head.
“No, no, my mom didn’t. I uh…” I hesitated, unsure of how to tell her that she and I have a lot more in common than she might realize. But then I realized that, when I was her age, I would have loved to know someone—anyone—who had been in a situation like mine. My best friend was Wren, whose family was basically picture-perfect, and none of my friends were being raised by a single parent. If she’s in the same boat, it has to feel isolating, especially living so close to her grandparents and knowing her dad was raised under much different conditions. So instead of avoiding the topic, I faced it head-on and prayed it was the right choice. “My mom wasn’t around when I was a kid. I saw her occasionally, but not all the time. I taught myself to cook because my dad worked a lot, and I wanted to help out by making dinners a couple times a week.”
“So you were like me?”
It panged in my chest, but I forced my voice to sound happy and positive. “Yup.”
Her face went contemplative with my new addition before she nodded. “That’s why I want to learn to cook too. To help out my dad.”
My chest is still warm with the memory of it, and I decide Jesse should know that too.
“She wants to be able to help out. She might give you a hard time, but that’s because she’s eleven and has a lot going on. She knows you work a lot and work hard, and she wants to do something to alleviate that,” I add, shaking myself out of the memory.
With my words, something crosses his face that I can’t quite understand or pin down, but he looks uncomfortable as he sits with it, so I continue rambling. “Then I told her about how Wren and I used to play restaurant and make a big thing out of it, and she was super into it.” When he doesn’t speak, I start to panic, rambling on evenmore. I was never blessed with the ability to shut up, unfortunately. “I probably should have asked, but I didn’t want to bother you while you were working, and your mom said it was a good idea, so I kind of ran with it.”
He’s still giving me a look I can’t decode, and it amplifies my anxiety.
I did the wrong thing.
Fuck.
I genuinely did just want to do something fun with Emma, but maybe I should have pulled a Wren and brought a ton of educational crafts or whatever.
“Okay, so the way you’re looking at me, I’m really starting to think I totally fucked this up, so if I did, I’m sorry. I didn’t?—”
“No, no. It’s okay. It looks like she had a great time with you. I just…you’re really good with her. You seem to get her.”
Instead of giving him the revelation I had this afternoon, I let a snarky grin spread across my face. “Don’t look so happy aboutthat,” I say with a laugh, the tension that was in my chest melting just a bit.
“I’m really fucking trying.”
Something about the way he says it, or maybe the way he’s looking at me, has my breath stop in my lungs, my pulse pounding, and my lips parting. The once forgotten crush has been dusted off and placed back on the shelf, it seems, and for a split second, I think I see a similar look on Jesse’s face. He opens his mouth to say something, and I hold my breath as his eyes drop to my lips, but before he can, the front door opens, and both of our heads turn that way to see Emma standing in the doorway.
“Dad! The rolls are done—can you help me get them out of the oven?”
I clear my throat and step back toward my car, increasing the space between us, though I’m worried amilewouldn’t be enough space. “I told her she can’t do anything with the oven without adult supervision.”
He gives me a relieved look, and I can’t quite tell if it’s because of the distance or my answer. “Good call. Well, I guess that’s my cue.”
“It is. See you tomorrow, Jess.”
