Page 96 of Falling Slowly
“It’s not. It’s some sort of fancy, organic alternative. The brand names and ingredients are all written on those little cards.” I gestured at the buffet.
“Great.” He left to take a photo of the card.
“What is he doing?” Celia asked us.
“I think he’s finding out what it is so he can buy it for you,” my mom explained helpfully, an approving smile hovering on her lips.
“No, sweetie. He just likes it, too,” I corrected, shooting Mom a warning look.
“If he likes it, why didn’t he take any?” Celia pointed at Charlie’s tray with a piece of toast and a coffee.
Mom raised her brow at me, siding with my daughter. But they didn’t know Charlie like I did. As much as my heart fluttered around him, I had to look at the big picture. I had to consider the Charlie I knew from work. The spontaneous, excitable guy with a major shiny-new-object syndrome. I’d seen the fads come and go. The robots and 3D printers, cars and girlfriends. Charlie got excited, then he got bored. Some boxes didn’t even get opened as his interests shifted to something else. As much as my heart screamed otherwise, I couldn’t stake my daughter’s happiness on someone like that.
I could enjoy the ride. That was the best anyone could get with Charlie, and that’s what I was going to do today.
After breakfast, Charlie lifted Celia on his shoulders and carried her back to the cabin. The girl giggled with excitement as they reached the door and Charlie had to scoot down to fit them both through.
“Ready to fly?”
“Yes!”
He lifted Celia off his shoulders and heaved her onto the bed. She squealed and laughed so hard she got the hiccups. I had to remind her to breathe so she wouldn’t start coughing and throw up. Still, I couldn’t help but smile, a lump in my throat, as she got up and yelled, “Again!”
When had I seen her like this? I didn’t really play with her. I could only hope she had these moments in kindergarten.
“What was the pinecone idea you had?” I asked Charlie, plopping on the edge of the bed, lifting my leg up on it. “How many do we need for it? Because I might not be of that much help.”
Charlie ran his fingers through his hair, a cheeky smile on his face. “I was actually hoping Celia could help us.” He turnedto my daughter, now climbing over the back of the couch, then sliding down on her tummy.
“Help with what?” she asked, looking up.
“I’ll show you. Put your shoes and jacket back on. Let’s go!” He picked up my backpack. “Can we use this?”
“Where are you going?” I asked, watching Celia pull on her purple puffer jacket and booties.
“Outside to collect pinecones. We won’t go far. Don’t worry.”
I tried to get up, but Charlie motioned me to stay put. “Stay. Rest that leg. Take a shower. Do you need help with that?”
“I should be fine.” I glanced at the bathroom, letting myself imagine the bliss of warm water. “Are you sure?”
Nobody took my child off my hands to give me a break, not even Mom. Not unless I asked.
Mom followed them to the door, throwing me a reassuring smile over her shoulder. “He’s right. You won’t be of much help like that. Stay back and rest.”
Charlie turned to Celia. “I thinkyouhave some great ideas about what we can do with the pinecones. Let’s find some good ones first, and then you can tell me what you think we should do.”
I pointed at the bowl of pinecones on the table. “He’s talking about those, Ce. They’ve probably fallen off the trees around here. Look!”
Mom took one of the large pinecones and handed it to Celia. She turned it in her hands, head tilted. She had my natural urge to say the right thing. Be honest. And right now, Charlie, her hero, was asking for her help.
“We should put it back in the tree,” she decided, handing it to Charlie.
“Hang it back in the tree? Why?”
“Because it fell, and maybe the tree wants it back. Maybe it misses it.”
“But what if we can’t put it back? What should we do then?”
