I look at the clock again and attempt to calculate the time I’d need to accomplish everything today. There’s a kickboxing class at 11:30. I could finish up my stew prep, get ready for class, pack a bag with clothes for afterward, and meet them at the theater. I can do it!
Me:Sure. I’ll have to meet you there though.
Nash: Great. I’ll tell Andi. She wanted you to go.
Oh, so asking me wasn’t Nash’s idea. It was Andi’s. Oh well, it doesn’t matter. I love the movies.
* * *
Andiand I walk out of the theater hand in hand. She loved the movie––almost as much as I did. As for Nash? I don’t think he liked it much, because whenever I peeked over at him during the movie, he was either looking at his phone or his head was back, eyes closed. No matter, he did the right thing taking his daughter to a movie and sitting through it even though it wasn’t his cup of tea. “Did you like the movie, Nash?” Yeah, I know, I’m being ornery.
“Sure.” He nods. “I got a little tired of the singing though.”
“Daddy!” Andi stomps her little foot on the ground, placing her fists on her waist. “The singing was thebestpart.”
“Sorry.” He holds up his hands then laughs. “I didn’t know.”
That seems to appease Andi. “Well then, okay.”
“Where to next?” Nash is looking at me expectantly.
“I’ve got to head home to finish up my stew. The bread’s done.”
“You made bread?” His eyes grow big and round. “From scratch?”
Oh dear, the poor man. I bet he misses his mom’s cooking. “I did. It’s the best with stew, don’t you think?”
He nods slowly. “It is.”
“Well, there’s plenty. I made extra thinking Isaac was coming home, but they had to cancel. Why don’t you two come over around five for dinner?”
Andi jumps up and down, all the while looking up at her father. “Yes,” she squeals. “Let’s go to Izzy’s house.”
“Fresh bread?” he asks again.
I nod. “Just pulled it out of the oven before I left.”
Nash gives me a small smile. “Sure. Great. Thanks, Isabelle.”
I bend down so I’m close to Andi. “See you at five. I’ve got a surprise for you in my bedroom.” I glance at Nash. He’s looking back at me, and his expression isn’t what I’d call happy. “My old dollhouse. She can play with that while she’s there.”
“Ah.” He nods.
After that, I jog to my car and head back home, stopping at the big, fancy grocery store in Emmetsville on the way to pick up what I need to make a pecan pie. Dad’s favorite.
* * *
I starein amazement as Nash finishes his third heaping bowl of stew and a fifth piece of bread. How can a man that looks like that eat that many carbs? It’s not fair. I stuck to my agreed upon two slices of bread. I made that promise with myself so that I could eat one more slice in the morning, toasted with butter and jam. I can’t wait.
“There’s pecan pie,” I say, standing up from the table. Mom starts to rise too, but I wave her off. “I’ve got this, Mom. You relax.” Turning to the guys, I ask, “Either of you want coffee?”
“Milk.” My dad loves milk with his dessert.
“Milk,” Nash repeats. It makes me laugh.
“Mom?”
“I’m fine.” She holds up her water.
