“I’ll start with cereal, thanks,” I say, following his lead when he points me to the cabinet with a selection of boxes that feature bran and oats and nut clusters. “And maybe some toast? And fruit?”
“All right here.” He shows me around until I’ve amassed everything I need for April’s breakfast. “And just let me know if there’s anything else you want me to pick up while I’m out today. I pass by at least three different grocery stores on my way to and from practice.”
“Thanks. I might take you up on that.”
Our eyes meet and for a moment neither of us says anything. The moment stretches out for a few more seconds until I hear April thundering down the stairs like a herd of wild horses.
“Slow down!” I call out while Grant clears his throat and looks away. “One little girl shouldn’t be capable of making that much noise on the stairs.”
“Mom, I wasn’t even running!” she says, her face flushed like she’s clearly been running non-stop from her bedroom. She glances over at the breakfast I’m assembling—the bowl of cereal that still needs milk, the half-sliced banana, and the apple that I haven’t started cutting yet—and frowns. “Do we have toast?”
Before I can answer that it’s already in the toaster, she grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it up a little so I can see it.
“Look at this, Mom! I don’t know how it happened, but I wanted to wear this shirt today, and there’s a hole in it! Can you see it?”
Truthfully, I have to squint to see the small hole near the bottom of her shirt, and I’m tempted to point out that it wasbound to happen eventually, since she’s insisted on wearing her favorite shirt at least once a week for the past several months.
I know that’s not the kind of help she’s looking for right now, though, and I’m very committed to getting her day started out on the right foot.
“You know what, sweetheart? I think there’s a sewing kit around here somewhere. Maybe in my purse? I can probably fix it right up for you before we have to leave. Do you want to run back upstairs and bring me my purse from my room, please?”
The question is barely out of my mouth before she’s racing from the kitchen and thundering back up the stairs.
“And don’t run!” I call after her, even though it’s a lost cause.
It’s not until she’s out of the room and I’m trying to remember exactly what I was doing that I smell something burning.
“The toast!” Grant and I say at the same time.
I scramble to get it out of the toaster oven, but his reflexes are lightning fast, and he has the slightly singed bread out and onto a plate before I make it halfway across the kitchen.
“It doesn’t look too bad,” he says. “Maybe if we cut off the crust? That inside part has hardly burned at all.”
I have to laugh. “First, despite all of the things that you can do exceptionally well, lying isn’t one of them. Second, yeah, it’s pretty bad. I’ll eat those pieces myself and I’ll start some more for April.”
“Nah, I’ll eat these and I’ll start some for both of you.” He holds up a hand just as I’m starting to object. “Before you say anything, I already know you have it under control. But there’s nothing wrong with accepting a little help every once in a while. We’re a team now. It’s just teamwork.”
Teamwork.
Because Grant Parker and I are on the same team.
I’ve been raising April on my own for so long, doing everything for both of us without even considering asking for help, let alone accepting it, that it takes a few seconds to wrap my head around the concept of teamwork in that part of my life.
But maybe he’s right. Maybe there isn’t anything wrong with accepting help every once in a while, even when I think I have everything under control.
“Thank you,” I say instead, pushing aside the refusal that was on the tip of my tongue. “Our morning routine isn’t usually this chaotic.”
I let the lie sit there for a moment, as if he might question it. But of course he’s way too polite to point out that it’s been more or less unmitigated chaos ever since April and I showed up at his door. “Actually, sometimes it’s worse. There. That’s the truth. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking I’m a hot mess.”
“That’s the last thing I think,” he says with such sincerity that I know it can’t be a lie. “It’s April’s first day at a new school. You’re both a little nervous. That seems perfectly normal to me.” He shrugs. “Besides, I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t have at least a little chaos in their life. The ones who seem to glide so effortlessly across the water are usually the ones paddling the hardest underneath it all.”
I want to thank him. Want to take the time to have another nice, meaningful, grown-up conversation with this man who seems so single-minded and focused on his sport from the outside looking in, but is obviously so much more than that.
But April pops back into the kitchen hauling my purse in front of her with both hands like it’s the heaviest thing she’s ever lifted.
“What do you keep in this thing, Mom? Bricks?”
“Yes, bricks. I thought that would be a nice change of pace from the million other things I normally haul around in there.” I dig through the semi-organized chaos that’s the inside of myhandbag and pull out the sewing kit, then motion for her to sit down at the table. “You eat while I fix that little tear in your shirt. We’ll have you looking good as new before you know it.”
