April is back before he can answer, tugging at my arm and pointing down at the safari-themed t-shirt she picked out from the zoo gift shop.
“Look, Mom! There’s already a hole in it! How did that even happen?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. Do you think it could’ve been when you threw it on over your other clothes so quickly in the car?”
“Hey! I didn’t make this hole. It just… happened.”
I shoot her a knowing look. “It seems to happen even more frequently when you’re excited to wear a new outfit. What an unfortunate coincidence, hm?”
She heaves an exasperated sigh, then gives me her patented puppy dog eyes. “Can you fix it, though, Mom? Please?”
“I can take a look at it after dinner, sweetheart. But we should get something a little healthier than zoo cuisine in your system before bed.”
That’s when Grant cuts back in, politely clearing his throat. “There are some leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry. Grilled chicken with quinoa and roasted vegetables. I can vouch that it’s pretty tasty.”
It sounds amazing, but I hesitate a moment. “Are you sure? I’ve been trying to make sure we only eat our own food, for the most part. I don’t want to accidentally eat something you’re really looking forward to.”
He laughs. “I’ll probably have chicken and vegetables another two hundred times this year. I’m sure I’ll manage.”
“Well, if you’re really sure?”
“I am. There’s plenty of food in there and I’d rather not let any of it go to waste.”
It’s such a simple kindness, but that’s not the point. Grant is the kind of guy who would give the shirt off his back and the last bite of food on his plate if he thought someone else could use it more.
And after this week of awkward tension in the house—even if most of it has probably been entirely in my head—it feels good to know that things seem like they’re finally back to normal.
I take April into the kitchen with me and get her set up at the table while I reheat the leftovers that have been stored in color-coded, perfectly portioned containers.
I feel like I should thank him all over again, just for taking away some of the daily stress around deciding what to make for dinner. It would probably sound weird if I tried to put that thanks into words, though, so I keep it to myself for now.
Our meal is surprisingly delicious for something so healthy, and April is even digging in with the kind of enthusiasm she usually reserves for pizza or chicken nuggets.
By the time we finish eating, we’re both sitting back in our chairs with full bellies and drooping eyelids.
“Should we call it a day?” I ask, gingerly getting up from my chair so I can clear the plates from the table. “We can read a couple of chapters together if you want, and then it’s time for bed.”
“Three chapters?” she asks even though she’s already stifling a yawn.
“We’ll see.”
I leave the dishes in the sink for now, determined to get April into her bed before she falls asleep at the table.
“I’ll clean up the kitchen when I get back down here in a bit,” I call out to Grant, who is sitting on the couch and watching hockey highlights while he nurses a protein shake.
“No worries,” he answers, then gives a little salute to April. “Sweet dreams.”
“Thanks, Grant.” She beams and waves from the stairs, perking right back up like she does every time he talks to her. “Good night.”
Thirty minutes and three chapters of her favorite book later, her eyes are fully closed. I ease up from the corner of her bed and tuck the covers around her, then press a light kiss to her forehead.
“Mom?”
I stop just as I’m reaching to turn off her bedside lamp. “Yes, sweetheart?”
“Today was really fun. Thanks for taking me.”
“You’re very welcome. It was a lot of fun for me too.” One more kiss on the forehead, and then I flip the switch on her lamp and leave her to sleep. “Good night.”
