“Yep, I think I even have a bandaid in here,” I mumble, digging around in the bottom of my crossbody purse.
I’m amazed at the variety of random useful items I've accumulated since moving in with Lincoln and Cameron—everything from a tiny sewing kit to a half-dozen organic fruit snack pouches. You never know when this kid will get hangry while you’re out and about.
It vaguely registers in my head that I still haven’t found my marriage contract. I have no idea where I put it. Gosh, I’m so careless. I make a mental note to search around the house for it later tonight.
I find the small first-aid kit I’m looking for and take my time doctoring Cameron’s scraped knee. By the time I’m finished slathering ointment and adjusting his bandage, he’s forgotten about his injury, begging to return to the playground and climb the monkey bars.
Cameron is ready to dart off with Jagger but I call after him.
“Hey, wait!” I say, handing him his water bottle. “Here. Take a drink real fast. Gotta stay hydrated.”
Alba’s staring at me as the boys run off again.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re a natural with Cameron. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it before. You’ve always been a good godmother to Jagger, but with Cameron…you’re just so motherly. It’s sweet. I like this look on you,” my best friend tells me.
I shake my head, laughing off her strange complement. “I’m just good at everything I do,” I tease. But yet still, her words crawl into my head, make a nest, and refuse to leave.
Hanging out with Cameron is just easy.
I meant it when I told Cynthia I had no intention of taking over her job. But Cameron just feels like my little best friend. We talk about anything. We tease and argue. We play games. And at the end of the day, making sure he’s safe, happy, and healthy has quickly became my main priority.
We stay at the park far later than we’d planned. When the boys start complaining that they’re literally dying of hunger, Cameron and I finally head home.
“So what do you want to be when you grow up?” I ask the boy, trying to keep him distracted as I drive us home.
He doesn’t hesitate. “A smoothie-maker.” He pauses. “Or a furniture-seller. Or a rapper,” he responds confidently. “I’m a really good rapper, you know?”
“Oh, yeah. Let me hear some rhymes.”
Cameron instantly starts reciting some hilarious lines about all the disgusting things that were on the school lunch menu this week. I try not to crack up as I glance at him in the rearview mirror. Instead, I cheer him on, dancing in my seat as I pull up in the driveway.
Once we’re inside, Cameron parks himself at the kitchen island and I whip up a gourmet meal of grilled cheese and macaroni. The kid can’t get enough cheese. Between the stirring and flipping, I help him with his surprisingly difficult third-grade homework.
Cameron reads the question that he’s struggling with. “If Dr. Gilmore’s train leaves Chicago and travels southwest toward Saint Louis—” He stops abruptly. “I don’t get it. When will I ever need to do this kind of math? My dad’s GPS always tells us when we’re going to get where we’re going anyway…”
“Excellent point,” I say, flipping the grilled cheese and listening to it sizzle. I try to frame the issue in a way an eight-year-old would understand. “Maybe you can look at it this way—knowing how to calculate the speed and distance can be like…like…a mathematical hug.”
“What?” His look of confusion makes me giggle.
“Well, yeah. If you know how to do the math, you’ll be able to calculate how soon your dad will get home from his own trip.”
He perks up. “Then I can do math to see how soon I’ll get ahugfrom Dad?”
“Exactly.” I wink, as he starts scribbling on the side of his worksheet.
After we finish dinner, we go through our bedtime routine. I remind Cameron to floss his teeth. He puts up a half-heartedfight. I tuck him into bed, and then we read a short book. Then another. He falls asleep in the middle of the third story, and then I silently pick up around his room. I find his worn, stuffed dog on the floor and place it snugly at his side.
When I finish, I stand in his doorway, watching him snore softly, just like his father.
Please, please, please don't fall in love with all this, I beg myself. This routine I’ve built here in Lincoln’s house…it’s becoming comfortable. Easy.
Too comfortable.
Too easy.
I hug my arms around my middle.Oh, please don’t fall in love with it all.
