Chapter 34 – Phoenix
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The imaginary watermelon debacle
Phoenix
We sleep in late on Saturday morning, and I decide waking up with Jordie is something I’m becoming addicted to.
After a brunch of omelets and mimosas, my phone rings. Frowning when I see who’s calling, I answer.
Less than ten minutes later, I hang up and massage my forehead.
“What’s wrong with Lorraine?” Jordie asks, obviously having overheard my end of the conversation. She sets down Honey, who she’d been cradling in her arms.
“She has to have a knee replacement. Apparently the doctor told her she needed to do it last year, but she put it off. Then it went weak on her a couple days ago and she fell, so the doc recommended she get it done soon.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s fine now, but…”
Jordie catches on to my dilemma. “But that would put you without a nanny while she heals from surgery.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “Mostly I’m worried about Lorraine. She’s going to need help because her daughter, who lives in England, is pregnant and can’t come. And her son isn’t really someone she can count on.”
“I’m sure she can get a home health nurse.”
I nod. “I plan to set that up for her, but I don’t only want strangers taking care of her. I was thinking of asking my mom to help. They get along really well, and that would keep Lorraine from having to stay in an inpatient facility for rehab.”
Jordie leans back against the counter. “That sounds like a good idea if your mom agrees.”
“She will,” I say with confidence. “The only problem is Mom is my backup babysitter. I’ll have to hire someone till Lorraine gets back on her feet, but I hate having to do that. Last time I did nanny interviews it was a nightmare, and I almost pulled myself bald.”
Two curved lines appear between Jordie’s eyebrows. “When is the surgery?”
“Late December. She wants to get it done by the end of the year because she already has her deductible paid. I told her not to worry about that because I would take care of it, but I also don’t want her to put it off any longer and be in pain.
” My eyebrows inch together. “I guess I could take off work while Lorraine is recovering. Maybe work from home a bit?”
“Or I could watch Reece,” Jordie offers, dropping her gaze to the floor before lifting it back to my face. “If that’s not overstepping.” Her teeth worry her bottom lip as my mouth gapes open.
“You would do that? Don’t you want a break after your season is over?”
Her soft chuckle is music to my ears. “Trust me, not getting plowed over in practice every day would be a break.”
I run a hand over the top of my head, my mind wrapping around the possibility. I can’t find a single problem with the suggestion.
“If you don’t want me to, I understand,” Jordie adds quickly.
Shaking my head, I say, “No, I think it would be perfect. It would help me out with my situation, and Reece could get to know you better.” I step closer and run my hands down her arms. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
With a shake of her head, she winds her arms around my neck. “I want to do it.”
I drop my hands to her waist and grin. “And I want to do you.”
For the rest of the weekend, we do each other. Many, many times.
“Did you have fun with Nana?” I ask my daughter. It’s Sunday evening, and I just picked her up from my mother’s house.
“So much fun,” she chirps from the backseat. “What are we having for dinner? I’m hungry.”
“Spaghetti and meatballs,” I reply. “And I have a surprise for you when we get home.”
“Is it a real dragon?”
I laugh. My kid has been obsessed with dragons for a couple years. “Not a real dragon, but it’s the next best thing.”
We’d parked Jordie’s truck in my garage, and Reece spots it as soon as we pull in. “Is that Jordie’s truck?” Her voice is so high pitched with excitement, I’m surprised it’s even audible to the human ear.
“Why don’t you come in and see?”
As soon as I get my kiddo out of the vehicle, she barrels into the house and directly into her favorite person’s legs, almost knocking her over. I follow with her suitcase.
“Whoa, watch out there, little linebacker,” Jordie says, setting down the spoon she was using to stir the sauce so she can lift my daughter into her arms. “Did you have fun this weekend?”
Reece nods and tries to stifle a yawn. “I ate the biggest caramel apple ever and saw a movie about the ocean on a ginormous screen.”
“That sounds awesome. Are you tired?”
