“Daa dun . . . daa dun . . . dun dun dundundundun . . .”
Grier’s eyes are huge, rapt with anticipation, her little mouth open.
Corrigan raises her voice for the grand finale. “Doodle-oo!”
Grier squeals in delight, banging her little fists on the tray, and Corrigan pops the fork right into her open mouth with a grin.
I’m transfixed. Until now, I’ve only seen Corrigan frowning, or angry, or guarded, or wearing a carefully neutral expression at best. The sight of her happy, affectionate smile is like a blow to my chest.
But it’s not just her beauty. The scene I’m witnessing is so domestic, so tender. It should seem weird, but everything about it feels . . . right, in a way I’ve never experienced. Coming home to her and my daughter, sitting at the table, bathed in the warm glow of the fading sunlight feels so fucking right and I don’t deserve to feel this swell in my chest.
Emotion gets stuck in my throat.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t imagined what it would be like to introduce my daughter to the only woman I’ve loved. However, it’s harder than I imagined.
Finally noticing me, Grier shouts, “Daddy!”
Corrigan startles, jerking around like she’s been caught, and her smile vanishes, shattering my reverie. “L-Lex. You’re back.”
Interesting. Lex. Not Lexington. Just like she used to call me Lex back when we were together.
“I’m sorry it took me so long.” I drag one hand through my hair.
Corrigan stands and wipes her hands on a dish towel. “We were just finishing up dinner. How’s your mom?”
“She’s fine now. After running some tests, the doc sent her home.” I stare at them for another second, aware that my brain seems to be working only in slow motion. I think I’m in shock. “You fed Grier.”
Corrigan looks at me like I’m an idiot, which maybe I am. “Yeah. It was getting late, so I decided to make dinner. I whipped up a little spaghetti. No big deal.”
“Thank you.” The obvious finally occurs to me. “I didn’t think we had the ingredients for spaghetti.”
“You didn’t. I asked Dak to go to the grocery store and grab what I needed. I would’ve gone myself, but you didn’t leave a car seat, so I couldn’t take Grier with me.”
“Oh. Right.” There are a hell of a lot of things I didn’t do. My guilt resurfaces. “I’m really sorry for taking so long. I left my phone here so I couldn’t call and then time just got away from me. What can I do to help? Is there anything left to do that I can take care of?”
“Well, between the ice cream, the finger-painting, and the spaghetti sauce . . . I would say she needs a bath.” She looks at Grier and pokes her chubby cheek. “Don’t you think so, sweetie? You decorated yourself, didn’t you?”
Grier grabs her finger. “Yeah. I make me pretty.”
“You’re always pretty, baby girl.” Then I process what Corrigan actually said. “I have a finger-painting set?”
Corrigan shrugs. “You do now. We stopped at the children’s toy store on the pier when we went for our walk.” She points to the doorway leading into the kitchen. “She’s quite the artist.”
I step back to look, and sure enough, a colorful portrait of pink and blue smears is now hanging on the fridge. “Are these flowers?” I ask Grier.
Grier frowns at me as if it’s obvious. “T-Rex princess.”
I bend down to kiss the top of her head. “Oh, of course. How silly of me. She’s the most beautiful, ferocious dinosaur royalty I’ve ever laid eyes on.” Not technically a lie—I’ve only ever seen this one.
“Oh, right, I almost forgot,” Corrigan says. “I figured you might be hungry, so I made enough spaghetti for the three of us. Your portion’s on the stove. It should still be warm.”
My stomach growls on cue. I was so wound up with anxiety about Mom and Grier and Corrigan, I haven’t paused long enough to even register my body’s needs before now.
And that soft feeling is back. Probably just because I haven’t had someone around to take care of me in a long time. “Thanks. Let me just get Grier cleaned up, and I’ll walk you out.”
Corrigan shocks me again by saying, “There’s no rush. Why don’t you give her a bath, and I’ll finish cleaning up here?” She stands up as if it’s already decided.
Still somewhat dazed, I follow orders and take Grier upstairs.
This is all so much newness to navigate. I’ve been a single dad since day one, so it goes without saying that I never had a partner. Never shared household responsibilities with anyone at all before, let alone someone I’m insanely attracted to and have an intense history with. It’s surreal . . . but feels natural at the same time. Once again, it’s like a snapshot from an alternate reality. An enviably cozy, contented life.
Fucking snap out of it, Lex. She’s not here to play house with you.
Maybe I’d have a life like this if nineteen-year-old me hadn’t been such a cowardly dipshit. But that’s not how it went down, and that’s not what’s happening now.
Corrigan is just doing what needs to be done for Grier’s sake. I shouldn’t get used to this illusion of a shared home, and I definitely shouldn’t let myself be seduced by its warmth and get wrapped up in what could have been.
“So, what did you and Corrigan do today?” I ask Grier while soaping her up. “Tell me everything.”
“Yummy ice cweam. Seagulls said aaah!” She cracks up at her own noisy bird impression.
“Sounds like a great day by the beach,” I say. “And you painted too. Was that fun?”
“Yeah. Messy paint. I made big picture.” She flings her arms out to illustrate, pelting me with drops of soapy water.
“I saw. A masterful portrait of Her Highness, the great Princess T-Rex.”
“No, Daddy, it Flapflap playing in da sky.”
This time I’m the one who laughs. “Oh, you’re right. Sorry.”
I keep encouraging her with commentary as I scrub, rinse, and towel her dry. Her merry jabbering puts a smile on my face and melts away my stress about Mom’s health.
And if I strain my ears, I can just barely hear Corrigan working away downstairs.
God, she’s already done enough, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her to go when she was willing to stay a little longer. Plus, I’d like to talk to her out of earshot of Grier before she leaves.
I spray detangler and comb out Grier’s curls. I learned the hard way that her hair must be brushed after her bath, otherwise it’ll tangle into a snarled mess.
As I dress her in pajamas, Grier says with big, solemn eyes, “My like Cor-gan lots.”
“Me too, baby girl,” I reply. Way too much.
“Say night-night?” Grier asks.
“Yeah, Corrigan has to go home. But we’ll . . .” There’s no guarantee we’ll see her soon, or ever again.
“No,” Grier says shrilly. “We give bye-bye!”
“Okay, sweetheart. Come on,” I say as I hoist her into my arms.
By the time I’ve reached the last stair, she’s already half asleep, her head heavy on my shoulder. I round the corner . . . and I’m astounded again. Everything is spotless and back in its proper place, except for the foil-covered plate she set out for me at the table, complete with silverware and a napkin.