“I want to,” I said. “Drop on by. I’ll look forward to it.”

“Alright. I’ll take you up on it. I’ll drop by after work.”

“Awesome. I’ll see you then,” I said. “It was nice to meet you, Olly.”

“Nice a me you,” Olly said, waving as his mother picked him up.

“Goodbye, Finn,” she said.

“Goodbye, Wendy.”

“Goo-bye,” Olly said again to no one in particular.

As they walked away, I sat down heavily by my bag, wondering if offering free food was the most ethical way of flirting. Was it even flirting? I didn’t know for sure. Maybe I could just chalk it up to being friendly and leave it at that.

12

WENDY

I didn’t think it would be an exaggeration to say that Olly had one of the best weekends of his life. A day out playing in the leaves with Deana on Friday. A picnic, the playground, and a bonfire with some new little friends on Saturday. Exploring the woods and meeting a new friend on Sunday. It was no wonder he had been a bit wound up when we got back to the house that evening.

He was filled with energy and babbling with every bit of mastery over the language as his little two-year-old brain could muster. Granted, that wasn’t a whole lot, but it was enough to let me know he had a fantastic time.

I didn’t want him to stay up too late since I knew he would have to get up early the next day and continue on with our usual routine, which I had no doubt would include him getting frustrated and arguing with me about not getting up. But it really seemed futile to try to get him to settle down for sleep when he was still bubbling over with excitement and energy.

Convincing myself a little bit of flexibility was important when it came to parenting, I decided to give him an extra half an hour before I was going to plop him down into the bath and get him to bed. He bounded to his room and dragged toys into the living room. I stood in the kitchen, listening to him telling his stuffed animals about the day in a combination of intelligible phrases and his own secretive rambling language.

I loved when he did that. It was very clear he knew exactly what he was saying. To him, he wasn’t just making sounds. He didn’t know all the words he wanted to say, so he was just making them up to fit the narrative going through his mind. I often wished I could take a glimpse into his head and see what was going on in there. I wanted to know what he thought about, how he felt, and what he thought about the world around him.

While he played, I looked through the refrigerator and cabinets to make sure neglecting the grocery shopping that day didn’t leave us with nothing to eat the next day. The options certainly weren’t abundant, but the cupboards weren’t totally bare either. That was one of those things I always made sure of. There was going to be enough food for my child, no matter what.

I took out a container of oats, some milk, and some fruit so I could make one of the few things I was really confident with—overnight oats. They were great for breakfast and also delicious for snacks, and the comparative lack of effort necessary along with it being pretty much impossible to totally ruin them also made them a favorite.

When several jars were full of layers of oats and fruit steeping in milk, I put them all in the refrigerator and decided it was time to get Olly in the bath. I found him sitting quietly, barely moving, no longer talking to the toys. He didn’t argue when I told him it was time to get in the tub, and there were a few moments that I thought he was going to nod off right there in the water.

He crawled into bed, and I sat on the edge of his mattress to read to him as he fell asleep. When he was fully knocked out, I pulled the little rail into place on the side of the bed and slipped out of his room. The cabin was so quiet, and I took a second to look around it.

I loved this house. It was just a rental, and it certainly wasn’t the largest or most luxurious place in the area, but it was wonderful. Far better than anything I got a chance to grow up in, and that was an achievement for me. I wanted Olly to look back on his childhood and have happy memories rather than thinking of uncertainty and unbalance. My dream was to one day own a home, to have something that gave us roots. But for now, I would be happy in the cute cabin with big windows, a cozy fireplace, and a deep bathtub in the master ensuite bathroom I liked to sink into and soak the aches of a workday in.

Tags: Natasha L. Black Romance
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