My daughter lies her ass off and shakes her head, even as another yawn stretches her mouth wide. “Nope, just hungry.”
We settle around the table in the informal dining room for spaghetti, meatballs, and garlic bread.
“This is really yummy, Jordie,” Reece says, beaming up at the woman who’s slowly capturing my heart.
“It is,” I agree, twirling the pasta around my fork.
By the time the meal is over, my daughter has yawned four more times. Wiping my mouth with my napkin, I say, “Reecie, why don’t we get you ready for bed?”
“But I’m not tired,” she whines in her most tired voice. “I wanted to make dessert for you and Jordie in my kitchen.”
Against my better judgement, I say, “Okay, but make something fast while we clean up the dinner dishes.”
She runs off upstairs, and Jordie gives me a questioning look. “Dessert?”
We both rise and begin clearing the dishes. “She has a play kitchen in her playroom and likes to pretend to make desserts. She actually makes a mean Dorito and mango pie.” At her wrinkled nose, I explain. “All Reece’s desserts are very creative and completely fictitious.”
“Thank god,” she giggles.
Ten minutes later, I go upstairs to check on my kid to find her in full meltdown mode.
“Reecie baby, what’s wrong?” I ask crossing to where she’s bawling her eyes out beside her little kitchen setup.
“D-d-daddy, I wanted to make a watermelon and Oreo cake, and I don’t have any watermelons,” she wails.
Aw, my poor baby is so tired, and it always breaks my heart to see her cry. I drop to the floor and pull her into my lap, pressing her cheek to my chest as she sobs about pretend ingredients for a pretend cake. Such is life with a preschooler sometimes.
Swaying us from side to side, I speak softly while I rub her hair. “We could just go to Hale Grocery and get you a watermelon,” I cajole. Hale Grocery is located in her closet, for the record.
“I already w-w-went, and they’re out of watermelons.” She’s so exhausted she’s not making any sense, so I continue to rock her, hoping she’ll get it all out of her system. That’s when I hear a knock against the doorframe and turn to see Jordie standing there.
I offer her an apologetic smile. She’s probably here to tell me she’s headed home. I wouldn’t blame her for running away from this nonsense meltdown, but she surprises me.
“Excuse me, madam,” she says in a funny, nasal voice.
Reece perks up, turning her tear-stained face to the pretty blonde who is walking into the room.
Jordie squats beside us and speaks directly to my daughter, still in that goofy voice. “I just opened a new store next door, but I haven’t had a single customer all day.” Her lips turn down in a frown. “I’m so afraid all our watermelons are going to go bad if I don’t have anyone to buy them.”
My kid hiccups and swipes the tears from her face as her eyes widen in awe. “I need a watermelon.”
Dramatically rolling her eyes in apparent relief, Jordie says, “Oh thank goodness. Would you like to come shop with me?” She holds out a hand, and Reece takes it, crawling off my lap to go to the “store.” This one is apparently in the hallway.
Pushing off the floor, I go to the door and lean against the frame as my two girls hold hands and choose fruits from the imaginary bins and shelves. My heart does a somersault in my chest at the sight. Jordie is so good with her.
Four minutes later, the cake is done—because my daughter’s baking skills defy the laws of physics—and we’re plopped on the polka-dot rug in Reece’s room.
Even Honey has a little pink plate, though she keeps sniffing around, apparently confused at the lack of actual food. Seriously, our cat has no imagination.
“Best cake ever,” I praise, pretending to shovel dessert into my mouth.
Jordie circles her pink plastic fork in the air. “I agree. It’s so moist.”
Reece beams, all traces of the previous sobbing fit now gone. Though I know I need to get her in bed soon or we risk another meltdown.
At Reece’s request, Jordie stays to help with the bedtime routine, pulling my daughter’s hair up and giving her a bath while I get her pajamas ready and unpack her suitcase. I’m used to doing everything myself, but this is nice. Very domestic.
And my heart can’t help but wish we could do this every night. As a team.
As a family.