Jonah bursts into giggles. He watches her mix the batter, offering running commentary.Too much vanilla. Actually maybe more vanilla. Is that enough blueberries? That's definitely not enough blueberries.
Sadie takes all of it with natural patience. She adds more blueberries. She lets him stir, even though half of it sloshes over the side of the bowl. She shows him how to tell when the pan is hot enough, holding his small hand carefully near but not too near the surface to feel the warmth coming off it.
She's going to be an incredible teacher.
Some kid in New York is going to walk into her classroom in September and have no idea how lucky they are.
I pour myself a second cup of coffee I desperately need. Hell, it’s more like my fifth.
We eat at the kitchen table with the back door open, the summer morning coming in with the smell of wildflowers and warm earth. Jonah eats his T-rex head first, with glee. Sadie eats with her knees pulled up in her chair, the way she always does when she's comfortable.
This is it. This is the whole thing, right here. The life I didn't know I was missing until she showed up.
When Jonah slides off his chair and disappears into the yard on a mysterious mission of his own, the kitchen goes quiet again. I stand up and start tidying up.
As I put the dishes in the sink, I say, casually as I can, “By the way, Dad wants us all at Rosemont for family dinner next Saturday night. You don’t have to come. I mean, I know it’s your day off. I just thought I’d pass along the invitation.” I’m running my mouth, weirdly nervous. “And it’d mean a lot to have you there. To Jonah. And to me.”
Suddenly there’s a soft, sweet-smelling, redhead in my arms. Hugging me. My arms wrap around her automatically. I can feel every curve of her through the thin cotton robe. She feels perfect.
I don’t know what I did to deserve this hug, but I’m taking it.
“I’d love to come,” she mumbles against my chest. “I’ve never… I’ve never been part of a big family dinner like that.”
Oh, fuck. Of course she hasn’t, not with her family. All those big family dinners I always took for granted, that’s something special for her.
“Fair warning, you're in for a lot of noise and not enough elbow room,” I murmur, my hand stroking gently up and down her spine. “My brothers will talk over each other the whole time. Dad will try to feed you enough food for a week. Jonah will want you to sit next to him all night.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
She pulls away a little bit, hands still on my chest as she peers up at me with those big blue eyes. Taking a deep breath, she says, “Last night, what you said about waiting. Finding the right person. It was good advice. You were right.”
“Yeah.” I scowl. “Don't remind me.”
The look on my face must really be something, because she giggles.
It turns into a laugh, bright and helpless, like I've said the funniest thing she's heard all week. Like we do this every Sunday. Like this is just us.
Maybe it is.
I try to hold the scowl. Can't quite manage it.
She laughs harder.
I give up. The grin comes anyway, and I let it, because here's the thing about Sadie Sullivan: she's the only person I've met who can take the worst morning I've had in months and make it feel like the best one.
Without doing anything except standing in my kitchen on a Sunday morning. Laughing at my misery.
I would be annoyed about that if I weren't so weirdly fucking happy about it instead.
“Sorry,” she says, still smiling, not sorry at all. “You just look like you’re suffering.”
“I am,” I mutter. “Fucking mightily.”
In so many ways.
I’ve had her in my arms this whole time, and now, to my great displeasure, she slips away.
“Give me one second,” she says.
