16. Aubrey
Chapter 16
Aubrey
I wake up in my childhood twin bed with a big yawn and pat the bed next to me for Raine. She’s not there. After a trip to the bathroom, I pad down the hallway on my way to the living room, waving to Mom on her stationary bike as I go.
In the living room, the couch is empty, other than a neatly folded blanket and pillow stacked to one side of it. No Caleb.
A cute giggle reaches me from the next room, the kitchen. So, that’s where I go next.
When I arrive in the doorway, my father, Caleb, and Raine—the little one standing on a chair next to towering Caleb—are in the midst of whipping up breakfast with enthusiasm. While Caleb supervises Raine, who’s mixing something in a bowl at the counter, Dad stands at the stove on one crutch, manning the griddle. All three backs are facing me, so I lean my shoulder against the door jam and take in the heartwarming scene.
“I had no idea you could mash up bananas to put into the batter,” Caleb says to Dad .
“It’s so much better than slicing bananas and putting them on top,” Dad replies. “Rainey loves it this way.”
“I luh it,” Raine confirms.
“And I love you ,” Dad retorts.
I grin. That’s a classic Dad-ism. Any time I’ve ever said I love anything in this world, big or small, he always shoots back, “And I love you.” It’s lovely to watch my father getting to pour his love into another little girl. Also, to know Caleb is watching him, and, hopefully, learning the tricks of the trade from the best.
“Banana pancakes are actually Rainey’s second favorite,” Dad explains to Caleb. To Raine, he says, “Tell Coobie your favorite kind of pancakes, Rainey.”
“Chocky chip!” she answers proudly, still stirring whatever’s in her plastic bowl.
“Make a note of it, Coobie,” Dad says. “One day soon, you’ll be in charge of the pancake-making.”
“Got it,” Caleb says. “We’ll make sure to buy plenty of chocolate chips, the next time we go to the store.”
I smile again. We. It was a small word, and perhaps it meant nothing. But Caleb’s use of it makes me think he’s surrendered to the reality that, at least for the next three weeks, wherever he roams, he’ll always be a “we.”
“Yummmm,” Raine purrs.
“Oh my goodness,” Dad says. “Did you taste the batter, you little sneak?”
Raine squeals with delight, giving herself away, and all three break into happy guffaws.
“Okay, my little chef de partie ,” Dad says to Raine, once his laughter subsides. “Let’s see if you’re done mixing.” To Caleb, he explains. “That means pastry chef in French.” Dad worked in fast food as a teenager. Apparently, he got the bright idea to assign everyone in the kitchen a fancy title, the same ones assigned in the fanciest French restaurants, and he’s been tossing out the verbiage ever since. With no hint of an actual French accent, by the way.
“Good?” Raine asks Caleb, looking up at him expectantly.
“Yup. Great job. Wait a minute, is that a finger-sized hole in there? That looks suspiciously like a Raine- sized finger hole to me!”
The trio breaks into happy guffaws again.
“It me!” Raine says gaily, and the trio cracks up, once again.
I clutch my heart. Is there a better sound in this world than a child belly laughing? If so, I haven’t discovered it yet.
“Okay, team,” Dad says. “Let’s make some batter with blueberries in it now. Grammy and Auntie Aubbey both love blueberry pancakes the most.”
“Yum,” Raine murmurs.
“Really?” Dad says. “I thought blueberry is your third favorite.”
“Tird,” Rainey confirms.
“But it’s still worthy of a yum ?” Dad asks, laughing.
“Yummm, ” Raine replies, with extra gusto, and the trio laughs together again.
“Can you hold up three fingers?” Dad asks Raine.
When she tries, and fails, Caleb maneuvers her little fingers to help her out. It’s a small thing, I know, the way Caleb’s massive, tattooed hands look while gently moving Raine’s little fingers into place. But it’s enough to send my heart beating in an irregular rhythm.
“There you go,” Caleb coos. He rustles Raine’s blonde hair. “Okay, chef party .” He looks at Dad. “Chef party?”
“ Chef de partie .”
Caleb returns to Raine. “Hold tight onto the counter, chef de partie , while I get the blueberries from the fridge. Hold tight now. Good girl.” With Raine’s palms laid flush on the counter, Caleb turns toward the refrigerator and immediately discovers me standing in the doorway with my hands on my chest and moisture in my eyes.
He shoots me an excited grin. One I’d caption, Do you see how great it’s going ? But before an actual word is exchanged, Dad calls out something to Raine, with his back facing me and his eyes on the griddle, that instantly commands my full attention.
“Hey Rainey, did you know Coobie is your daddy ?”
At Dad’s question, Caleb’s eyes go wide and my jaw drops. Shit. I never would have introduced that concept to Raine this early on. For all we know, Caleb isn’t going to stick around until the custody hearing in a month, let alone for the rest of his natural life. Did Dad consult Mom before revealing that shocking bit of news to Raine? Mom is the school counselor in this family. The expert who’s read books on child psychology and development. So, she’s the one who should lead the charge on when and if Raine finds out Caleb’s identity.
