Chapter 20 #2
“I asked her to teach me.” He shrugs and I swear the fabric of his shirt screams in protest. Whatever he’s doing in the gym has put a massive amount of muscle on him.
I’m certain I couldn’t fit both hands around his bicep.
“Roe?” He calls out to our daughter. “I bet you have homework. Bring it in here.”
There’s no missing her massive, irritated sigh.
She stomps out to the kitchen with a piece of paper. “This is unfair. I was at school all day and now I have to do more work? I want to play with my Barbies.”
“Well, let’s get that done and after you can play with your Barbies.”
“Fine,” she groans. “You look terrible, Mom.”
A weak laugh leaves me. “Thanks, Roe.” I ruffle her hair. “I’m sick.”
She purses her lips and looks me up and down. “I can tell.”
Spencer shakes his head and tosses the paper bags in my trashcan. “If you need to lay down, it’s okay. I’ll handle homework with her and get the soup made.”
I finish my toast and wash my hands. “I should work on my paper.”
I didn’t feel well enough to make any progress last night, so now I’m behind.
“All right. Well get to it.” He shoos me away. “Roe and I can handle this.”
“Yeah, Mom. We can handle this,” Roe chimes in.
I raise my hands up in surrender. I’ve been ganged up on. “I’m going.”
I settle in my bed with my laptop, bringing up the paper I was working on and finding only one lonely paragraph written. I closed the bedroom door, but despite that I still hear music come on and smile to myself when Spencer and Roe sing along.
This is good for her—having her dad around in our space. Even if it’s strange for me.
I tune out their kitchen shenanigans and get to work. Before I know it, over an hour has passed and I’ve made more progress than I expected. I guess miracles happen when you’re not interrupted every five-seconds.
I save my document and close the computer. I need a break, and the smell of the soup is getting to me.
Poking my head out of the room, I spot Spencer and Monroe still in the kitchen. She stands on her stepstool helping to stir the pot.
“And this will make Mommy feel better?” she asks.
Mommy.
She uses that so rarely with me anymore that every time I hear it, I cherish it.
“It might,” he says. “I hope so at least.” He presses his hand gently to the center of her back. “Stir a little more there. The veggies are wanting to stick to the side.”
Monroe does as she’s told and beams up at him with pride at herself. “I like helping you, Daddy.”
“And I love your help.”
I step back into my room and close the door as softly as I can. My breath comes in tiny gasps.
This is why I can’t have Spencer around. I don’t like seeing the what ifs right in front of me. The reminder that I’m the one that gave up on us. He never did.
“Get yourself together,” I mutter. I tuck my hair behind my ears and open the door once again. “Something smells delicious,” I call out.
“We made you soup!” Monroe hops off her stool and runs straight for me, slamming into my legs. I grunt from the force of it. “Are you feeling better?”
“Much.” And it’s true. I feel loads better than I did this morning.
“This is almost ready. Roe, get your cute tush back over here and grab the bowls.”
Her feet slap against the floor as she runs to help.
I don’t bother telling her to slow down. I've told her countless times not to run in the house, but it hasn't worked.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask.
Spencer shakes his head. “Nah, just grab a drink if you’re thirsty.”
I swipe a fresh ginger ale from the fridge and sit down at the small kitchen table. Spencer appears at ease, like he’s always been here as he moves around tending to things.
A few minutes later he sets a bowl in front of me. “Eat up.”
The soup smells delicious and since I’ve barely eaten anything today my stomach decides to come to life and rumbles loudly.
Spencer smirks. “Someone’s hungry.” He turns to Monroe where she’s moved on to brushing the hair on one of her dolls. “Do you want some soup, Roe?”
“Ew, no. Vegetables are nasty. I want dinosaur chicken nuggets.”
With a sigh, Spencer plants his hands on his hips and looks my way. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah.”
Sometimes, it’s not worth having the fight with your kid—besides, little does she know, her dinosaur nuggets include veggies.
He finds the nuggets in the freezer and spreads a serving of them out on a pan before putting the oven on to preheat.
Turning around, he leans against the counter to face me. He’s just opened his mouth to say something to me when keys jingle at the door and Jameson enters.
“Oh,” Jameson blurts, looking at Spencer in surprise. “You’re still here.”
Spencer swallows and there’s no mistaking the lump in his throat. “Yeah, I made my mom’s veggie soup for Harlow. Thought it might help her feel better.”
Jameson looks between Spencer and me and shrugs. “That was nice. How are you feeling, babe?” He strides over to me and presses his hand to my forehead. Across from me, I don’t miss the flinch Spencer gives at the term of endearment.
“Much better. Just tried,” I reply.
His hand falls back to his side, and he presses a kiss to the top of my head. “You’re working too much. You’re getting run down.”
“That’s what I told her,” Spencer pipes in and I glare his way.
Jameson chuckles. “She’s stubborn.” Straightening, he says, “Since I’m here now you can go. I’ll handle it.”
The emotional pain on Spencer’s face feels like a knife straight through my heart. “I was going to make chicken nuggets for Roe.”
“That’s okay.” Jameson waves a hand dismissively. “I’ll get it done for her.”
I know Jameson isn’t trying to purposely rush Spencer out the door, but I’m sure to Spencer it feels that way.
“Okay.” Spencer smooths his hands down his shirt. “I … uh … I’ll go then. Roe? I’m heading out.”
“You’re leaving?” she cries out, throwing her doll on the ground. “No, Daddy. Please, stay.” She wraps her arms around his legs. “Don’t go.”
“I need to.” He ruffles her hair. “I’ll pick you up in the morning if you want me to.”
“Okay.” She seems satisfied by this development. “I love you.”
He picks her up and she wraps her body around him, clinging on like a little koala. “I love you, too.” He squeezes her tight before setting her down.
“Bye,” he says, heading for the door. “I hope you feel better, Harlow.”
“Thanks for coming and thanks for the soup.”
He dips his head in acknowledgment and opens the door. He peeks back over his shoulder before he shuts it, and I see what he’s thinking clearly written in his blue eyes—it should be him here, not Jameson.