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People are dumb.
Pushing her wide brown eyes and worried expression from my mind, I go back to my inspection of the vines. Even though I don’t need to be here this afternoon, it’s the perfect vantage point to spot June’s SUV coming up the drive. I’ve got a surprise for my girl, but the timing has to be perfect.
I’ve covered three more rows by the time I spot it—the familiar silver flashing in a patch of sunlight as it turns into the long drive at the base of the hill I’m walking. Grinning, I take a shortcut through the field to my cottage below the main house and slip inside. I’ve got five minutes while they follow the road around the public parking lot and down to my front door.
I turn on my oven to preheat as I pull the cookie sheet I’ve been chilling out of the fridge. Balls of cookie dough are lined up in neat rows, a little lumpier and larger than my usual, but getting the dough to wrap neatly around the Oreo cookie in the middle was harder than I expected.
The oven beeps to signal it’s ready just as I hear wheels on gravel out front. A car door slams as I close the oven door and a moment later June is yelling something outside. I ignore her voice though, because a much more important one is already yelling for me.
“Daddy, guess what Shelby and I made?” Olive’s voice rings out as she flies through the front door. I’m just in time to catch her as she comes barreling toward me, wrapping her arms and legs around me in a koala hug.
We squeeze each other before she pulls back to rub her nose against mine. “What did you and Shelby make, Pickle?” I set her down just as June steps through the door, navigating around the purple rolling suitcase Olive left in the doorway. “Hi, June.”
My ex waves from the doorway. She and Olive share the same dark curly hair and eyes, but the sharp chin and long nose on Olive’s face come from my side of the family. “Hey, Kel. We had brunch with my folks and skipped lunch, so she may be hungry pretty soon. And,” she eyes Olive, “someone only remembered in the car that she has a homework assignment due tomorrow morning.”
“Mommmmmy, I told you, I need Daddy to help me finish it. I didn’t forget about it. I was waiting to finish it here.”
I drop a hand on Olive’s shoulder in solidarity. “It’ll get done.” I squeeze her shoulder so she looks up at me. “You can finish it while I cook dinner, yeah?”
Olive takes her suitcase to her room while June fills me in on the rest of their week together. “You know, we really should think about getting her a phone. The bus ride out here is so far for her.”
Eyes closed, I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. Not even the scent of the cookies in the oven is enough to keep me feeling warm and fuzzy while having a parenting conversation with my ex. “She’s only seven. You know what they say about kids and phones these days. How do you suggest we keep her away from the crazies and the Kardashians if we give her a phone?”
This isn’t the first time we’ve had this discussion, and it won’t be the last. June scowls. “The bus stop out here is in the middle of nowhere. What if you’re running late and she has to wait for you to come and get her? Don’t you want her to know you’re on your way?”
“I never run late. If there was an emergency, then Jackie would come and get her.”
June rolls her eyes at the growl in my voice. “Kel, be reasonable. Jackie is great, but she has priorities other than your kid.” I open my mouth to protest, but June raises a hand. “I know, I know. She loves Olive like her own. Lord knows, she’ll never get a grandkid from Nathaniel, but you know I’m right. Isn’t it almost harvest?”
My shoulders hunch up near my ears. “Yeah. So?”
“So? You’ll be crazy busy every day. I know you’re very anti-technology, but they make phones specifically for kids with tons of safety controls. If I send you some info, will you at least promise to look at it?”
“Daddy?” Olive comes bounding out of her room, slipping her tiny hand into mine. “What’s in the oven?”
“An after-homework treat that’s going to burn if we don’t go get it out.” The timer goes off on my phone, accentuating my words. Olive bounces into the kitchen, pulling oven mitts out of a drawer as she goes. “I promise to be careful, okay?”
June shakes her head before crossing the small space to the kitchen. “Bye, Olive. Love you, and I’ll see you on Sunday.”
Olive dances from foot to foot in excitement, pausing only long enough to let June drop a kiss on top of her head. “Bye, Mommy. Love you.” June is forgotten as Olive pulls open the oven door, exclaiming at the scent of fresh chocolate chip cookies that wafts out.
I wave to June as she lets herself out, then turn my attention to the hot sheet, plucking the oven mitts from Olive before she can attempt to take the tray out herself. “This one’s kind of heavy, Pickle. I’ll grab it if you pull out the cooling racks for me.”
We do our well-practiced dance, Olive pulling the cooling racks from their drawer while I take the cookies out of the oven and set them on top. “So tell me about your week. What did you make with Shelby?”
Asking my daughter about what she did with my ex’s wife is still something that I have to remind myself to say nicely. It’s far easier now than it was three years ago when June and I first broke up, but the sting of it still lingers.
Olive puffs out her cheeks and pulls her ears out before collapsing in a shriek of laughter. “Monkey, monkey, monkey bread.” She chants the words as she dances around the kitchen. My baby girl is nothing if not a bubbling ball of personality.
June and I had been dating for almost a year when a combination of antibiotics, too much champagne, and impulsiveness resulted in a positive pregnancy test. Her parents had wanted us to get married immediately, but June refused. She wanted her wedding to be perfect and was determined to wait until after the baby so she could plan it in peace. But we’d stayed together, and every six months or so I’d ask June when she was ready to plan the wedding. She kept putting it off, until one day when Olive was four, I’d asked again and June started sobbing.
Hearing your girlfriend and the mother of your child admit that she’d fallen in love with someone else is a blow no matter what the circumstances. I have never been able to decide if it made it better or worse that June fell in love with the sassy Southern belle that is Shelby. It’s hard to compete with a woman who can bless your heart with one breath and teach you the secret to fluffy, flaky biscuits with the next.
Laughing, I catch Olive by the waist as she dances by, hoisting her up in the air before teasing her. “Is it ‘monkey, monkey, monkey bread’ or just ‘monkey bread’?” I blow a raspberry against her stomach before I set her back on her feet. “If we added orange zest, would that make it orangutan bread?” I add, waving my hands over the still-hot cookies.
Sharing custody of Olive hasn’t always been easy, and learning to share her affection with Shelby too has been even harder. June and I both have a natural tendency to be practical, the opposite of Shelby. At first, it felt like a magical being had invaded my daughter’s life, filling it with fairies and unicorns and other sparkly things that I didn’t understand how to deal with. But three years of practice and some tutoring from Jackie has softened up my stance on glitter and what started as a bitter rivalry in the kitchen has turned more Great British Baking Show than Hell’s Kitchen.
But between my daughter, my ex and her wife, and the tribes of women that fill Sunshine Cellars on any given weekend, some days it feels like there isn’t much space left for me in the world.
