I swung her around before setting her back on the step.
“If you are going to eat oatmeal again, I’m insisting you add something fun to it,” I told her.
She frowned at me. “What do you mean?”
“Your choice. Chocolate syrup, caramel syrup, or strawberry jam,” I told her.
“None of that is healthy. Cassidy would agree with me,” she said.
I exchanged a look with my best friend. “But Cassidy also told you that you had to have fun with your food even if it meant something unhealthy. At least once a day, remember,” I told her.
“Fun, huh?” Stacy said with a smile. “Did someone else have fun last night?”
I ignored her as I opened the fridge and held out the three containers for my daughter to choose from. One thing had come out of my sweet kiss with Brady and the hours of reflection last night: I was determined my daughter would find her way back to the joy she’d had before Grams had died. I was determined to have her shed her fear of health issues and start playing the piano more. She was not going to be afifty-year-old five-year-old. Not on my watch. Darren would hate that more than he’d hate me kissing another man.
I swallowed hard.
“Pick,” I told her.
I knew which one she was going to choose before she did because, in her mind, the strawberry jam was at least fruit-based. She pointed at the red jar with a finger.
“Can I have chocolate in mine?” Kiran asked.
“Me too!” Jalissa shouted. The girl had one volume. Loud.
I put the containers on the kitchen table while I dug out bowls and spoons for them. Stacy moved to the coffee machine, making a whole pot as if she knew from just seeing me that I was going to need it to get through the day.
“Where’s the rest of the herd?” I asked, referring to the little group of kids Stacy was homeschooling and the fact that it was only Friday.
“Did someone get their brain cells kissed out of them? It’s officially spring break,” she said.
My hand paused, not just her words about kissing stalling me, but also the realization we were already at spring break. How had that happened? It meant Easter and Hannah’s birthday were both only a week away. We’d been making plans for the party that included bunnies and eggs and a scavenger hunt. But I had a boatload to do before the day arrived. I needed to kick my butt into gear.
Stacy and I helped the kids with their sugar-coated oatmeal and then sent them out into the backyard to play while we cleaned up the mess. We left the screen door open so we could see and hear them. Inside the house, it was quiet. Comfortable. Something I was used to with Stacy, reminding me of how lucky I was to have her.
“So. What’s next on the school reno?” I asked.
“Don’t you dare,” she said, waving the pan she was drying at me. “You need to spill the beans. What is happening with you and the country-rock star?”
“Nothing. What could possibly be happening?” I said, but I didn’t meet her eyes.
“He just forked out a half a million dollars for the festival,” she pushed.
“For Grams,” I said, stalling, even if it was true.
We took our coffees and made our way to the back porch.
The kids were climbing all over the giant play structure Grams had bought and installed for Hannah. It had swings, slides, monkey bars, and a turret with a playroom at the top of it. Hannah had her head out the window, her top hat held with one hand and the beads of her shawl swaying as she told Kiran something. He was on the ground, looking up at her with a goofy smile. I wanted to paint it. To put it down in color and form. The joy so clearly spreading through both of them.
“Hannah said she played the piano for him,” Stacy said quietly.
I nodded. “It was… overwhelming. He’s overwhelming.”
She didn’t say anything, waiting for me to process things just like she was good at waiting for the kids to process what she taught them at school. She never answered her own questions, even if they stalled. She let them muddle through until something hit them, right or wrong.
“Do you believe in an afterlife?” I asked her.
I’d gone to church with Grams, but it had been more for her than me. Growing up, we hadn’t been a Sunday-service kind of family. Jin had told me once that he and Stacy believed in pieces of many different religions, coming from their own interracial families and now raising interracial children.
