Rachel had an easy way with Sadie. I wondered if she had nieces and nephews, because she was really good with kids. She didn’t act stupid, and baby talk at Sadie, which my daughter hated above all things. I had seen her hand flutter toward the God-awful ponytail and then withdraw. She had restraint and respect for Sadie. She didn’t try to fix what she wasn’t asked to fix or criticize her appearance. I knew that my kid could’ve been dressed like a damn Kardashian offspring if I wanted to do it—carrying some kid-sized Birkin bag and wearing Gucci leggings. But I got her clothes at the Target in Overton when we went to the seafood place there once in a while. She wore lime green leggings and a blue t-shirt with a glittery sloth on it. It’s what she picked out, and as long as she was clean and comfortable, I wasn’t bothered about it.
Rachel let Sadie be Sadie and went along with her, asking about things that she was interested in, getting her to try a vegetable. I was grateful for their rapport, and grateful that she didn’t try to push for anything else. I’d had enough women try to worm their way into my bed by fussing over my daughter. Women who were more than happy to be an instant wife and mother if I’d have them. The perky brunettes who came to my door with tater tot casseroles and hair bows and suggestions about setting up play dates for Sadie with their own daughters or nieces, and ideas about how they could make things so much easier for me by helping out with her. Calling her ‘sugar’ and ‘little miss’ which she despised. “Sadie Catherine,” she would correct them, and I’d try not to laugh behind my hand.
I loved who my daughter was, and I wasn’t in the market for someone to change her or tell her she should be different, or that a family of two was wrong. That didn’t mean I wasn’t lonely sometimes. It meant that I didn’t have time for the drama, and women, in my experience, had been nothing but drama. They’d want to change things, and insist their way was better. They’d come between Sadie and me, try to make her, make us both into something more suitable. Make us into people who didn’t go outside barefoot in all weather, or who didn’t buy our clothes at the discount store or build dollhouse furniture at the kitchen table and get wood shavings all over the place. She had the fun and free, sticky face, dirty feet, outdoor upbringing I wished I’d had.
Despite my better judgement, I couldn’t stop thinking of our favorite waitress.
Rachel’s high, golden ponytail swished when she walked, and she had a sort of apple-cheeked prettiness that wouldn’t have been out of place on a movie screen as the beautiful girl next door. She made delicious pies and had a great body, all curves, and a warm voice. Rachel’s voice made me want to shut my eyes and listen to her forever. It was low and husky, somehow sexy and comforting at once. She had everything under control and no matter how busy she was, she always made time to talk to Sadie. Sometimes I watched them together, and I felt a twinge of jealousy. Their rapport was easy, and they were so focused on each other, on this sweet, casual relationship that somehow made me feel left out. I couldn’t decide whose attention I was more jealous of, and that was a question I didn’t want to examine too closely.
There was no way I had any business looking at Rachel as anything other than a competent and friendly server at the diner. I didn’t date, and I didn’t do one-night stands either. Not that I thought Rachel was dying to have a fling in the stock room or anything. She seemed pretty busy as well. And like she was exactly the sort of person who was entirely self-sufficient and didn’t need anyone for anything. As far as I could tell, she ran the entire diner singlehandedly. She was gorgeous and funny and talented. What would she want with a lumberjack checking her out while she worked? I meant no disrespect. I just couldn’t help noticing the way she moved, her grace and energy.
Rachel was not someone I should be thinking of when I was alone in the evening, feeling weary and a bit wistful that I didn’t have that person, that partner to share my daughter and my days with. Sometimes it felt urgent, tragic even that there was no other witness than me to the way Sadie changed and grew, to the things she said. That no one else under the sun shared that knowledge or understood her or loved her as well as I did. It was an honor, but a lonesome one. I was just tired. It was natural that since Rachel had been kind to Sadie, I’d have thoughts of her mixed up with being lonely in my cabin at night, fifteen miles from Rockford Falls, without another soul nearby except my sleeping child. A passing attraction for her was nothing to take note of. It would wane and I’d forget all about her. Maybe we’d quit going into the diner every week. Sadie liked routine and looked forward to seeing Rachel and checking the progress of the daffodils and having some pie. But, if my interest in Rachel grew, I’d have to quit going in there. We’d just start a new tradition that didn’t have me thinking longingly of a smart-mouthed blonde with a ponytail, a killer piecrust recipe, and a sweet rapport with my daughter.