“Wow. You didn’t even have to ask, and she’s rolling over for you,” I said.
He grinned.
We made our way into the kitchen where shopping bags littered the kitchen table. “Did you buy everything in the store?” I asked my daughter. She giggled.
“Stacy said we needed at least ten eggs per kid, and there will be twenty kids at my party, so that means two hundred eggs.”
“That’s a lot of eggs,” Brady said.
“See what you got yourself into?” I told him. “Last chance to back out.”
I met his gaze over the bags, and he didn’t look away.
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
We continued to stare at each other for a moment. The air heavy. Expectation mixed with the caution I still felt.
“Why don’t the two of you get everything opened and sorted while I make dinner?” I suggested.
He nodded and started pulling the party supplies from the bags. Hannah helped him, chatting away about why she’d picked pretzels and Goldfish over candy. I mixed the meat substitute with the taco seasoning. Nothing gourmet from me. I got by with the basics.
We ate dinner, filled plastic eggs, and Hannah and Brady started a debate over ABBA and Journey.
“Have you even seenMama Mia?” Hannah asked with disgust.
Brady laughed. “Of course I have.”
“Does Journey have a musical with all of their songs?” she asked, and I wanted to choke back tears and laughter because those were my grandmother’s words coming out of her.
Brady let his smile slip away and, with a grave face, said, “I see your point.”
She nodded, happy to think she’d convinced him of the greatness that was ABBA.
At seven thirty, I sent Hannah up to get washed up.
“Can Brady come see my room tonight?” she asked.
My eyes found his again. His flashed at me, unspoken words. Not walking away. Not backing out. “Sure.”
She jumped up and down, the beads on her shawl banging together and her bangs bouncing as she moved. She skipped toward the stairs with Molly on her heels as always. Brady and I followed her. In her room, she ran to the keyboard first, turning back to the doorway and Brady.
“Mommy bought this for me when I turned four. It doesn’t sound as nice as the piano at Grams’ store, but I can practice here whenever I want.”
“And how often is that?” he asked.
“A lot,” I said, lips quirking.
Brady moved to the center of the room, spinning slowly, taking it all in, and I tried to see it through his eyes. Peace signs made with rainbows, maroon velour, and a lava lamp that wasn’t turned on. My daughter had been born in the wrong decade.
“Wow,” Brady said, eyes twinkling as he smiled at me and then Hannah. “Did you do all this yourself?”
Hannah turned on the lava lamp. It was one of her most prized possessions. “Don’t be silly. I’m way too little. Grams and Mommy did it, but they let me pick most of it out.”
“Peace signs. Top hats. Velour. You belong at Woodstock,” he teased.
Hannah frowned. “What’s Woodstock?”
“It was a festival, like the one Grams puts on, where bands came and played,” I told her, and her face broke into a smile.