“Rainey dadda?” Raine asks, looking at Caleb, who looks deeply tongue-tied.
“Yep,” Dad says breezily, still facing away. “Caleb is Rainey’s daddy, just like I’m Auntie Aubbey’s daddy.”
Crap. If Dad’s going rogue here and introducing this concept without Mom’s blessing, this could end badly for poor Raine. “Hey, Dad,” I blurt, my voice tight. “Maybe let’s not?—”
“Good morning, Shortcake!” Dad bellows happily. “Coffee’s made. Blueberry pancakes on the way. Is Mom still on her bike?”
“Yeah. Can I speak to you for a minute in private? ”
“Can’t right now, honey.” Dad motions to the griddle full of pancakes. “The executive chef of the team—that’s me—” He winks at Raine. “Can’t fall down on the job.”
“Dadda, dadda, dadda,” Raine sings, shaking her little booty, as she continues gripping the counter, as instructed; but it’s not clear if she’s singing the word as a simple earworm or if she’s specifically calling Caleb the moniker.
“That’s right,” Dad replies smoothly. “Coobie’s Rainey’s dadda.” He winks at Caleb, who’s still standing stock-still at the refrigerator with the door wide open. “Hey, sous chef . That’s you, Coobie. Get those blueberries and shut the door already. Electricity is expensive.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Caleb follows instructions, but it’s obvious he’s not thinking about pancakes any longer. On the contrary, he’s clearly bursting with excitement about this unexpected turn of events.
“Now go ahead and measure out another batch of ingredients for the chef de partie to mix up,” Dad instructs. “Let’s get some blueberry pancakes into the assembly line.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, chef.”
“Yes, chef.” Caleb returns to Raine, where he slides a protective arm around her again and does as he’s told. But through it all, he keeps glancing at me, like he’s awaiting my reaction.
Finally, when it’s clear I’m at a loss for words, Caleb says to Raine, “Just so you know, you can keep calling me Caleb or Coobie.”
“Or Dadda,” Dad chimes in.
“Whatever you want to call me is okay.”
Dad chuckles. “You can even call him Coobie Dooby Doo, if you want. You know, like Scooby Dooby Doo?”
Raine laughs uproariously. She’s watched that cartoon, I think; but surely, she’s simply laughing at Dad’s silly inflection, rather than understanding the pun.
“Coobie Dooby Doo,” Caleb echoes. “I like that.”
“Coobie doo doo,” Raine tries, and everyone laughs.
“Hey, I think my daughter just call me poop!” Caleb teases, and Raine screams with laughter, causing the rest of us, even me, to laugh, too.
“Okay, team,” Dad says. “The executive chef is ready for some more batter and blueberries. Chef de partie —that’s you, Rainey—do you have some more batter for me?”
Raine tries to pick up her plastic bowl to show him, but in doing so, she knocks over a coffee mug sitting nearby.
“Uh oh!” Raine says sheepishly, her big eyes widening. “It thpilled.”
“No worries,” Caleb says, as I say something similar.
I dart toward a drawer to grab a towel, but Caleb beats me to the punch by grabbing a nearby paper towel. After mopping up the spill, Caleb places his large, inked hand on Raine’s head and says. “Don’t worry, party chef. We all make mistakes. I sure do. All that matters is you keep your cool, fix the mistake if possible, and keep going. Right, Auntie Aubbey?”
My heart skips a beat. “That’s right.”
Warmth oozes into my core. I’m not sure what spell has been cast on Caleb, or if it will last, but it’s clear he’s undergone some kind of metamorphosis overnight.
“Auntie Aubbey!” Raine calls to me. She pokes Caleb’s forearm. “Dis Coobie Dadda. Dadda clean up. Dis dadda.”
Caleb’s chest expands and freezes that way. Did she just call him Daddy? It’s hard to say. But it certainly felt that way. Shit. If it turns out Mom thinks it was a bad idea for Dad to reveal Caleb’s identity to Raine this soon, we’re clearly not going to be able to stuff this genie back into the bottle.
“Yup,” I choke out. “Dadda cleaned it up for you. Because that’s what nice daddies do.”
“Dadda, dadda, dadda,” Raine sings out, as she happily shakes her little tush and mixes the contents of her bowl.
“I’ll, uh, tell Mom breakfast is ready,” I murmur, before turning from the doorway and bolting across the living room on rubbery legs.
When I get to Mom, I tell her everything that just transpired in the kitchen.
“You don’t seem happy about this,” Mom observes.
“I’m wary. What if Caleb doesn’t make it to the custody hearing, and then Raine feels like she’s lost her daddy on top of losing her mommy?”
Mom smiles. “I think this is a chicken-egg kind of situation. Would I have done it this way? No. But I have to think Raine learning to accept Caleb as her daddy will only strengthen the bond and motivate Caleb to keep going, even more.”
“So, you think it’ll be a good thing, in the end?” I squeak out.
“I do. I think it’ll be a great thing. The best thing.” She chuckles. “Your father isn’t right about everything, God knows. But about this one thing? I think he was exactly right.”