Tiny feet patter down the hallway, followed by a dramatic yawn and the unmistakable sound of someone already complaining.
“I don’t want bananas,” River announces, climbing onto a chair.
“You loved bananas last week,” I say.
“That was before,” he replies seriously.
I glance at Jess for backup, but she only smirks before disappearing down the hallway.
Traitor.
Myles snorts. “He doesn’t wanna go to preschool.”
River crosses his arms. “I do not.”
He absolutely does too. Alas it’s a rite we must all go through.
“Fine,” I say, grabbing another bowl. “We’ll make a new batch. No bananas.”
I’m cracking eggs when it hits me.
Why am I doing this alone?
River is sitting happily on his chair, swinging his feet. I walk over, lift him under the arms, and plop him right onto the counter. He squeals, laughing like we’re playing airplane.
I crouch to his height and say seriously, “Watch.”
Myles appears at my side immediately. “Can I watch too, Daddy?”
I lift him up beside his brother. “Yeah, buddy. You can.”
They stare with complete fascination as I mix the batter, like I’m performing some kind of magic trick.
I grab the raisins. “How much should we put in?”
“All of it!” River yells.
I chuckle. “How about you each grab a handful.”
They nod enthusiastically, reach in, and toss the raisins into the bowl like they’re casting a witch’s curse.
I won’t lie; this might be the most fun I’ve ever had making a meal.
We make an absolute mess but it’s totally worth it.
I herd both boys into the bathroom to wash up, and I’m pretty sure it’s not a coincidence that Jess reappears just as I finish cleaning. She steps back into the kitchen wearing gray pants, a purple top, and a jacket over it all. She spins once in front of me.
“Is this okay?”
I look at her nervous expression and know she isn’t really asking about the outfit.
I bite my lip, trying to figure out how to say the right thing.
Clearing my throat, I nod. “You look… very professional. Very bosslike. I’d totally take orders from you.”
She tilts her head, rolling her eyes. “Why are you sweating?”
I chuckle. “I’m not.” Then, quickly, “It’s the stove.”
