Page 23 of Accidental Dad's Best Friend

Chapter 9

Izzy

“Mommy, I want the dinosaur PJs not the spaceships.” Jaxon comes out into the living room in his underwear even though I just helped him put on his pajamas. Apparently they were not the ones he wanted.

“I know, baby. But the dino PJs are still wet.” I walk over and scoop him and Bruno, his weighted stegosaurus stuffy, up into my arms.

“But they’re in the dryer. Are they not dry?”

“Not yet, bud.” I frown walking back into the laundry room that is literally larger than the last bedroom I had at our old place.

“Is it broken?”

“No. Your mom just can’t figure it out.” I say, stopping in front of the two very up to date, very high end machines.

“It looks like a spaceship.” Jaxon says, hugging Bruno tighter.

I set him down. Honestly, I think a NASA shuttle would be easier to figure out than this damn thing. There are no less than sixty four buttons on it and settings I didn’t even know a dryerneeded. All I need is to put the clothes in and hit GO. Apparently, that’s not an option.

Either way, I am too tired to figure it out tonight. “I’ll tell you what, bud. You wear your spaceship jammies one more night and I will figure this thing out in the morning.”

“Maybe we need to call a repair man. Or a washer and dryer man,” he suggests glumly.

“Or NASA.”

“Yeah, let’s call NASA!”

I smile at the sudden perk in his tone and plant a kiss on his cheek. “They’d like your PJs.” I say, carrying him back to his room. It’s been three weeks since we moved in and since then, we have really spruced the place up. Even though I don’t know how long we will be staying, I have this theory that I learned when I first moved to western Colorado. A home needs to feel like a home even if it’s only for a short while. So many people don’t bother to decorate temporary places, which is sad. It makes you feel untethered and anxious and out of place. But if you can turn any space you live in into a nest, you find peace. Belonging. Even joy.

I find this to be especially true as a single parent of a small child. Jaxon needs to feel secure. So, we have turned his room into a Jurassic world. Five-year-old friendly, of course. I bought peel-and-stick dino cutouts with huge googly eyes for the walls, along with a fun velcro play mat with felt dinosaurs that he can rearrange a thousand ways. Everything from his bedding to his lamp are dino themed and I even repurposed old furniture that we found while thrifting to fit the theme. Nothing a quart of paint and some new hardware can't fix. Between that and the leafy reading nook canopy plus some fairy lights and I think we did a bang up job.

“Mom, what’s your favorite kind of dinosaur?” Jaxon asks me sleepily. It’s probably the fiftieth time he’s asked me this but I always answer just the same. I think he likes my answer.

“The pterodactyl.”

“Why?”

I smile down at him as I dress him in his space pajamas again and help him into bed. “Because they can fly. And I wish I could fly.”

Jaxon smiles up at me with heavy eyes. “I wish you could fly too, mommy.”

Tears sting my own eyes as I turn on his sleep music, dim the lights and make my way out of his room. I pad to the kitchen and pour myself a glass a wine, glancing around the house. It’s nice. So nice. Too nice. And my heart aches because I know better than to believe in getting attached to anything like this. The work I am doing for Ethan is just one article. After that, who knows. I like to think it’ll launch me back into the journalism industry. But I also know better than to be a dreamer.

The next morning, I wake up to a knock on the door. Jaxon has about fifteen minutes before his alarm goes off and we start the morning chaos of getting ready for school. I make my way to the front door and stop.

What if it’s Ethan? He wouldn’t come here unannounced, would he? I’m not ready for that. It’s not appropriate anyways. I take a quiet step closer, attempting to peek through the hole. But another round of knocking startles me and I nearly fall back.

“Hello?” The voice on the outside is a woman’s and I feel a surge of relief. “New neighbor here. Anyone home?”

I unlock the door and open it. A woman who seems about five years older than me or so with dark curly hair and a business casual outfit is beaming at me, a basket in hand.

“Hello,” I say groggily. “Sorry it took me a minute. I was still in bed.”

“No worries! I am on my way to take my son to school and then to the office but I saw you move in a few weeks ago and wanted to bring you a welcome gift.”

She hands me the basket and inside I find a steaming pile of banana nut muffins. “Wow. These look amazing.”

“Thank you! I made them myself.”

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