Just one third to go #2
“I come bearing backup syrup,” she says, lifting a paper bag slightly. “In case yours is subpar.”
“It’s not.”
“Good. Then we have options.”
Elle squeezes past me as though she’s been waiting her whole life for this moment and barrels into Penny before I can say anything else.
“You saw Mr. Waddles!”
“I did,” Penny laughs, bending instinctively to hug her back. “He had a lot of quacks to tell me.”
“He likes to talk.”
Gus pushes past me next, his tail thumping hard enough to whack the doorframe. He weaves excitedly between her legs, sniffing enthusiastically.
Penny reaches down without hesitation and scritches behind his ears. “Hi, you. How could I forget this face?”
His tail goes into overdrive, and he tilts his head happily, leaning into her ear scratches further.
“Come on in,” I say, stepping back. “Before he knocks you over.”
She toes her shoes off just inside the door without being asked, glancing around the living room with open curiosity before her gaze lands on the oversized wall clock.
“I love that clock,” she says approvingly. “Very dramatic.”
“It’s loud.”
“Mm. That’s how you know time is happening.”
I huff something close to a laugh, then watch as Elle grabs her hand and drags her toward the coffee table.
“I made a new drawing.”
Penny crouches to look at it. “Is this the lake?”
“And the station,” Elle explains, pointing to the paper. “That’s Daddy’s truck. And that’s Gus, but he’s bigger because he’s closer.”
“Ah, that makes sense. This is so good, Elle.”
I carry the plates to the table while I listen to them chat and pour coffee into a second mug without asking if she wants one.
“Oh,” she says softly, stepping into the kitchen. “You already made some.”
“I assumed. Milk?”
“You assumed correctly,” she says with a nod. “Please, just a splash.”
When I pass it to her, her fingers brush mine briefly, and her murmured thanks is barely audible. Her eyes close for a split second as she inhales the steam, and warmth sparks low in my chest. It shouldn’t make me feel as pleased as I do, but it does.
“This smells like someone knows what they’re doing.”
“I do.” I look away, focusing carefully on gathering the last parts of breakfast to bring to the table.
“Daddy drinks waaaaay too much coffee,” Elle says, climbing into her chair at the table.
“Careful,” I warn her mildly while gesturing for Penny to sit. “You still rely on me for food.”
Penny laughs, and it does that thing again, settling somewhere low inside me and loosening something she wasn’t responsible for coiling tight.
Before she sits, Penny pours a juice carefully and slides the glass toward Elle, then grabs a paper towel and wipes up a small spill before I even register it’s happened.
I watch as she finally takes the seat across from me, tucking one leg slightly under the chair, and smiles at Elle like this is the best company she’s ever had.
The table fills with Elle’s excited voice almost instantly. She talks with her hands, describing a dream she had about Gus learning how to skateboard, then pivots to how she’s almost as tall as the second shelf in the pantry.
“Almost,” I mutter.
“I am if I stretch on my tippy toes.”
Penny hides a smile behind her mug.
“What else is new?” she asks Elle, as though she’s genuinely catching up with an old friend.
“I’m gonna be learning multiplication soon,” Elle says proudly. “It’s easy.”
“It’s not,” I mutter.
“It is,” Elle insists. “Three twos is six.”
“That’s addition,” I tell her.
“Two times three is six, Daddy.”
Penny nods thoughtfully. “She’s got you there.”
I shake my head and cut into my pancakes, aware that I’ve just been outsmarted by my five-year-old and a Spice Girls enthusiast. I’m clearly losing my edge.
Gus settles beside Penny’s chair and rests his head on her knee, and she strokes his fur absently, still listening to Elle explain how she’s going to build a birdhouse in the back garden this spring.
“You’re ambitious,” Penny tells her.
“She gets that from me,” I say.
Penny glances up at me over the rim of her mug. “The ambition or the bird love?”
“I’m multi-talented.”
She grins and gently places her mug down to pick up her fork.
There’s an ease here that wasn’t there in the bar last night, and she looks different in the light of the morning.
Softer and less guarded. And probably less stressed now that she’s not watching Chip lose his mind while trying to impress Gwen.
“How was the walk over?” I ask.
“Cold,” she says. “But good. I forget how quiet mornings are outside the city.”
“You’re used to noise, huh?”
“Constant,” she agrees. “Sirens, traffic. Someone’s always yelling about something.”
“You don’t miss it?”
She hums and smiles down at Elle, watching her pour way too much syrup onto her plate.
“I haven’t really been gone long enough,” she says honestly. “But I don’t miss feeling like I was on display or feeling rushed to do a million things or keep up with appearances.”
I don’t ask what that means, but I want to.
