“Sure. Do you need anything else?”
“Yarn.”
“I bought some on sale just last week. It’ll be ready when you come home.”
I stood and stretched. “I guess I’m going home to get some yarn and my sewing chest.”
Logan said, “You could probably get a scarf done today.”
“Probably.” I don’t know why he was being so intense about getting a scarf for his daughter. It was summertime, so it wasn’t like she needed it right away. I did like making something out of just a bunch of yarn, though. It was relaxing to crochet, although I hadn’t done it in years. I popped out to my rental car and drove back home.
“Having fun?” my mom asked me when I got out of the car. My sewing chest was in her arms; she had a ball of pink yarn on top.
“Yes.” I didn’t know what else to say. My mother thought that Logan and I had already reconnected in a serious way. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that she was making a play to get me to move back to Indiana. Logan had a daughter who needed to stay in a stable place. I knew that there were little kids in NYC, but I wouldn’t want to raise a little one in the busy city.
“You haven’t wanted to touch your sewing chest in years,” remarked my mother.
“I know…” I didn’t want to explain the scarf thing to my mom. “I guess I just have more time for hobbies now.”
“It’s good for you to have some fun. Your dad and I have been worried about how focused you’ve been for the past couple years, with all your time eaten up by your business.”
“I’m fine, Mom. I just am going to make a scarf, that’s all.”
“Do you remember how to start and finish, like your aunt taught you?”
“Yes, Mom.” I took the sewing chest with the yarn balanced carefully. “Thanks for finding it.”
“I love you, honey.”
“Love you, too.”
I drove my rental car back to Logan’s house without incident. When I rang the doorbell, I could hear Annabelle running for the front door.
“Candace!” she yelled as she swung open the door. It occurred to me that in New York, Annabelle wouldn’t be joyfully opening the front door for whomever came. Her trust in strangers and ease in new situations were byproducts of her living in Indiana with her father. I came in the front door with the supplies.
“I have pink yarn, if you want to play with it.”
“My daddy says you’re making a scarf.”
“Yup, a pink scarf just for you.”
“I like pink!”
I opened up my sewing chest to take out my crochet hook. “I’m going to crochet it.”
“I’ve never seen anybody crochet before.” Annabelle stuck her thumb in her mouth before saying, “Grandma knits sometimes.”
“Crocheting is easier than knitting,” I explained. “Some people don’t feel that way, but it’s just pulling loops through. For me, it’s the fastest way to make a scarf.”
“Why don’t you just buy one?”
“You get to put love into the scarf when you make it yourself.” I sat on the couch and started off my crocheting. Scarves didn’t require an actual pattern or much skill. My aunt, who was crafty, taught me to crochet when I was younger. My mom could do it too, but not as well as my aunt.
Annabelle watched me crochet for a few minutes before turning on the TV for Peppa Pig. Her attention span was about average for a three-year-old girl. Logan was in his office on a phone call. I could hear a little murmuring coming out of the office. Annabelle knew how to amuse herself; I bet that her beeline for Peppa Pig was directly because her dad wasn’t there to monitor her screen time.
I was done with the scarf in almost no time. I did a single stitch, and Annabelle was small. “Do you want to try it on?”
“Yes!” she hollered. She took the scarf and immediately put it around her neck. She tied it and struck a pose. “Do I look like a model?”
“Yes.” She was so cute with my pink scarf around her neck. She rushed at me with her arms out, and I picked her up and gave her a smacking kiss on her temple. I didn’t spend much time with kids in my normal life. Being a parent was a weird one-way door which meant most of my friends didn’t have time to hang out anymore.
“I’m hungry,” Annabelle announced after she was done trying on the pink scarf. “What’s for dinner?”
“We still have some pizza, but it’s not enough for three of us. I can heat up pizza if you want.”
“I had pizza for lunch,” Annabelle countered. “Can I have McDonald’s?”
I got the feeling that Annabelle was trying to con me into something. “I can get your chicken nuggets out of the freezer.”
“I want McDonald’s!” she said, stomping her left foot.
“You can’t have McDonald’s,” said Logan, entering the living room. He was done with his phone call just in time to avert a toddler tantrum. “You can have pizza if you want it. We also have chicken nuggets.”
“Can I have the grown-up sauce?”
“Yes, you can have grown-up sauce.” He turned to me. “Grown-up sauce is honey mustard. She normally just has ketchup.” Logan washed his hands before he started to put chicken nuggets on a tray to bake. He preheated the oven. “Do you still like spaghetti with meat sauce?” Logan asked me.
“Of course.”
“Then we’ll have that for dinner.” Logan slid the tray of chicken nuggets into the preheated oven. “She likes extra crispy chicken nuggets,” explained Logan. He started to get out stuff for his meat sauce, which was more than just a little browned meat. His grandmother taught him a complicated meat sauce which included a lot of different ingredients. He was soon cooking up the meat sauce. Annabelle’s chicken nuggets came out, and I helped by grabbing the grown-up sauce from the fridge. She couldn’t climb up and down from her high chair, so I helped buckle her in before putting the nuggets on a plate with grown-up sauce.
“I want to squeeze.”
I handed her the bottle. She carefully squeezed the middle of the bottle to put grown-up sauce on her plate.
“Does she need to wash her hands?”
“I figure it’s better for her immune system as long as her hands aren’t visibly soiled,” replied Logan. Annabelle dug in as if she hadn’t seen food in two months. I liked watching Logan cook. Back in the day, we traded off who cooked. I hadn’t had Logan’s meat sauce since he left for Michigan. I could see the alternate life I could’ve had with Logan right now. It was so easy to fall into our old patterns. I could also see why my mother was winking at me. She wanted me to come back to Indiana. My parents thought I was too focused on my own business for my own good. Annabelle was easy to love. Logan was even easier to fall back into love with. I wondered now if I should’ve paid to go to U of M with him, but I rejected that. Kelley had taught me a lot and put me in touch with mentors. I was lucky to get a full ride to go to IU.
Maybe, in a different universe, I would have had two kids with Logan by now after following him to U of M. In a third one, maybe he’d taken the full ride to IU that we both got.