“Yes. We had lunch and took a hike. Spent all afternoon talking. So, I stayed for dinner.”
“Sounds nice.”
I clear my throat to avoid sounding dreamy in any way. “It was nice. Nice to hang out with an adult.” I quickly change the subject. “I’m looking forward to our lunch tomorrow.”
“Me too. You can tell me all about yourfriend.”
“Or … not.” I walk toward my bedroom. “I’m going to change into my pajamas and call Mia.”
“Tell her Nana misses her. And Daddy. Tell her Daddy misses her.”
The dog. Sheesh. I’m not telling my daughter Daddy misses her—not when she’s with her actual daddy.
I change into pajamas and call Mia. She answers on the first ring. “I miss you, Mommy.”
“I miss you too. Is everything okay?”
“Everything is great!” she shouts really loudly. “Mommy?”
“Yeah?”
“Knock knock.” She’s yelling so loudly. Maybe there’s background noise.
“Who’s there?”
She shouts, “Ice cream!”
My answer comes through my laughter. “Ice cream who?”
Her voice is so loud I have to pull the phone away from my ear. “I scream because I love you!”
She busts up and I laugh along with her.
I hear Danny’s voice, “Mia, not so loud.”
“Sorry, Daddy,” she tells him. Then, in her indoor voice, she tells me, “Mommy, is it weird to have Daddy my daddy and Daddy my dog?”
“It really is,” I say, laughing again. And our laughter mingles like it does when she’s right here in our home.
“How is Daddy my dog?” she asks.
“He misses you. He’s just laying around like a mop rug.”
“Awwww.”
“You’ll see each other soon.”
“Yeah. I saw my cousins too.”
She goes on, telling me about her day. Then she yawns. “Tomorrow, Daddy is taking me to a real baseball game with all my cousins.”
“That sounds like fun.”
I search for a sting of jealousy and can’t find it. I’ve got plans too.
Mia yawns again. “I better get to sleep, Mommy.”
“Yeah. You better. I love you, Spike.”
