A stifled laugh sounds low in my throat.
Kai jerks to a stop midstride and peers cautiously down at his shirt. His eyes change, both going bottlecap big as he spots the gooey-looking smudge, a blend of mustard yellow and poop-emoji brown.
This time the laugh sneaks through my tightened lips as I watch the big strong guy who handled the diaper like a champ go pale with horror. Already, it looks like he might hurl, but then he notices the smudge on his inner arm.
Suddenly Kai lifts his chin and gasps in a breath to get control of himself, but I can tell it’s not going to work. This Daddy for a Day isgoing to gag!
He jerks forward in one sudden heave, a hand moving to cover his mouth.
“You’ve got this,” I encourage while another giggle sneaks up my throat.
Only Kai doesn’t have it at all. Another reflexive jerk thrusts him forward. This time it’s more than just a gag. This time, Kai throws up. All over the floor.
Chapter Six
Day4
Familiar music tricklesfrom the speaker as I sit in the library with Kai.
Today’s date was uneventful compared to our parenting practice the day before. We spent the entire day chopping, prepping, baking, and cooking a five-course meal. And just when we thought we were going to sit down and eat it, we were told via intercom to serve it—in uniform, I might add—to none other than Colt Findley, who swirled his wine glass, swished his first sip, then spit it back in the glass and told us it sucked.
Luckily, the tables turned, and we were able to sit down and enjoy the meal ourselves, minus the regurgitated glass of wine. The soup, salad, bread, filet mignon with herbed potatoes, and chocolate cream torte had been outstanding and worth all of our effort.
We went through five whole counseling cards after that. My favorite, hands down, was the card prompting us to share favorite memories of our fathers. It was good to hear that Kai and his dad were in a better place, something he’d told me after sharing his favorite memory, which involved the time he taught him to catch a football.
I don’t have many memories of my dad, but the one that has always stood out to me is the time we’d gone to a ball game. My dad had taken me by surprise when he propped his fingertips partly into his mouth and piped out a long, loud whistle. He said he’d teach me one day, but he never stuck around long enough to do it.
Kai, after all those years, corrected that tonight with step-by-step instruction.“Make two peace signs, now close up your fingers, place them at your lips and curl your tongue back with them.”
“Thanks again for teaching me to whistle,” I say, still surprised that it worked.
Kai rests against the beanbag and sighs. “Any time,”
Nighttime is already closing in on our fourth day, and we’re leaving on day five, which means my time with Kai is almost through.
I have a vague idea of how this thing will end, but only because I’ve watched other Time Warp episodes where the couples are forced to make a decision. Will they continue to work on the relationship or go their separate ways? All I know is that I amnotready to say goodbye to Kai.
A deep dart rips through me at the thought. It makes me want to pull Kai close and hold tight to him forever. But it also makes me want to pull away, fast and thorough, and try to erase all the new memories we made. I’m not capable of nursing another broken heart.
“I can’t believe I barfed over baby poop yesterday,” Kai says with a groan.
“You’re still thinking about that?” I grin, enjoying the recollection more than I should. “At least you don’t make babies cry.”
Kai’s head tips far back so he faces the ceiling, but at my words, he straightens up and sets his gaze on me. “You makegrownmen cry too,” he accuses.
I half expected him to say something like that. What I didn’t expect was the wounded expression I see on his face. Stirs of warmth dance around my heart, threatening to uncover the part I buried long ago. The regret I carry for giving Kai the ultimatum in the first place.
Yes, it’s there. But I don’t want to admit it or indulge it or give it an ounce of merit.
“I guess I wasn’t exactly a grown man at the time,” Kai says, drifting his head back and letting his eyes close once more.
I remember when he used to do this. It takes me back to the times he’d been stressed over the pressure from his dad—a man whose intentions were better than his severe approach. He always expected a lot from Kai, and Kai hated to disappoint.
I glance at the counseling cards, wondering if I can sift through them to find one that tells me to kiss him again. But then a new idea comes to me. This time is ours after all. And if I want to scoot over and kiss Kai—the way I used to when he would tip his head back like this—I can.
I scoot closer, my mind flashing back to all the times I’d done this before. The first time was after Kai fumbled the final game-hinging toss during a football game junior year. He’d been sitting on the ground against the bottom bleacher after the place cleared out, head tipped up to the sky, eyes clenched shut.
Even in the shadow of the light post’s glow, I had seen the anguish on his face—the furrowed brow and clenched jaw. I imagined him pleading with the heavens for a do-over. I’d have done anything to take his pain away in that moment. So I did exactly what came to mind. I steadied myself on tall knees, hovered over him for a blink, and then pressed my lips to his.
