“Fancy says, ‘I’m insecure and think sugar can buy love.’ Neon says ‘I’m fun, but I might not respect nap time,” he said. “Chocolate chip. Universal currency.”
“Got it.”
I hung up and stared at the bakery case for ten minutes like it was a high-stakes draft. I settled on a box of snicker doodles and two dozen chocolate chips. Half soft, half crispy. Back home, I lined everything up on the counter: cookies, toys, stickers.Don’t try too hard,Nate had said.
Right. That was the trick, wasn’t it? Show up. Don’t knock anything over. Don’t make this about me. Just be the guy who makes the kids laugh, and knows when to step back and let a mom be the expert.
I opened our message thread.
Me:Any allergies I should
know about?
Camille:No allergies. Zeke will
try to convince you he’s allergic
to broccoli. He isn’t.
Me:Noted. I’m bringing dessert.
May have gone overboard.
Camille:Overboard dessert sounds
like my love language.
Me:Thinking of bringing
something small for the kids.
Is that okay?
I waited, aware of all the ways this could go. Too much, too soon. Or maybe it landed the way I hoped: not a bribe, just a gesture.
Camille:That’s sweet. Nothing big, please.
We’re drowning in toys as it is.
Me:Small. I promise
Camille:Thank you. And… thank
you for asking.
The warmth in that last line went straight through me. Asking mattered. Not assuming mattered. I wanted to keep getting these things right.
I paced the apartment, the old floorboards creaking under my steps. Every now and then, my brain spits out a what-if:What if Zeke hates you? What if one twin cries every time you speak? What if you stand in the doorway with your hands full of cookies and suddenly forget how to smile like a human being?
I picked up the fox and squeezed it. It crinkled obligingly. “Polite noise,” I remembered. The fox made no promises.
My phone buzzed. Nate again.
Nate:Last tip: learn a kid joke.
Me:Like what?
Nate:Why did the cookie go to
