Page 47 of Keeping it Casual
“Eight,” she corrects.
“I must have blinked and missed one of them. You’re quite speedy.”
“I feel really bad about hitting that girl,” Lucy says. “But she said it was her fault for not ducking.”
“I think the whole world should duck when you’re armed with a soccer ball, Luce,” I say.
She grins at me, her broad smile splitting open her face. Then she glances at Em.
“Can Dad come over for dinner?”
Em bites her lip, sending me a look. “Do you want to?”
“Are you okay with that?” I ask in return.
After we first separated, I’d tried hard to keep us as a tight family unit. To still be involved in Lucy’s day-to-day life even when she wasn’t with me.
But one night, Em broke down in tears and told me it was too hard to have me constantly around, acting like nothing had changed. So I’d withdrawn to give her some space, even though it killed me to spend so much time away from Lucy.
“I’m okay with it. I think we’ve got enough, as long as Dad doesn’t eat too much.” Em throws me a grin.
“We’re having bacon and egg pie with scalloped potatoes,” Lucy informs me.
“Sounds yum. Hopefully, there will be enough left over for you.” I tug at Lucy’s ponytail.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s my birthday. Like you’re going to eat all my food on my birthday.”
“Is this where I say, ‘challenge accepted?’” I ruffle her ponytail again, and she dances away from my reach.
As I drive to the cute little bungalow I lived in with Lucy and Em, I try to tamp down my awkwardness and regret. Em and I brought this house when she was pregnant with Lucy, and we slowly did it up together over the years to make it the home we wanted.
Inside, I’m assailed by memories. Em and I painting the hallway and nursery together when Em was heavily pregnant. The wall by the kitchen where we kept track of Lucy’s height every month. I swallow the lump in my throat when I see all of the recent marks I haven’t been here to witness.
“You can sit here, Dad, next to Mum,” Lucy instructs. So I obediently slot into the place next to Em, pretending not to notice when she stiffens as I accidentally brush against her. Lucy sits down opposite us.
Lucy chats endlessly about the soccer game and school during dinner, requiring little input from Em and me.
Em’s parents FaceTime Lucy to wish her a happy birthday, and she carries the phone outside to show them her new bike.
Em scrapes some more potatoes onto her plate. “Do you want seconds of anything?” she asks.
“No, I’m fine, thanks.”
The formality sits awkwardly in the air. This is Em, who I used to have conversations with that lasted all night. Howdid we ever reach this place where we act like polite strangers?
Just as I’m trying to come up with some safe topic of conversation, I get a message from Dustin.
Lachie’s at a sleepover tonight. Want to come over?
A thrill shoots through my body at the thought of spending the night with Dustin.
I don’t want to seem too eager, though, so I wait a solid minute before I message him back.
Do chicken farmers have feather pillows?
Um…I guess they do. I’ve never thought about the pillows of chicken farmers.
I’m thinking they’d have an endless supply of feathers that they’d have to use somehow.
