“I’ll make the pancakes,” I said, kissing her shoulder. “Go get changed into something comfortable.”
She murmured her assent. I focused on the two faces in the mirror. Both were sated and content.
When was the last time I’d felt content? I wasn’t sure I’d ever known it at this level. I wasn’t a perfect match for Sid, but hopefully the things I was able to give her—the non-material things—would continue to be enough.I whisked the pancake batter together while Frank Sinatra sang out over the sound system. Her affinity for old music was rubbing off on me.
“You have any cinnamon?” I asked when she walked into the room, now dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, her hair tied back.
“I think so.” She went to a cabinet and opened it, rooting around. “For the pancakes?”
“Yep. My mom always made them with a shake of cinnamon.”
“A shake?” She grinned at me.
“One shake of the container. And a pat of butter between every pancake in the stack.”
Her grin faded as she handed me a small metal can of cinnamon. “I wish I had memories like that. My mom never cooked.”
I met her eyes, hoping she’d say more. She turned her back to the counter next to the stove, put her arms on it and boosted herself into a sitting position there.
“We always had a cook,” she said. “And it wasn’t one of those funny, sweet maternal women you read about in books. My mom actually had trouble keeping cooks because she was so particular. And then I went to boarding school when I was twelve.”
I thought about myself at that age. “That’s pretty young to leave home.”
She shrugged. “It was mostly a home of staff. For a woman who didn’t work, my mom kept herself really busy. You know, charity work, boards of directors . . . anything to avoid spending time with her children.”
Her nervous laugh belied the pain behind her statement. I thought about my mom. She’d taken me to movies, sledding, swimming, hiking . . . almost every weekend we weren’t busy with my hockey had been filled with another adventure.
I’d been bitter for a long time over her being taken away too soon, but something she’d said close to the end came back to me. “I wanted more time with my son the man, but I got every minute of him as a boy. And those were the best times of my life.” She’d squeezed my hand and smiled as she’d spoken, looking content. For the first time, I now understood her words. She’d been a good mom, the best. That had given her peace at the end. I was starting to feel the same sense of peace in myself.
“Do you spend any time with her now?” I asked Sid of her mom.
“We do spa days once a month. At least we did when I was in New York full time. And she asks me to lunch and includes me in her charity work. I think some people just don’t know what to do with children, and she’s one of them. It’s a lot better now that I’m an adult.”
I slid a golden pancake on a plate and grabbed the batter, pouring my next one into the skillet.
“Do you want kids someday?” I asked.
Her laugh was humorless. “I don’t know. I work a lot. I don’t want to be an absentee mom like my own was.”
“But do you want them? Wanting them and deciding whether it’s a practical option are two different things.”
“I’d like to hope it’s possible.”
I shook my head and smiled. “You’re the best I’ve ever seen at not saying yes or no. You’d make a great politician.”
She wrinkled her face with distaste. “Ugh. Never. The answer’s yes. Yes, I want kids. What about you?”
“Yeah. I’d love half a dozen little boys I could wrestle with. Teach ’em how to pee standing up. All that good stuff. And hockey, of course.”
“What if you got half a dozen little girls?” she asked, amused.
“Shit, I don’t know.”
“Girls can play hockey.” Her tone had a hint of defensiveness.
“Of course they can.” I patted her knee in apology. “I just wouldn’t know what to do with girls.”
“The same things you’d do with boys. Other than the peeing standing up.”
I considered. “I guess you’re right. I’d be cool with girls until puberty. Until they started dating.”
“I’m making mimosas to go with the pancakes,” she said, sliding down from the counter. “And you look absolutely sick right now, by the way. Standing in front of the stove wearing nothing but suit pants. You’re so damn hot.”
“Thanks,” I said, smiling.
She focused on the drinks and my mind wandered back to my mom. What would she have thought of Sidney? They were alike in a lot of ways. Both strong and confident. Both loyal and caring. Mom would’ve liked seeing me with a woman who knew there was nothing she couldn’t handle. A woman who picked me up when I was down. Who made me forget other women even existed.