Page 7 of Head Over Heels

“You been up a lot at night?”

“Katie’s not sleeping great,” he admits. “She’s fine during the day, mostly, but she’s having a lot of nightmares. And a lot of times when I wake up, I can’t fall asleep again.”

My heart squeezes for both of them. Even though Chase and Thea didn’t get along great, I know Katie’s grief is hard on him.

He starts unpacking the takeout bags I brought.

“Whatisthis?” he demands.

I hide my smile. Messing with Chase about takeout is one of my favorite sports. “Sushi.”

“Seriously? Whatever happened to, you know, pizza? Chinese? Burgers and fries?”

I hide a smile. “It’s summer. And sushi has lots of omega-3 fats. It’s healthy. And beautiful.”

“Beautiful,” he mutters irritably. “Food is not supposed to be beautiful. It’s supposed to taste good.”

Just so you know, Chase likes to pretend he’s surly and mean, but he’s the biggest softie on earth. You just have to watch him for three seconds with Katie to see it.

I carefully transfer my sushi to a plate.

“Why do you do that?” he asks. “Put everything on plates. It just makes more dishes.”

My turn to shrug. I’ve got this thing for making meals as homey as possible. It’s another side effect of growing up in foster homes. There was a lot of grab-and-go in my life, and I love the idea of sitting down as a whole family and eating with plates and silverware and napkins and all that jazz.

I dump Katie’s spaghetti into a bowl and he says, “Nowthatlooks good.”

“It’s Katie’s.” I warn him off with a glare.

He sighs. “I’m never letting you order the takeout again.”

This conversation is a perfect example of why Chase and I could never be a couple.

While I finish setting the table—best I can with Chase’s limited design resources, which don’t include placemats or actual napkins—Chase goes into the living room, shuts off the movie, and comes back into the kitchen with Katie at his side.

I set the bowl of spaghetti, heated, in front of her. She takes one look at it and bursts into tears.

Chase panics, practically lunging across the table in his haste to help. “Katie, what’s wrong? What’s wrong, baby?”

“Mommy always cut my sketti,” Katie wails.

Chase looks utterly stricken, and I can’t really blame him. He starts to form words, but I know nothing he says now is going to help. At all. I know the only thing that will help. Aside from the one thing neither of us has any power to do, which is to bring Thea back.

“She’s hungry,” I murmur to Chase. “Let’s get some food into her.”

I take a knife and fork and begin slicing the spaghetti into shorter pieces, and Katie’s wails soften immediately.

“Take a bite, hon’,” I tell Katie.

She does. Then another. Until she’s shoveling it in. She’s still sniffling a bit, but no longer crying.

“Slow down, hon’.”

“It’s really good,” she says, through a mouthful. “It’s the best sketti ever.”

Chase’s face slowly relaxes. His shoulders, too.

“She didn’t realize how hungry she was because she was watching the movie, and now she’s too hungry to have any resilience. She’ll be fine. Right, Katie girl? You’re fine, aren’t you?”

---