"You know how determined she is when she gets an idea in her head," Michael says.
I twist the napkin on my lap. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to make your life harder, Michael."
Seth's life? Making that more difficult is fun, but I have no interest in inconveniencing a man who lost his wife and is raising a child on his own.
Michael laughs softly and waves me off. "It's fine. I'm glad she has convictions. My wife, Val, was a vegetarian for years before she got pregnant. Then she started craving barbecue and never looked back."
Harmony looks up from the pancake she's devouring. "What was her favorite food of all time?"
Michael thinks that over for a while. "She loved peach cobbler. That was her favorite dessert. But she liked a lot of things: sushi, burritos, blueberry pancakes."
Harmony's face lights up. "I love those things, too! Except sushi. That's nasty."
"What about seaweed?" Michael says. "Your mom loved seaweed salad. I always said she was part mermaid."
Harmony wrinkles up her nose and says to her dad, "Are you serious? She ate seaweed?"
We all laugh, and he nods.
"Yeah, it's true."
I'm amazed at how comfortable they are as they talk about Harmony's mom. The way they're keeping Val alive for her daughter is beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time. After my mom walked out on us, we rarely spoke about her and when we did, it was never without awkwardness and pain. I was afraid that bringing her up would hurt Dad, and now that I'm an adult I can see that he probably felt the same way about me. Of course, my mom was alive, and I could still see her, when she made herself available. The pain of Harmony's situation is hard to fathom.
After breakfast, Michael, Seth and I help Harmony bring her belongings into the house. She's got enough luggage to stay for a month, and Michael explains that two of the three bags are filled with stuffed animals and toys. I carry in her pillow and quilted comforter, remembering how I had a favorite knitted blanket that I had to take on trips with me, too.
"I'm going to miss you, Daddy," she says as we climb the stairs to the bedrooms.
Michael smiles at her over his shoulder. "You'll have so much fun though. And we can talk every day, whenever you want."
"You can Facetime with him," I say. "I can show Pop how to do that on his computer or we can use my phone."
"I know how to use Facetime," Harmony says. "I'll teach Pop and Grammy."
There are five bedrooms in this old house, and Harmony gets to pick the one she wants for the week. She chooses what Renata calls the lilac room, which is decorated in soft lavender and white and has its own private bathroom. Michael stays to help her unpack, and Seth and I head downstairs to clean up the kitchen. Walking behind him provides me with an opportunity to check out his backside, but I force myself not to look. Except then I do.
"I can clean the kitchen by myself," I say.
Seth shakes his head. "Nope, I'll do it."
His tone implies that hanging out with me won't be pleasant, but he's an ex-Marine, and he made a commitment, dammit.
I grit my teeth. "Fine, we'll both do it."
Dad is still cleaning up in the kitchen when we return. He finishes clearing the table while Seth begins scraping, rinsing and stacking the plates on the counter. I take the top plate from his stack and slide it into the dishwasher, but I can feel his eyes boring into me. Not letting that stop me, I put in a few more dishes before I turn to look up at him. Sure enough, Mr. Frowny Face is looming over me.
"What? Am I not doing this right?"
I can tell he's struggling with whether or not to criticize me because he knows it's going to make him sound uptight. His fastidious nature wins the battle over his embarrassment.
"You can fit more in if you put all the plates together in the front.” He eyes the disarray of the dishes I've shoved into the machine.
I throw my hands up and step away from the dishwasher.
"Go for it. You load the dishwasher, and I'll do the hand washing."
I'm more amused than annoyed as I watch him go to work. Disorder is clearly his kryptonite.
"Thanks," he mumbles.
