“Sure, but it’s a really big job. You sure you’re up for it?” I ask. Her head bobs up and down. “Okay, so it’s really important, once I get water in the jars, to hold it really still. That way when I put the flowers in, it doesn’t tip over.”
“I can do that. I’m good at helping, right, Mommy?”
“You sure are.” Larissa smiles over at her.
“All right. Here we go.” Grabbing the smaller mason jar, I fill it halfway with water and place it on the counter next to Paisley. “Hold it still for me,” I tell her.
She nods, her face as serious as I’ve ever seen her as she turns sideways on the counter and places both hands on the jar. I unwrap the flowers and place them in the jar. “You did it!” I say excitedly. Her sweet smile lights up my world.
“I’m real good at helping,” she tells me again.
“That you are. Let’s move this out of the way.” I slide the jar she’s still holding onto down the counter.
“Shew,” she says, shaking out her hands as if she’d been holding onto the jar for hours. I guess in her four-year-old mind, it might as well have been.
“You ready for the other one?” I ask her.
She shakes out her hands and holds them up for me to see. “Ready.”
I place the larger jar on the table. “I don’t know how I would have done this without you,” I tell her as she wraps her tiny hands around the jar.
“I know,” she agrees, and I have to bite back my laugh.
Unwrapping the larger bouquet of flowers, I place them in the jar and then move it down the counter next to the other one. I hold my hand up for a high-five, and she slaps hers into mine. “Great job.”
“I’m ready to rewax,” she says dramatically.
“Let’s do this.” I hold out my arms, and she leans into me. Settling her on my hip, I grab the three waters sitting on the counter and head to the living room. I drop Paisley onto the couch. Not hard enough she could get hurt, just enough that she bounces and cackles with laughter. I settle in, and she scoots up next to me.
“Look at you two all snuggled,” Larissa says a few minutes later, joining us with a large bowl of popcorn.
“We worked hard,” Paisley tells her. “We needed to rest.”
Larissa laughs. “I bet.”
What else do you say to an adorable four-year-old? You agree with them. “Let me take that.” I reach for the popcorn.
“I can hold it. I’m in the middle, and we can share like a family.”
I know it’s all kinds of wrong, but I love it when she calls us a family. I’m sure Larissa is freaking the hell out, concerned we’re moving too fast, but I’m not afraid of it. In fact, the sooner she hops on the speeding train, the better. “Ready for some baseball?” I ask. I want to hug her and tell her that I would be honored to be her family. To step in and fill the shoes of the father she lost before she even had a chance to meet him. I bite my tongue and pretend as if her comment didn’t faze me, when in reality it’s all that keeps running through my mind. I know it’s going to take time for Larissa to get to where I am, but damn if I wish it would happen already.
Not ten minutes into the game and Paisley is over it. “When do I get to see you again, East?” she asks.
Glancing at the TV, I see where we are in the line-up. “I was already at bat, so it’s going to be a minute. This inning dragged on. It’s a few minutes,” I say, trying to appease her.
“Maybe we should watch a princess movie instead. I get to see you now.”
“Paisley,” Larissa scolds her.
“It’s fine,” Reaching around Paisley, I place my hand on her shoulder. “A princess movie is fine with me.”
“Actually, it’s nap time,” Larissa says.
“Aww, Mom, do we have to? East just got here.”
“Yes, we do have to. You have practice tonight.”
“Okay. East, will you lie down with me?”