Me:Good luck, Katy
Mentally pushing my frustration away, I headed back toward the house.
When I got back inside, MJ had already turned on some music, and she and Vicky were bopping their heads to the beat as she opened the cans of paint. Thirty minutes later, we all received our job assignments. As MJ's KidzBop playlist provided much-needed energy, we quickly finished the painting job. Matthew had taped the baseboards and ceiling on the walls that still needed paint, so we decided, for the sake of time, to just paint the walls and leave the trim for them when they returned.
A few times, MJ and Vicky would burst into song whenever something they both loved came on, using their rollers as microphones and dancing around. I discreetly took a few photos of them to keep as a memento. Their exaggerated faces, closed eyes, and funny stances while they sang something I think was from Taylor Swift about never getting back together made my battered heart enjoy the moment.
Three hours later, we were cleaning everything up when MJ announced it was s’mores time. We had discovered that Vicky had never had one, so MJ wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
I had to force Vicky outside by the firepit in the backyard and away from trying to push the furniture back into place, promising I could do it the next morning. Once everything was gathered, MJ was giving Vicky a lesson in the proper way to roast a marshmallow.
“Why don’t you just stick it in the fire one time and let it burn then blow it out,” Vicky asked, watching my daughter skewer the sticky orb.
MJ’s mouth opened wide in horror. “Vicky. That’s, ah, you just can’tdothat. You have to take your time turning and turning to get it the perfect golden color on all sides.”
I pinched the inside of my cheeks to keep from laughing. With a marshmallow on her skewer, Vicky obediently placed it over the fire, listening to MJ’s constant instructions.
“Kiddo, let Vicky find what’s the best way to do her own s’mores. Everyone has to experiment til they find what they like most,” I said, tactfully trying to appeal to her scientific mind. She bobbed her head side to side in thought.
“You’re right, Daddy. Vicky, I’ll show you my way, then you do your own hypothesis. How’s that?”
“That’s perfect. I’ll do my best,” she said with a dutiful expression.
Appeased, MJ continued to turn her skewer slowly, just as I had taught her years ago.
I’m a tech nerd and this way was just logical.
When Vicky shivered from a cool breeze, I quickly got up to grabsomething for her. When I got back, she and MJ were chatting about a book series MJ had read in school. Vicky’s eyes flicked up to mine when I approached, holding my hoodie in one hand and wearing a smirk. Her lips pressed together to hide a smile as she carefully took it from me, nodding in thanks.
MJ was carefully constructing her first s’more after having gotten her marshmallow perfectly roasted, concentrating hard, her conversation abandoned.
“What, no baseball cap?” Vicky teased as I sat across from her, picking up my skewer.
“Got tons of them if you’d like one.” I accidentally bumped her marshmallow in the fire and they stuck together, making her giggle.
“Shoot. Sorry,” I said, pulling mine away and watching the sticky goo pull apart from hers.
“I think mine is perfect now,” Vicky declared. MJ showed her how to slide it off onto the melting chocolate and graham crackers. Her first bite was met with a sound of delight as she declared with a mouthful that it was perfection.
“Great! Now make another one!” MJ said, already getting her next marshmallow ready. I guess I’d passed on my quick eating habits to her.
“No, oh, my. That was plenty for me,” Vicky said, wiping the chocolate from her chin.
“Are you sure? Sheesh, I’ve never seen anyone be able to eat just one,” MJ said. I could see Vicky looking at the setup, her desire to have more evident, her face conflicted.
“Kiddo, if Vicky doesn’t want another one, don’t be pushy. Not all of us are cookie monsters like you,” I teased, hoping it helped ease Vicky’s tension. She nodded her thanks and pulled a pillow from the patio set over her lap.
The three of us talked about MJ’s new school and how much she missed her friends, something she and Vicky shared. I appreciated how Vicky validated MJ’s feelings while still encouraging her about the new adventure they were both on.
An hour later, the sugar rush and unexpected hard work had taken its toll on my sweet daughter, and she fell asleep leaning on me way earlier than usual for a summer evening.
“I should wake her up to take a shower,” I said, watching her chest rise and fall. There were a few specks of the light-gray paint on her cheek that made me smile. She looked like an angel when she slept.
“One night won’t hurt her. Let her do it in the morning,” Vicky pleaded, standing up from her seat and helping me take off MJ’s paint-splattered tennis shoes. When I lifted her tiny body into my arms, Vicky stopped me, placing her hand on my forearm, then leaning down to kiss her on the forehead with a wide smile. “She smells like a campfire and sugar.”
The moment was so domestic, one I’d dreamed of having with Katy for many years, that it stole my breath away. Afraid to speak, I nodded and carried her to her room. Covering her with her favorite purple blanket, I turned on her sound machine to the ocean wave setting, watching her shell nightlight turn on as I turned off her lamp.
Taking a fortifying breath, I stepped back outside. Having Vicky here again had done weird things to my system. The fire was dying but still crackled, with pinecones we had added earlier popping in the fading flames. Vicky smiled as she watched it, her hands disappearing into the arms of my large hoodie. Her legs were bent back beside her, and at that moment, I wondered why she couldn’t be mine. Mine and MJ’s.
