I took a sip, trying to process the responsibility of a dog while managing everything else in my life.
“I’ll make a deal with you, buddy. When you’re old enough to walk the dog on your own, I promise I’ll get you one just like Fenway.”
“How old is that?” he asked. While Emily checked the temperature of the cupcakes on the cooling rack, Ben set Fenway on the island, running his hand up and down the dog’s spine. “’Cause I’m ready to walk.”
“Not for several more years.” I chuckled.
“Ugh.” He pouted. “That’s not fair.”
Emily’s arm went around his shoulders. “Dad just wants to make sure you’re going to pick up after the dog. You know, like when it goes potty outside.” Emily squeezed him, and he laughed. “You can’t leave it out there, you have to put it in a bag.”
“I have to pickitup?” His eyes went wide as he watched me nod. “Ewww.”
“Do you still want a dog?” I asked him.
He shrugged. “Maybe a fish.”
I laughed even harder. “That, we can do, buddy.”
“Ben, I need you to do me a favor.” Emily dipped a spoon into the bowl of frosting that they had just finished beating in my mixer. “I want you to taste this and, in your expert frosting opinion, tell me if it needs anything.”
He took the spoon and touched the glob at the end with his tongue. “Mmmm.”
She faced him. “It’s good?”
“It’ssooogood!”
“Does it need anything? Maybe a bit more vanilla?”
He put the whole spoon in his mouth, and with the metal still between his teeth, he replied, “It’s extra perfect! I want to eat the whole bowl.”
“The whole bowl?” Emily smiled. “Well, we can’t have you do that, or you’ll get another wicked stomachache. How about we frost these cupcakes and then you can have one?”
Ben’s nod was exaggerated. “Yay!”
She scooped some of the frosting into a bag that had a metal tip and handed it to Ben. “You’re up, mister. Your job is to frost all three of these.” She had placed the cupcake bases on a plate in front of him.
“I’m doingallof them? Wow.”
“All of them, yes. Let me show you. You’re going to aim the tip like this”—she moved his hands toward the bases, placing the tip against the cake—“and squirt. When you’re happy with how much frosting it has, you move on to the next one. Sound easy?”
“Yep! Then we get to sprinkle?”
“You sure do.” She pointed at the three bowls in the middle of the island. “We have lots of different kinds of sprinkles. Even ones that are shaped like dinosaurs.”
“Socoool.” Ben began to swirl the frosting over a vanilla base, Emily holding the bottom of the cake so it wouldn’t move. “This one is for me. I want it to be as tall as the ceiling!”
“How about we stick to triple the frosting, like the ones I sent you?”
“More!”
I took another drink of my scotch, smiling as soon as I pulled the glass away. Emily was a natural. She needed no warming up—she was already so in tune to Ben and what he needed. Ben took to her immediately, holding her hand when we went skating, talking to her while Denis drove us, walking next to her as we entered and left the arena. He wanted Emily to cut his steak at dinner and to squirt the ketchup on his plate. And now, watching them make Ben’s favorite dessert, my chest was fucking pounding.
The accidental run-in had worked out just the way it was supposed to.
Emily needed to be in my son’s life.
For Ben.
