“When did you get back?” Cailin asks through a mouthful of cookie.
He steals a bite of her cookie before answering, “A few hours ago. We left early this morning. You should have seen Max and Jack; they were not okay.” Adam laughs at the memory but quiets abruptly when Cailin puts her hands on her hips.
“Daddy, did you make them get up again? You know how that went last time.”
Adam sits up straight, acting just as serious. “Why, yes, I did. They knew I wanted to get home. That was their decision to stay up, partying like that.”
She gives him a side-eye, and Adam engulfs her in his arms, laughing.
“I missed you, kid. It’s good to be home.”
She sharply turns to him, pursing her lips together.
“Oh. Sorry. I missed you,Sugarplum.”
She sternly nods her head one time. “That’s better.”
I turn to start rinsing the dishes in my sink, feeling awkward, sitting in my own kitchen, watching these two interact so personally.
My dad was always around, but I never curled up in his lap or questioned something he did. I was raised that kids were seen, not heard and that there was a time and place for play, and it was not around him—ever.
Adam seems to welcome the crumbs on his lap and milk spilled on the floor.
“Hey, Sarah,” Adam says, making me drop the cup I was washing in the sink.
I pick it up, trying to play it off. “Yeah?”
“You don’t have to stay over there. We are in your house and all.” He raises his eyebrows to me. “As long as we aren’t invading your space, I’d love to hear what’s going on with Cailin’s schoolwork.”
I wipe my hands and join them.
Cailin hands me a cookie. “Do you want another one?”
I swipe it from her and take a bite. “Why, thank you,” I say, trying to act as normal as possible and not freak out that I’m sitting at the same table—in my house—as Adam Jacobson.
“Okay, Sugarplum, I want to hear how you’re doing from you, and then I’ll see if she has the same story.”
I cover my mouth as a laugh escapes my lips. “I always tell my parents, I’ll only believe half of what I hear about you as long as you only believe half of what you hear about me.”
Adam turns to face me. “Is it that common for kids to make up tales?”
I sway my head from side to side. “Kids like to embellish a little.”
He pulls her closer to him. “What’s your favorite part of class?”
She purses her lips together, tapping her finger to her mouth in thought. “I like cutting things, and I’m getting real good at it.”
“You are?” he says, full of interest.
“She is. I used her work as the example the other day,” I interject.
“Look at that, my daughter setting the bar for the rest of the class.” The pride beaming from his face is palpable.
“And she’s one of the best readers in the class.” I can’t help myself; seeing him so amazed at his little girl is beautiful to witness. If I have to tell him every little thing she’s good at to have this moment continue, I will.
Cailin jumps off of Adam’s lap and runs to her backpack. She pulls out a four-page printed book I sent home to practice on and holds it up for Adam.
“I’ll show you!” She hops back on his lap and opens the book. With her tiny tongue peeking out of her mouth, she diligently studies the words before starting to read them.
