Chapter 20 - Nate
twenty
nate
Saturday morning found us in my kitchen, the kind of lazy domestic scene I'd never imagined having with anyone other than Paige.
Tasha was at the stove making pancakes while I packed Paige's lunch for a sleepover at her friend Zoe's house later.
Paige herself was sprawled at the kitchen table, supposedly doing math homework but mostly providing running commentary on everything we were doing.
"Dad, you're cutting the sandwich wrong," she informed me without looking up from her worksheet. "Zoe's mom cuts them diagonally. It tastes better that way."
"Ah yes, the scientific principle of diagonal sandwich superiority," I said, refolding the sandwich. "How could I forget?"
"You're so weird," Paige said, but she was grinning.
"Speaking of weird," Tasha added, flipping a pancake with unnecessary flair, "your daughter just asked me if I knew the difference between a numerator and a denominator. I told her I'm a nurse, not a mathematician."
"But you figured it out anyway," Paige said loyally. "You're smart."
I watched them interact, this easy back-and-forth that had developed over the past few months, and felt that familiar warmth in my chest. Paige had taken to Tasha in a way that still surprised me sometimes—not just accepting her presence in our lives, but actively seeking her out for everything from homework help to discussions about which hair products worked best.
"So," I said, settling at the table with my coffee, "big week coming up."
Paige's head snapped up from her math. "Five days until graduation!"
The excitement in her voice was infectious.
Fifth grade graduation (officially called "Fifth Grade Recognition Ceremony" by the school district) was apparently the social event of the year in Paige's world.
She'd been planning her outfit for weeks and practicing walking in a straight line without tripping, which she'd demonstrated for us approximately forty-seven times.
"I still can't believe you're going to middle school," Tasha said, bringing a stack of pancakes to the table. "When did you get so grown up?"
"I've always been this grown up," Paige said seriously. "You just didn't know me when I was little."
"Fair point," Tasha laughed.
As we ate breakfast, listening to Paige's detailed analysis of which of her classmates were most likely to trip during the ceremony (apparently Marcus Dawson was the odds-on favorite), an idea started forming in my mind.
Paige's graduation was next Friday. I'd been planning to take her somewhere special afterward, just the two of us like always.
But sitting here, watching Tasha help Paige with her math while stealing pieces of bacon from my plate, I realized I wanted something different this time.
I wanted to see how we'd work as a family.
"Hey," I said as Paige headed upstairs to get ready for her sleepover. "You have any plans for next weekend?"
Tasha looked up from loading the dishwasher, eyebrow raised. "Depends. Why?"
"Paige graduates Friday. I was thinking we could do something to celebrate. Like a weekend trip."
"What kind of trip?" Her tone was cautious, but I caught the hint of interest.
"Camping."
Her face went through several expressions in rapid succession—surprise, horror, then what looked like mild panic. "Camping!? Are you trying to kill me? My idea of roughing it is a hotel without room service. Bugs? Sleeping on the ground in a tent? Noooooo, thank you. Hard pass."
I started to explain, but Paige chose that moment to thunder back down the stairs, overnight bag in hand, apparently having developed supernatural hearing where the word "camping" was concerned.
"Did someone say camping?" Her eyes were wide with excitement. "Oh, please, Tasha! Camping would be so cool! We could make s'mores and tell ghost stories! Please?"
I watched Tasha's resolve crumble in real time as she looked from Paige's pleading face to mine, clearly realizing she was outnumbered by the Crawford family united front.
"Alright, alright," Tasha sighed dramatically. "How can I say no to that face? Besides, it's not every day someone graduates from fifth grade. But if I see a spider bigger than my thumb, I'm sleeping in the car. I guess I'll have to go buy industrial-strength bug spray... and maybe a hazmat suit."
"Actually," I said quickly, "I was thinking we could rent a cabin. At the campground. So, you know, technically camping for Paige, but with actual beds and plumbing. And air conditioning."
Tasha's relief was visible. "Oh, thank God. You had me picturing myself with a sleeping bag and a prayer."
Booking the two-bedroom beachside cabin made my wallet wince, and I saw Tasha raise an eyebrow when I mentioned the price later.
"Well," she'd said, "with that cabin price, looks like we're officially on a 'pack our own groceries and cook every meal' kind of vacation.
Hope you like my famous peanut butter and jelly, Paige. "
Paige was already bouncing on her toes. "Can we have a campfire? Can we roast marshmallows? Can we go swimming? Can we leave right after graduation?"
"All of the above," I promised,
"Perfect," Tasha said. "My ear infection should be completely gone by then, so I can actually enjoy the water."
I was already pulling up the campground website on my phone. "There's this place about three hours from here, right on the beach..."
The graduation ceremony itself was everything you'd expect from an elementary school production- adorable, endless, and featuring at least three kids who forgot which way to walk across the stage.
Paige looked impossibly grown up in her cap and gown, and when they called her name, I felt that familiar mix of pride and terror that came with marking time.
"She looks so mature," Tasha whispered beside me, and I realized she was feeling it too. This strange bittersweet pride in a child who wasn't technically hers but somehow had become ours to worry about and celebrate.
After the ceremony, Paige was so excited about our trip that she demanded we pack the car that very evening.
