Bruin mouthed the word “sorry” at me but I just shrugged, smiling back. The truth was, I was really enjoying interacting with Emma. I had never spent very much time around kids. None of my friends had babies yet, and most of my clients were well into middle age, so their kids were usually grown up and out of the picture. Jeff rarely made time for dating, much less getting into a serious relationship that could involve a kid. I was the younger of the two of us, so I never had a little brother or sister, either. I had always expected to kind of hate hanging out with a little kid. I had no idea what to talk to them about, what kinds of things they were into. Half the time I couldn’t even properly guess how old a child was without being told explicitly.
But Emma was cool. At least, she was cool for a three-year-old. She really was like a very small, very chatty, girly version of Bruin in a lot of ways. She didn’t mince her words, saying exactly what was on her mind, even if it was awkward to say. She was upfront about what she wanted, even if it didn’t make sense to other people. Like the rainbow sprinkles. I was sure she knew perfectly well that they would be crunchy, but she wanted them for their aesthetic value. It was silly, but I kind of understood it. At my apartment, I had an old-fashioned vintage alarm clock in my bedroom. I never used it because I just used my phone as an alarm. But I kept it around because I liked the look of it.
Ugh, here I was, finding common ground with a literal toddler. Who was I anymore?
Meanwhile, Emma was singing some made-up song about ice cream. Bruin and I both laughed when she rhymed “spoon” with “moon” and that seemed to delight her. She grinned, her chocolatey little face radiant with joy. I could feel my heart swelling with fondness for her already. It was difficult not to adore her, she was so cute. And the fact that she was like a little Bruin clone certainly helped.
“You about ready to head out, Em?” he asked her. She looked into her bowl of melted ice cream with a serious expression, like she was doing some crazy calculations in her head. Bruin was biting his lip to stop from laughing.
Finally, she looked up at us both and nodded, setting her spoon down with a clink.
“I’m done,” she announced.
“Okay. Good. You’re one slow eater, you know that?” Bruin said, picking up her bowl and spoon and dropping them in the trash. He offered her his hand and she took it. Then she turned and reached for me. My heart skipped a beat. God, she was adorable.
I took her other hand and she laughed with joy. “Swing me!” she exclaimed.
Bruin and I lifted her up and swung her a few times once we walked out of the ice cream shop and into the parking lot. She giggled and kicked her feet, looking up at us wit
h overflowing happiness. It was late afternoon, the sun just sort of beginning to decline toward the horizon. The sky was streaked with pink and purple, the world around us cast in that gorgeous golden glow that always happened this time of day. We piled into Bruin’s rented Mercedes, Bruin strapping Emma neatly and carefully into her car seat.
“Daddy, where’s my pony?” she asked as we started to pull out of the parking lot. I shot Bruin a dubious look. I knew he had serious money, but he didn’t really buy her a pony, did he?
“Relax,” he said quietly to me, smirking. “It’s a toy pony.”
“Pony, pony!” Emma chanted, kicking her legs.
“Miss Whinny is back at the house, Em,” he told her.
“Aww,” she whined, poking out her bottom lip.
“You’ll be reunited with her soon, okay? Just be patient a little longer,” he said.
“Daddy?” she chirped.
“Yes, princess?” he answered. The car pulled out into dense traffic.
“What does patient mean?” she asked.
“You want to take this one?” Bruin asked me in an undertone. I blushed. I had no idea how to explain something like patience to a child. Or even really to an adult, for that matter.
“Uhh,” I began awkwardly, wracking my brain for an example. “It’s like… when you have to wait for something for a long time.”
“Yeah?” Emma prompted me to continue.
“So, you’re waiting and waiting and it feels like you’ve been waiting forever, right?” I added, glancing at Emma in the rearview mirror. She looked very contemplative for someone who could hardly even read yet. She nodded.
“I hate waiting,” she said solemnly.
“I know. Me, too. It’s hard to wait when you want something really bad,” I said.
“Or when you’re really bored,” Emma burst out.
“Yeah. That works, too,” I said, laughing. “It’s hard to wait. But sometimes you have to.”
“Why?” the little girl asked again, for the umpteenth time today. Bruin sighed, but I just smiled and turned to look at her. She wasn’t joking around. She really wanted to understand.
“Because life is long,” I said softly. “And sometimes there are times when it feels really long. And you might want to skip the boring stuff or the scary stuff or the sad stuff, but instead you have to wait. And just know in your heart that things are going to change once the bad stuff ends. But until then, you have to smile and be happy anyway. And that’s called being patient.”