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Come to think of it, she was short with me last night when she got home too. What’s going on?
I bet I can make her forget all about it. A plan forms in my head. Yeah, I’m gonna make her smile.
“She knows you love her and she loves you, Mae. Very much.” Something about those words makes my chest constrict, but I continue, “She’d never hold it against you. Just please … don’t make her any apology pancakes.”
3, 2, 1… Bingo.
Queeny’s laughter is the prettiest melody I’ve ever heard. I try to make her sing it every chance I get. Because damn, that’s one hell of a gorgeous smile. The world just got brighter.
I tell myself it’s because I want her to be happy. Happy parents create easy-going babies. That’s all this is about.
Nothing more. Right?
“What do you think, Isabel, should we listen to Harry or Taylor?” I’m a Swiftie and ain’t ashamed about it. Lavender Haze is the shit.
“Sussi, Emmie. Sussi!” Isabel shouts, hopping around my legs. She, on the other hand, is one of the Harries. She wants me to play that damn Sushi song all the time. I can’t blame her—it’s a catchy tune.
As soon as the beginning bass riffs that funky beat, Isabel’s jumps get higher and more animated. She’s adorable, her enthusiasm contagious. Pretty soon, we’re cutting a rug around the family room. We dance until Isabel has exhausted all of her toddler energy, and then we go into quiet time.
Grabbing Mr. Snuffles, I settle Isabel on my lap. She nestles in, and I take a moment to breathe her baby scent. It tempers the chaos in my head and helps me focus on what’s most important—caring for her. Not being tactual with her mother like a sentimental dipshit.
“Do you want to read about the moon or about the cat?”
“Cat.”
I smile. She’s decisive, like her mom. It makes my job easy. “Okay, The Cat and The Hat.”
Isabel’s baby giggle tickles my ears. “Him hat cwazy.”
I chuckle. “Definitely.”
“Definty,” she mimics.
“Very good, Isa-bea.”
Halfway through the book, Isabel looks up at me with the most soulful green eyes. Her mama’s eyes. They both look at me like I matter to them the same way they matter to me. Sometimes, I kid myself that it’s just the job that I love. But most times, it’s so much more than that. I care in a way that exceeds mere obligation to this charge.
“I want cat.” She yanks on my shirt. “Emmie, I want cat.”
“Alright, we can talk to Mommy about it.” How I said that rubs me the wrong way. Maybe because it implies that Mae and I are together as a couple. It’s not appropriate nor allowed. Though, I can’t deny the words flowed naturally off my tongue.
Were it up to me, I’d give Isabel anything she asked for. This little girl has me wrapped around her finger.
“We can ask your mom about it, but maybe we can just visit them at the shelter.”
“What’s ssewter?”
“A place where cats and dogs … um. It’s where they live.” Christ, I’m not about to get into why there are animals in the shelter—her huge heart would break. I can’t bear to witness tears on her cheeks again today.
“Dey, lib dere?”
I love this age because they are curious about everything. Watching her learn about the world around her is the most rewarding thing about this job.
“Mm-hmm. They do, and sometimes they get adopted and get to live with families.”
She looks away for a minute. I can practically see the cogs turning in her toddler head. Finally, she peers at me. “We adoded?”
How? How can I say no to her? It’s like telling a begging puppy they can’t have a treat. They call it “puppy eyes” for a reason.