"We have to get there as early as possible," she insisted, dragging her suitcase down the hallway. "What if all the good spots are taken? What if we miss the sunrise? What if—"
"Breathe, kiddo," I said, but I was already helping her load beach supplies into the back of my SUV.
"Can you wake me up really early?" she asked Tasha. "Like, super early so we can get there first thing?"
Tasha looked at her with mock horror. "You want me to wake up at ER shift times on my day off?" She paused dramatically. "Only for you, kid. Only for you."
Saturday morning arrived with Paige knocking on my bedroom door at 6:30 AM sharp, fully dressed and ready to go. By the time I'd stumbled to the coffee pot, Tasha was already at my front door with an overnight bag and a travel mug that suggested she'd made peace with the early departure time.
"Morning, sunshine," she said, then stood on her toes to steal a quick kiss that tasted like coffee and made me considerably more awake.
"Ready for the great outdoors?" I asked.
"Define ready," she said, but she was smiling.
The drive took us along scenic back roads that wound through farmland and small towns, windows down, music playing. We'd somehow managed to create a compromise playlist that included Paige's pop favorites, Tasha's R&B, and my classic rock without anyone complaining too much.
About an hour into the drive, we passed a massive cornfield that stretched to the horizon.
"Wow," I said, gesturing toward the endless rows. "Just look at all that corn. It's a-maize-ing!"
The silence in the car was profound.
"Dad," Paige said finally, "that was terrible."
"I thought it was pretty good," I protested.
"It was corn-y," Tasha added, then immediately looked horrified at herself. "Oh no. It's contagious."
"Ugggghhhhhhhh," Paige said with the long-suffering tone of someone who'd been dealing with dad jokes for eleven years. Thankfully, she recovered quickly.
"Are we there yet?" she asked as we passed a sign for a roadside attraction called "Pirate's Paradise Mini Golf."
"We were already there, we’re on the way back home now," I said automatically.
"DAD!" But Paige was giggling despite herself. "Can we stop at the pirate place?" she added before I could answer her original question. "Please? It has a shipwreck!"
I glanced at Tasha, who was already grinning. "We're on vacation," she said. "Might as well embrace the full tourist trap experience."
Pirate's Paradise turned out to be a delightfully cheesy eighteen holes of mini golf winding around fake palm trees, treasure chests, and a fiberglass pirate ship that had definitely seen better decades.
Paige attacked each hole with scientific precision, studying angles and taking practice swings, while Tasha and I provided color commentary that she pretended to find annoying.
"She's lining up the shot," I announced in my best golf announcer voice. "The crowd is silent. The pressure is enormous."
"That windmill looks pretty intimidating," Tasha added. "Are you sure you're ready for this level of competition?"
"Watch and learn," Paige said, and proceeded to nail a hole-in-one that had us both cheering loud enough to embarrass her thoroughly.
By the time we reached Ocean Waves Campground, it was late afternoon and all of us were singing along to whatever came on the radio.
The campground was exactly what I'd hoped for—busy enough to feel alive but not overcrowded, with families setting up around picnic tables and fire pits, kids running around with fishing nets and beach buckets.
Our cabin was small but perfect, with knotty pine walls and windows that actually opened to let in the ocean breeze.
The master bedroom had a double bed covered in a quilt that had seen better days but was clean and comfortable.
When Paige saw the second bedroom with its bunk beds, she let out an actual shriek of delight.
"TOP BUNK!" she shrieked, scrambling up the ladder before we'd even set our bags down.
Over her head, Tasha and I exchanged a look full of shared amusement and something deeper—the quiet satisfaction of seeing someone you love this happy.
"Alright, kiddo," I said, "what's first on the agenda?"
"Beach!" Paige said immediately. "I want to see if there are any turtle nests! And build the world's greatest sandcastle! And jump waves! And—"
"Breathe," Tasha laughed. "We have the whole weekend."
But even as she said it, I could see she was caught up in Paige's enthusiasm. This woman who'd claimed to hate the idea of camping was already digging through our bags for sunscreen and beach towels, asking Paige if she wanted help braiding her hair back before we hit the sand.
We spent the rest of Saturday afternoon at the beach, and it was everything Paige had hoped for and more.
After claiming our spot with an umbrella and chairs, Paige immediately began construction on what she declared would be the most architecturally sophisticated sandcastle in the campground's history.
"You missed a spot," Tasha said, pointing to a streak of white sunscreen along my jawline as I helped Paige haul water for her moat.
"Dad always misses a spot," Paige added without looking up from her engineering project. "Last time we went to the community pool, he looked like he had racing stripes."
"Oh, don’t worry. I'll make sure he doesn't miss any spots next time," Tasha said with a tone and grin that made me look at her more sharply.
"Yes, ma'am," I said, and meant it.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of wave jumping, sandcastle construction, and the kind of lazy family time I'd never quite experienced before.
When Paige insisted on "jumping the waves"—which required both Tasha and I to hold her hands while she "flew" over the incoming surf—I found myself watching Tasha's face, seeing the pure, unguarded joy there as we swung Paige over another wave.
I didn't know I could have this, I thought as we set Paige down safely in the shallow water and she immediately demanded to do it again. I thought this kind of happiness was for other people.
But here it was, simple and real and ours.