I stop immediately and pull Livy to a standstill too. “Shi—shoot.” I really need to stop swearing so much. “Livy. We mighthave to go shopping first, I don’t know if your father has food here.”
“Oh, he sure does. He has a pantry, you know.”
My eyebrows shoot up. He does?
“Look,” Livy tugs me to a hidden door next to the fridge and opens a whole new room. It’s stuffed with food, cans, batteries, filled little plastic containers like… like a little store, and I think my mouth falls to the floor.
“Daddy keeps the chocolate chips up there.” She points to one of the top shelves. “Because otherwise I eat them all. Which is totally not fair because they’re chocolate chips and that’s what they’re for.But you know, they are so bad for our health.” She mimics his tone on the last sentence, and her matter-of-fact delivery makes me laugh.
“Sound, legal reasoning. You’d make a good lawyer.”
“That’s what you are,” she says, snatching a carton of eggs. “A really good one.”
I scratch my neck. Weeeeelll… after the stunt I pulled yesterday, I’m not so sure anymore. I might be the worst lawyer there is.
“I try to be.”
I reach for the chocolate chips and notice the flour. I grab that too with some sugar and baking soda. All there. Wow. If only everything in life would be this easy. “Though I usually argue about more complicated things than chocolate chip access rights.”
“Like me,” she says. “You argued about me.”
I freeze with my hand on the vanilla extract. For all her apparent adjustment to the situation, Livy understands more than anyone gives her credit for.
“Yes,” I say finally, deciding honesty is the best approach. “But that part’s over now. We won. You get to stay with your dad.”
She relaxes visibly. “Forever?”
“That’s the plan.” I leave the pantry and put it all on the counter. “Now, are you going to help me with these pancakes or what?”
The moment passes, and she climbs onto a counter stool at the island, eager to assist. She doesn’t know where her father stowed all the things we need for the pancakes, so I just search each cabinet until I have it all ready. But I’m a bit shocked since everything is so freaking clean. Colton will hate me. I’m a mess. I’m clumsy and if I’m tired, I lie down… shit. Living together is going to be complicated.
Baking with Livy is easy though.
I measure flour while she counts and pour milk while she stirs. When I let her crack the eggs, she does it with such intense concentration that her tongue sticks out from between her teeth. Some shell gets in the batter. Neither of us mention it and I quickly pick it out.
“More chocolate chips,” she instructs as I fold them in.
“Your dad might object to chocolate soup for breakfast.”
“He argues but he can’t really say no to me,” she informs me with supreme confidence.
I laugh again. “I’ve noticed that.”
It’s true. For all his intimidating physical presence and the fierce competitiveness that makes him a hockey star, Colton is clay in his daughter’s hands. I’ve watched him cave to requests for extra stories, one more dessert, five more minutes of playtime. Only on matters of her safety does he become immovable. But he didn’t get to see her often until now, so I understand. He wants to spoil her.
I’m pouring the first pancake onto the griddle when it hits me again. This is my life now. Making pancakes on a Saturday morning with a child who isn’t mine, waiting for a husband who isn’t my husband to wake up. Two months ago, I was living inmy apartment with Matthew, ignoring the signs of our failing relationship, working sixty-hour weeks. Now I’m standing in an Upper East Side kitchen with a wedding band on my finger and pancake batter on my shirt. I guess this will happen a lot over the next couple of days—me standing somewhere and realizing what the actual fuck I got myself into.
“You’re making them wrong,” Livy says, peering critically at the griddle. “Daddy makes shapes. Hearts and stuff.”
“Ah,” I nod seriously. “I’m more of a structural engineer when it comes to breakfast foods. Round and sturdy.”
“I take what I can get,” she declares.
“Does your daddy cook often?”
“Yes. He loves to cook but it’s usually allhealthy and boring. Sometimes I get the good stuff though!”
I flick a tiny bit of batter at her nose. She looks shocked for a moment, then delighted.
