"Coming, buddy," he called back, forcing his voice to sound steady and reassuring.
It was time to shove everything back into neat compartments once again. The part of him that was Sandra's lover would have to wait, pushed down deep where his children couldn't seethe cracks in his armor. He snorted.Sandra’s would-be lover, hoped-to-be lover, God-please-give-me-another-chance lover.
But right now, he needed to be Dad, even though part of him wondered if he'd just lost something precious in the process of protecting what he already had.
8
Terry headed into the kitchen, a smile finally tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watched Toby lug his overnight bag toward the laundry room off the kitchen.
The space was one of Terry's favorite practical additions to the house. On one side was the washer and dryer with cabinets above holding detergent, fabric softener, and whatever other household necessities he could cram up there. The opposite wall featured a built-in bench with storage underneath, currently stuffed with an assortment of shoes, flip-flops, and boots that never seemed to find their way to proper closets. High storage cabinets above the bench held the overflow of life with two active kids.
He followed his son into the room, his smile deepening as Emma appeared and looked at her brother in confusion.
“Toby, we didn’t change clothes at Mom’s since we were only there a couple of hours. You don’t need to wash anything.”
“I got these out of the dirty clothes when I packed them.” He shrugged.
“Why?” she asked, her hands on her hips.
“I could wash them there, then I wouldn’t have to do it again when we got home. Now, I gotta wash them here,” Toby replied,his words confident in his ability to problem solve his laundry issues.
Emma looked at her dad and just shook her head before wandering out of the laundry room. Terry chuckled. "I'll put yours in," he offered.
Once the machine was going, he leaned against the doorframe. "Did you guys have dinner?"
"Yeah, Mom stopped at a burger place when we left her house," Toby replied, his attention focused on digging through his bag and coming up with two mismatched socks. "We were going to have spaghetti, but after her boss called, she was in a hurry."
The casual way his son delivered the information hit Terry harder than it should have. It was the weekend, so fast food burgers weren't a surprise, but he knew how much his kids looked forward to their mom's spaghetti. Patricia made it the way her mom had taught her, with homemade sauce that simmered for hours and filled the house with warmth. It was one of the few domesticated traditions from their mom that the kids still talked about with genuine excitement.
"Tell you what," Terry said, pushing off from the doorframe and moving closer to them. "We'll have spaghetti tomorrow."
Both kids turned their faces toward him, and the transformation was immediate. Smiles spread across their features, broad and uninhibited, their eyes lighting up with the kind of pure joy that reminded him of exactly what he was fighting for every single day. He swallowed past the unexpected lump forming in his throat, the emotion hitting him.God, I've got such great kids.
The thought came with a familiar mixture of pride and fierce protectiveness. These two understood there had never been a great love between their mom and him, but they’d always worked well together. If he could give them spaghetti and makeup for even a small part of what they'd missed tonight, he'd do it without hesitation.
Once their overnight bags were deposited in their bedrooms, they all congregated in the kitchen. The space was filled with the comfortable energy of his children settling back into their weekend routine with him.
"I know it's getting late, but does anyone want to have a snack before bed?" Terry already knew the answer but enjoyed the ritual of asking.
"Yes!" Toby shouted without a moment's hesitation, his enthusiasm making Terry chuckle. His son was eleven and had recently entered another growth spurt that seemed to happen overnight. Terry had a sinking feeling that his grocery bill was about to skyrocket during the summer months, when the kids were home more often and Toby's appetite reached legendary proportions.
"We've still got some apple pie left over from yesterday," Terry said, moving toward the refrigerator with the satisfaction of a man who'd planned ahead.
Emma's face lit up with anticipation. "Did you eat all the vanilla ice cream last night, or is there any left?"
Terry grabbed his chest with both hands as though she'd inflicted a mortal wound, his expression one of mock devastation. "What do you take me for? You think I'd eat the last of the ice cream?" He held the pose for a moment, enjoying Emma's pretend glare, before grinning and pulling open the freezer with a theatrical flourish. "Well, look here! Vanilla ice cream!"
Both kids’ laughter filled the kitchen, and soon, the three of them were crowded around the kitchen island, dessert plates in front of them like communion offerings. Toby and Emma perched on the tall barstools, while Terry stood on the oppositeside, leaning forward with his forearms braced against the cool granite surface so he could face them.
He waited until the pie had been thoroughly enjoyed and finished, and his children's faces held that sleepy contentment that came from sugar and security. Only then did he broach the subject that had been weighing on his mind since they'd walked through the door.
"I don't want to make a big deal about it, but I just want to see how you guys are feeling about having your weekend with your mom cut short."
The investigator in him never truly switched off, and while he kept his expression carefully neutral, his eyes cataloged every micro-expression that crossed their faces. He'd learned to read people for a living, but reading his own children was both easier and infinitely more complex. Every reaction mattered because it reflected not just their immediate feelings, but their long-term emotional well-being.
Toby's response came with a simple shrug, his nonchalance appearing genuine rather than forced. "It's okay. She said she’ll make it up to us."
Terry wasn't surprised by his son's reaction. Toby had always possessed a more carefree outlook on life, rolling with whatever punches came his way with the resilience of youth. While he loved his mom, he was genuinely happy to spend time with his dad, and disappointments tended to slide off him like water off a duck's back.