“So, you thinking of staying long term?” I ask instead, keeping it casual.
She picks up a blueberry and rolls it between her fingers before popping it into her mouth. “I want to, yeah. I like it here a lot, and I don’t wanna go back,” she adds, quieter. “Not to what I left.”
Her eyes flick to mine, and something in them tightens before she looks back down at her plate. There’s pain there, I think. A hurt. And I feel something simmer in my gut, wondering what or who is responsible for it.
Elle interrupts by announcing she’s going to invent a pancake that tastes like pizza, which makes Penny laugh again, and the heaviness lifts. I watch her as she reaches for another blueberry, as she listens to my daughter like she has nowhere better to be. She showed up, just as she said she would.
By the time the plates are mostly empty, and Elle’s fingers are tacky with syrup, she pushes back from the table with sudden purpose.
“Dr. Dahlia time.”
I groan quietly. “Already?”
“You said after pancakes!”
Damnit, I did.
Penny wipes her hands and smiles at me. “I feel like I’ve been invited to something exclusive.”
“You have,” I tell her. “Membership is intense.”
Elle darts for the remote and turns the television on before either of us gets a say in the matter. The bright and familiar theme music for Science with Dahlia fills the room.
She drags a cushion off the couch and plants herself on the floor in front of it. But when Penny and I make our way over to sit on the couch, Elle changes her mind and climbs back up.
“You sit here,” she instructs Penny, patting the middle cushion.
Penny complies easily, folding her legs beneath her as she settles in. I sit on the other side, aware of the small strip of space between us that Elle is squeezing into, aware of it narrowing when Elle leans forward to point to the floor, where Gus collapses at our feet with a dramatic sigh.
I let out a silent exhale through my nose, hyper-aware of the warmth radiating from Penny’s shoulder to mine and the faint scent of her shampoo. It’s unsettling how easily she’s slipped comfortably into our routine.
On screen, Antarctica stretches out in blue and white silence. Penguins dot the ice in neat clusters while Dr. Dahlia narrates in her calm, friendly voice.
Elle begins whisper-commentating almost immediately, her head turning to me. “That one’s the dad. He’s holding the egg.”
“I can see that,” I mutter.
“He has to keep it warm.”
“I’m aware.”
Penny glances at me, amused. “Did you need a refresher?”
“I live here,” I say, my mouth twitching upward.
The camera shifts, and a pair of penguins shuffle closer together, bowing slightly. Dr. Dahlia’s voice remains maddeningly composed for the jumpscare she’s suddenly delivering.
“During mating season, male penguins will often present pebbles to potential partners—”
I close my eyes briefly, and Elle straightens like she’s just been given new information to learn.
“What’s mating?”
Penny’s shoulders still for half a second, then she looks at me. I consider combat rolling out of the room.
“It’s, um, when animals decide to have babies,” Penny says evenly, her tone calm and matter-of-fact. “Some animals have special seasons where they do that.”
Elle absorbs this with serious concentration. “Like Christmas?”
“Not… exactly,” I say.
Penny’s mouth twitches, and I watch as her teeth slowly slink into her plush lower lip.
Dr. Dahlia continues in the background. “The exchange of pebbles strengthens their bond…”
“Why pebbles?” Elle demands. “Why not fish?”
“That’s actually a very good question,” Penny says thoughtfully. “Maybe pebbles are easier to carry.”
“They should give snacks,” Elle decides.
“Mm,” Penny agrees. “Romantic and practical.”
On screen, one penguin presents a pebble, and the other accepts it, and they shuffle closer. Gus suddenly lifts his head and lets out a sharp bark at the movement, and Penny jumps beside me.
“Gus,” I mutter, reaching down to steady him, but my palm falls onto the top of Penny’s, her fingers already there, threading into his fur until he settles again. She looks down at the contact as I pull my hand away again, but doesn’t look embarrassed or uncomfortable.
Dr. Dahlia’s voice softens as the penguins huddle together. “This partnership will last for many seasons…”
Elle twists around to face Penny. “Do people have seasons?”
Heat creeps up my neck.
“People can choose to stay together if they want to,” Penny answers, still calm. “It’s not exactly the same, but some people decide they like each other enough to keep choosing each other.”
Elle considers that deeply and looks like she’s brewing a whole new round of questions that I am in no way ready to hear her ask out loud, so I intervene.
“Okay.” I clear my throat. “That’s enough wildlife education for one morning.”
“It’s not over,” Elle protests.
“It is for us. This season of Dr. Dahlia has come to an end.”
Penny laughs softly beside me, and it eases something in the room that could have gone sideways. Instead, Elle hops lightly off the couch.