Exhausted as I am, and even with the prospect of washing dishes and tidying the kitchen ahead of me, I’m still smiling to myself as I walk back downstairs.
I don’t know how I managed to raise such an even-tempered, good-hearted, intelligent young woman on my own. I’m so proud of her, and she’ll always be my biggest accomplishment.
Once I hit the foot of the stairs, I’m back in mom mode, mentally going through my usual evening checklist. Wash the dishes. Pack April’s lunch for tomorrow and double-check that I’ve folded all our laundry for the week. It’s the never-ending cycle of menial tasks that somehow multiply when I’m not looking.
But when I make it to the kitchen, I stop in my tracks and have to do a double-take. I blink, almost wondering if I’m hallucinating.
The dishes are done.
Not just rinsed and stacked, but completely washed, dried, and put away. Even the pan I used to heat up our dinner is spotless and back in its place.
“What in the world?” I have to say the words out loud just to make sure I’m not dreaming or sleepwalking or something.
But if I’m really awake, and I know the dishes didn’t wash themselves, that only leaves one other explanation.
I walk back through the house to find Grant in the living room, seemingly exactly where he was a half-hour ago when April and I went upstairs.
It’s only when I get closer that I realize something is different. Instead of sipping his shake and watching sports, he’s fidgeting with something small in his hands.
A shirt. April’s shirt from the zoo.
“Grant?” I don’t even try to hide my surprise and confusion. “What are you doing?”
He looks up with an almost sheepish expression. “I asked Colin to bring some sewing supplies over the other day—it was after that morning when you had to rush around and fix April’s shirt before school.” He holds up the nearly-mended t-shirt. “He gave me a couple of impromptu lessons. I’m not going to be quitting my day job to become a seamstress anytime soon, but I think this will hold.”
To say I’m stunned would be an understatement.
“You learned how to sew? For me?”
Now he definitely looks sheepish, and might even be blushing a little. “Just basic stuff, really. It seemed like something I should know how to do anyway.” He looks back down to focus on the last bit of stitching, giving it the same sort of concentration he might normally use to block a penalty shot. “I know you’ve had a busy week, and I wanted to help out with some of the small stuff.”
I don’t know how to react.
He’s washed our dishes—and they were dishes he didn’t even use—without being asked. He learned to sew just to help with April’s clothes. And all because he wants to make my life easier?
I’m so used to managing everything myself that having someone step in and lighten the load without asking first feels like a weird fever dream. It’s almost overwhelming.
“Thank you,” I offer, even though it feels completely inadequate compared to everything he’s done for my daughter and me. “You didn’t have to do any of that, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate the help.”
“Good. I wanted to do it. All of it.” He gives a rueful look at the patched hole in April’s shirt. “As much of it as I could, anyway.”
It’s the simplest, most honest explanation, but the whole idea still feels almost foreign to me. Even crazier is that I know he doesn’t want or expect anything in return.
Grant Parker really is one of the good ones.
I’m completely at a loss for what else to say or do, so I sit down on the couch next to him. Which is probably a mistake, since I’m so damn tired that I immediately sink into the plush cushions and can’t help closing my eyes.
“Long day?” he asks.
“The longest. But in a good way. I wouldn’t trade the time I spent with April today for anything in the world.” I roll my shoulders, trying to work out some of the knots and tension. “My shoulders are killing me, though. I think I might have slept wrong last night, and carrying April’s backpack around the zoo all day didn’t help.”
I hear him rustle around next to me and then hear his footsteps across the living room. By the time I open my eyes, he’s already halfway up the stairs.
“Where are you going?” I call after him.
But he doesn’t answer, and now I’m wondering if I said the wrong thing. Maybe I didn’t show enough appreciation for all the things he’s done. Or maybe complaining about my aches andpains made me sound like a whiny baby when he’s done all of this stuff on top of his grueling daily routine.
I wince at that thought, hating that I’ve probably pissed him off with my carelessness.
