“But I’m not tired,” she whines in her most tired voice. “I wanted to make dessert for you and Jordie in my kitchen.”
Against my better judgement, I say, “Okay, but make something fast while we clean up the dinner dishes.”
She runs off upstairs, and Jordie gives me a questioning look. “Dessert?”
We both rise and begin clearing the dishes. “She has a play kitchen in her playroom and likes to pretend to make desserts. She actually makes a mean Dorito and mango pie.” At her wrinkled nose, I explain. “All Reece’s desserts are very creative and completely fictitious.”
“Thank god,” she giggles.
Ten minutes later, I go upstairs to check on my kid to find her in full meltdown mode.
“Reecie baby, what’s wrong?” I ask crossing to where she’s bawling her eyes out beside her little kitchen setup.
“D-d-daddy, I wanted to make a watermelon and Oreo cake, and I don’t have any watermelons,” she wails.
Aw, my poor baby is so tired, and it always breaks my heart to see her cry. I drop to the floor and pull her into my lap, pressing her cheek to my chest as she sobs about pretend ingredients for a pretend cake. Such is life with a preschooler sometimes.
Swaying us from side to side, I speak softly while I rub her hair. “We could just go to Hale Grocery and get you a watermelon,” I cajole. Hale Grocery is located in her closet, for the record.
“I already w-w-went, and they’re out of watermelons.” She’s so exhausted she’s not making any sense, so I continue to rock her, hoping she’ll get it all out of her system. That’s when I hear a knock against the doorframe and turn to see Jordie standing there.
I offer her an apologetic smile. She’s probably here to tell me she’s headed home. I wouldn’t blame her for running away from this nonsense meltdown, but she surprises me.
“Excuse me, madam,” she says in a funny, nasal voice.
Reece perks up, turning her tear-stained face to the pretty blonde who is walking into the room.
Jordie squats beside us and speaks directly to my daughter, still in that goofy voice. “I just opened a new store next door, but I haven’thad a single customer all day.” Her lips turn down in a frown. “I’m so afraid all our watermelons are going to go bad if I don’t have anyone to buy them.”
My kid hiccups and swipes the tears from her face as her eyes widen in awe. “I need a watermelon.”
Dramatically rolling her eyes in apparent relief, Jordie says, “Oh thank goodness. Would you like to come shop with me?” She holds out a hand, and Reece takes it, crawling off my lap to go to the “store.” This one is apparently in the hallway.
Pushing off the floor, I go to the door and lean against the frame as my two girls hold hands and choose fruits from the imaginary bins and shelves. My heart does a somersault in my chest at the sight. Jordie is so good with her.
Four minutes later, the cake is done—because my daughter’s baking skills defy the laws of physics—and we’re plopped on the polka-dot rug in Reece’s room. Even Honey has a little pink plate, though she keeps sniffing around, apparently confused at the lack of actual food. Seriously, our cat has no imagination.
“Best cake ever,” I praise, pretending to shovel dessert into my mouth.
Jordie circles her pink plastic fork in the air. “I agree. It’s so moist.”
Reece beams, all traces of the previous sobbing fit now gone. Though I know I need to get her in bed soon or we risk another meltdown.
At Reece’s request, Jordie stays to help with the bedtime routine, pulling my daughter’s hair up and giving her a bath while I get her pajamas ready and unpack her suitcase. I’m used to doing everything myself, but this is nice. Very domestic.
And my heart can’t help but wish we could do this every night. As a team.
As a family.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Friends and… more?
Phoenix
“No! I said more to the left,” Jordie orders with a scowl on her face. “Exactly like this but on the other side of the living room. And then move that coffee table out of here.”
She and my twin are moving one long table while Remi and I try to position the other to her exact specifications. Today is Reece’s fifth birthday, and my girlfriend has taken over like a professional party planner.
