Page 27 of For Fox Sake

“She’ll be there.” We take turns having the girls over, alternating every month, giving Michelle and her husband a chance for a date night and giving me a night without Ari, a night to work or clean or sit around wondering what the heck normal twenty-somethings do on a weekend night. We say goodbye, and I give her daughter, Angelica, a goodie bag before they leave.

After everyone finishes cake, we go through a few more outdoor activities: a ball toss, pin the cape on the superhero, and a spiñata—the less violent version of a piñata. Then the whole group heads inside and fills the living room while Ari opens presents on the couch, oohing and ahhing over each and every one, hugging every person who brought her a gift, which makes it take twice as long but I’m not going to stop her.

The entire time, Jake is a palpable presence, hovering at the edges of the room and making small talk with the other parents.

After the presents are all opened, things start winding down. I chat with everyone I can while people continue to snack on the finger foods set out. People trickle their way out the door. Before I know it, I’m saying goodbye to the last of the guests, and it’s only Ari and me and the house is quiet and getting darker by the minute.

When did Jake leave? He must have snuck out when I was helping Bernie take some of the leftover cake to her car so she could bring it to the hospital in the morning to share with the staff. He didn’t say goodbye.

It doesn’t matter.

I eyeball the living room. It’s not too much of a mess. My eyes trail over some wrapping paper crumpled up on the floor and ribbon strewn over the side of the couch arm.

The backyard is another matter entirely, not to mention the kitchen. I should get the snacks put away and a load of dishes in at the very least. I won’t be able to sleep until it’s somewhat tidied up, and Ari still needs to take a bath.

“Ari?” I call out. Where is she? I glance down the hall, but the bathroom and bedrooms are dark. The backyard light is still on though.

I push open the door.

“If you make this one, I’ll stand on my head and crow like a rooster.”

Ari’s laughter echoes through the night air.

Jake is holding up a big black garbage bag, stretched open. About ten feet away, Ari is holding an empty soda can. She chucks it toward him, and he shifts the bag so that the can lands inside.

“She shoots, she scores!”

Ari claps and yells, laughing. “Now you have to stand on your head and crow.”

He didn’t leave. He’s cleaning up the mess, and he roped Ari into it by turning it into a game.

Shit.

He might actually be perfect.

Chapter Eight

Jake

“Fruit punch?”

“Sounds great. Thanks.”

Ryan hands me the juice box before settling in the Adirondack chair beside me. “Sorry, I don’t have anything more adult-ish.”

“I don’t drink, so it’s perfect.”

Her head tilts. “You mentioned that the other day. You used alcohol to avoid dealing with everything.”

“More or less.” I avert my gaze to the flickering flames in the firepit in front of us. “It took me longer than I care to admit that I can’t have even one drink without it turning into drinking to excess. It’s easier to keep a tiger in a cage than on a leash.”

Why am I always talking to Ryan about things better kept on the inside? I take a long draw on my juice.

I’m honestly not even sure exactly how I ended up here, sitting around the firepit in Ryan and Ari’s backyard alone with Ryan.

After I helped them clean up the backyard, I offered to help with the kitchen and dishes while Ari got ready for bed.

I couldn’t help but listen in to some of the bedtime routine, which included singing off-key Taylor Swift songs in the bathtub and Ryan reading to Ari in all kinds of funny voices. Then Ari delaying bedtime by asking for a glass of water and needing to use the bathroom at least three times before it was finally over.

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