Quinn giggles from her twin bed. She’s perched atop her comforter, fresh out of a bath, fingers splayed over her eyes.
I point at her. “Hey! I saw that!”
She tucks them in tight and squeals with glee.
“I mean it, young lady.”
Summer backs into the room with Millie cradled in her arms. You’d think she gave her a sedative compared to the version I carried in earlier. At least my shirt and shoulder stayed intact this time. She must be warming up to me.
“Okay, here comes the surprise!”
Summer plops her cat in Quinn’s lap.
“Titty!” She launches her arms around Millie’s neck.
Summer and I fight to contain our smiles.
“We’ll work on it,” I say.Tomorrow, I think.
Quinn’s evaluation results came back. I met with Sue on Friday to discuss them—a meeting I thought would be difficult to face—but it wasn’t such a shock this time. I felt prepared for the expressive language disorder label they want to use inplace of the potential APD one that could come later in her life.
“Might need to start with the letterk,” Summer jokes.
“Tum see!” Quinn coos as Millie flops on her back and rolls from side to side amongst a pile of stuffed animals.
Summer runs her hand up Millie’s tail. “She likes you.”
“Show Mommy?”
I freeze. This is the first time Quinn has asked for her in a couple of weeks. I expect Summer to look to me for help, but she confidently answers all on her own.
“Your mommy is right here.” She places her palm over Quinn’s heart, then presses Bunny against her cheek. “I think she likes Millie too.”
There’s never a moment when I’m not impressed by Summer. In awe of her ease with Quinn. Like she’s done this parent thing before when I know she hasn’t. I wish that kind of intuition came easy to me.
Quinn smiles so big I can barely make out her pupils from tiny slits. After months of adding to my journal—hundreds of things I’ve done wrong as her dad—I finally feel like I did something right today.
Quinn taps on Summer’s arm. “Weed?”
This time Summer looks to me for confirmation.
“I did promise you’d read her a book.”
Summer tucks her arm around Quinn. “I’d love to.”
Quinn wriggles free. She scoots to the edge of the bed and slides off the comforter, racing for the old magazine rack that became a bookshelf when we moved in.
Without her snuggle partner, Millie’s enchantment with Quinn’s bed ends. She springs from the mattress to the floor, sauntering my way.
“I guess we’ll be going now.” I watch her tail swish through the exit.
“Don’t have too much fun,” Summer teases.
“Come on. That’s all Millie and I have.” I bend down to give Quinn a squeeze, and she drops her books for our nightly ritual—a kiss on the forehead. “Love you.”
I don’t make it very far when I find myself leaning in the shadow outside the doorway. Summer is sprawled on the bed, Quinn tucked up under her arm beside her. I chuckle at the stack of books ten deep in Summer’s lap. Poor thing doesn’t know how this game works. If you don’t give Quinn a two-book limit, she’ll grab the whole shelf.
“Dis one,” Quinn says, pulling on the spine of a blue paperback until it frees from the center of the pile.
