10. Winnie #4
“Do you enjoy solving problems?”
“Yes.”
“Do you enjoy understanding how things work?”
“Yes.”
“Then congratulations,” I said. “You enjoy playing.”
She stared at me. Children so often believed joy only counted if it was loudly visible. But Bianca’s joy came from pattern recognition and answers clicking into place, and that was just as valid as any other.
A slow smile appeared before she became aware of it. “I never thought about it that way.”
“Most people don’t,” I admitted.
I took that moment to step back and check on the other two. CJ had somehow gathered three children into an improvised storytelling competition involving pirate dentists and dragons.
Meanwhile, Billie emerged from the digestive system exhibit screaming, “The large intestine is a tunnel of betrayal!”
The museum employee keeping watch looked exhausted beyond belief.
I sympathized with him.
We stayed until closing, taking our time to wander through the gift shop, where we bought a notebook that looked like a copy of The Hobbit for CJ, a build-your-own mechanical puzzle kit for Bianca, and a glow-in-the-dark rubber cockroach for Billie, which she named Senator Crunch.
By the time we returned to the house, twilight had deepened into night, and Conrad’s car was parked in the driveway.
I noticed him the moment we stepped inside.
He stood in the kitchen with one hand braced against the counter and the other loosening his tie. His hair looked slightly disheveled, his sleeves rolled unevenly, and there were deep shadows beneath his eyes that even human perception could easily catch.
Exhaustion rolled off him.
The children immediately swarmed him anyway.
“Daddy!” Billie shouted, sprinting forward with Senator Crunch held overhead.
Conrad caught her with one arm before she collided into his ribs. “Should I ask what that is?”
“He’s part of the government.”
CJ handed him his The Hobbit notebook proudly. “I’ve evolved creatively.”
“There was a kinetic mechanics exhibit,” Bianca said as she showed him her puzzle kit.
Conrad grinned at all three of them, but I saw the fatigue beneath it. His shoulders remained tense. His eyes were slightly unfocused in that way overworked people often became when their bodies arrived home before the rest of them did.
“How was the bake sale?” he asked me.
“Traumatic, yet ultimately successful,” I said.
Billie beamed. “I kicked a woman.”
Conrad closed his eyes briefly. “I see.”
“In fairness,” CJ added, “she deserved mild violence.”
Conrad held up a hand. “Mild violence is not a legal defense.”
“It should be.”
Conrad sighed, having already accepted chaos as a permanent feature of his household. “Thank you for taking them.”
“Oh, no need for that. I enjoyed it.”
“You didn’t have to stay out all evening.” He glanced at his watch. “Your shift is long over.”
I looked at the counter. There were no groceries out of the fridge, no pans heating, and no actual dinner plan visible anywhere.
“What were you planning to cook?” I asked.
He hesitated. “I planned to order out.”
I studied him, taking in the lines at the corners of his eyes that seemed just a little deeper than normal. “You’ve had a difficult day at work.”
“You don’t need to take care of dinner, Winnie. That’s not in your job description.”
“Neither was surviving the PTA.” I set my bag down decisively. “You sit. I cook.”
The relief on his face made my stomach turn inside out, which was utterly foolish. Relief didn’t mean anything more, and I shouldn’t want it to.
Conrad leaned back against the counter slightly. “Winnie?—”
“Sit,” I repeated, pointing toward the kitchen table.
To my immense satisfaction, he obeyed.
Billie squealed. “You have magical queen powers over Daddy now.”
“I do not.”
“You kind of do,” CJ said.
Bianca was already unpacking her puzzle kit at the table. “Dad only listens to approximately four people.”
“Who are the other three?” Conrad asked.
“Your boss. Dead Mom. The pediatrician. And now Winnie.”
The kitchen went still for half a heartbeat. Conrad looked down briefly, then back at Bianca with gentleness that carried no defensiveness at all anymore.
“That’s mostly accurate,” he admitted.
Something warm moved through me then, something frightening in its softness. I turned to the stove before anyone could notice.
“Billie,” I said briskly, “wash your hands if you intend to assist.”
“I intend!”
“With soap.”
While the children settled into their familiar rhythm, I began cooking.
The house came to life with CJ explaining pirate dentistry, Bianca bemoaning all the scientific inaccuracies at the museum, and Billie making Senator Crunch participate in imaginary senate hearings as she helped me season chicken and toss ingredients into pans.
Conrad laughed quietly at something one of them said, despite how tired he was.
For a fleeting, precarious moment, with garlic warming in butter and children arguing over whether rubber cockroaches could hold public office, it became far too easy to imagine this was my real life instead of borrowed happiness I had no right to want.