After You (Because of You 2)

I like this little burst of domesticity. In fact, I like it so much, it’s not until we’re in the car on the way back to the house that it occurs to me how much work I still have to do today. Usually I don’t balk at doing my work, but today it brings on a small measure of dread.

Given the time crunch and my need to get back to work, though, I did sort of cheat with dinner. I got the stuff to make sides—the vegetable, mashed potatoes, and some dinner rolls—but I bought a rotisserie chicken so the biggest part of dinner would be taken care of.

When we get back to Derek’s house, Cassidy runs in to tell him about our adventures in grocery shopping, while I put everything away and get dinner started. It’s all achingly domestic, the ordinary sort of thing normal people experience all the time, but all new to me. I’ve never done this myself—not growing up, and not since.

I bought stuff to make dinner from scratch tomorrow, though, and I bought enough for Friday, too. I have no

idea how long it will take for Derek to be fully functioning again, but better safe than sorry.

My own words come back to haunt me as I’m standing at the stove, cooking.

I don’t know how to have a healthy relationship.

This all feels… kind of healthy.

I shake it off, reminding myself I’m not in a relationship with Derek. I can’t afford to be in a relationship with him, because I already know how it will feel when everything crumbles. Strange as it is, I have even more to lose now. If I lost Derek again, I wouldn’t just be losing him, I would be losing him and Cassidy. I may not have much time to spend with them, but even when I’m not here, I’m thinking about them. The last thing I would have expected was that the child whose conception drove us apart would be one of the ties binding us years later, but just thinking about it, I can get a feel for how much losing them both would hurt.

It’s not the time to think about all that.

Since Derek can’t come to the table, we bring dinner to him. Cassidy helps me clear off the coffee table and we sit there with our plates while Derek remains on the couch, using his abdomen as a table.

I don’t have to remind Cassidy that she has to take five big bites of broccoli. Once she starts eating and tastes how good it is, she devours her whole portion. Sure, I had to smother it in cheese to get her to eat it, but I’m still calling it a win.

“Next time you tell me you can’t cook, I’m calling bullshit,” Derek informs me.

“It’s more I never have time to cook than I can’t cook,” I admit. “You know I used to cook dinner when I lived with Alex.”

“Who’s Alex?” Cassidy asks, biting into her roll. “Is that your husband?”

I choke in the middle of swallowing a drink of lemonade. “Husband? No. I couldn’t hang out with you and your daddy if I had a husband.”

“Unless I—”

I reach back and cover Derek’s mouth before he can say it. “Don’t you dare.”

His response is muffled from under my hand, but I can still make it out. “I’m just saying.”

I shake my head, moving my hand and going back to my food. “Anyway, no. Alex is my dad.”

“Why do you call him Alex if he’s your dad?” she inquires.

I’m not entirely sure how to explain that to a child, or if I even should, given it really has no bearing on Cassidy’s life. I consider changing the subject, but then I decide to just keep my explanation simple. “My dad wasn’t really in my life a lot when I was growing up. I didn’t spend much time with him until I was older, and by then it just felt weird to start calling someone I didn’t really know dad. Plus, you’d have to meet him to understand, but my dad is just not the type of man you picture as someone’s father. It’s more comfortable to call him Alex.”

She nods, considering. “‘Cause he wasn’t your dad all the time?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Like my mom,” she adds.

I freeze, unsure how to proceed. I wait for Derek to jump in, but he must be just as thrown off, because he doesn’t say anything either.

Finally, I muster a half-assed response. “Um, sorta, yeah. Sorta like that.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t call her mom anymore either. I don’t know her name though.”

This is the last conversation I want to be part of. My skin doesn’t seem to fit my body anymore, that’s how uncomfortable I am. This isn’t my place at all, but I can’t shut down a motherless kid who wants to talk about her situation.

Reaching deep and summoning as much objectivity as I can find, I stumble along, waiting for Derek to stop me. “I think that’s up to you,” I tell her. “You can call her whatever you like.”