“Come on.” I gesture toward the registers. “Let’s go check out.”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“If there’s a possibility of getting snowed-in, we need comfort food.”
I grin, amused. “Comfort food?”
“You know. Chocolate. Chips. Popcorn. Stuff like that.”
I nod emphatically. “Now you’re talking my love language.”
I stiffen a bit. I didn’t mean it the way it came out. It wasn’t my intention to drop the ‘L’ word in any way, shape, or form.
Oddly, though, she doesn’t bristle or pull away. She laughs. “I’m glad you think so. Because during Winter Storm Fern, I ate my weight in Kit Kats, Ruffles, and Orville Redenbacher. Oh, and wine. Lots and lots of wine.”
I join her laughter, thoughts of us holed up at home, eating and drinking our way through a blizzard, taking root. I release her hand only long enough to get a second basket from the depository at the end of the aisle. “What are we waiting for, let’s load up.”
~ ~ ~
My arms are like Jell-O when we finally walk into my house just after eight pm. I purposefully gave Kenna the bags with bread and chips, and I took the heavy ones, weighed downwith wine and veggies. As we’re putting our bounty away in the pantry, I glance outside and notice a few snowflakes dancing in the floodlights. Pumping my fists would seem adolescent, so I keep my elation to myself. Besides, it’s going to take a lot more than flurries to keep her here.
“I’ll go get the kids,” she says, after rummaging through my cabinets to find a vase for the flowers we picked up from the park bench on the way back.
I hold up a bottle. “I’ll open the wine.”
Ten minutes later, when the three return, I’ve got bowls of snacks laid out. Kenna eyes them. “Those are supposed to be for if we actually get snowed in.” She sees the deck of cards on the table. “And what’s that for?”
“Slapjack.” I draw near and whisper, “If this is really our last night together, I plan on making it count.”
Her lips curve into a smile, and I wonder if she’s thinking what I am—that I’m planning on making tonight, especiallylatertonight, a night neither of us will ever forget.
“Slapjack! Yay!” Amelia squeals.
An hour later, I find myself laughing and shaking my head. Because while I had intended this to be a game fortwo, somehow having all four of us play has made this night even better.
“Time for bed, sweetie,” Kenna declares when Amelia looks like she can barely keep her eyes open.
We’ve kept her up way past her bedtime.
“I can’t walk, Mommy. My legs are too tired.”
I hop out of my seat and crouch down next to Amelia. “Hop on, pumpkin.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Kenna says.
“I want to,” I say, looking into her eyes. “I really really want to.”
I give Amelia a piggyback ride down the stairs and deposit her onto Kenna’s bed.Since when did it become hers?
“See you later, alligator,” I say.
“After a while, crocodile,” Amelia replies sleepily.
Before I leave, I turn to Kenna and whisper, “Seeyoulater, alligator?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
