Page 21 of Dream with Me

I glance around the rest of the foyer floor and notice someone fixed all the rough and worn spots of the tile. A wave of weepiness washes over me when I realize my dad probably came and filled in the gaps while I was at work today. When we were at our Sunday family dinner this week, my parents saw the ugly bruise on my arm from the latest incident with the floor, and Dad mentioned he’d get over to fix it.

I manage to hold back tears at him taking care of me, which is a small miracle because the antidepressant also makes me cry at the drop of a hat. That’s one side effect, I won’t miss when it’s gone.

With my shoes now in my hands, I climb the stairs to my bedroom to change before I greet the kids and Troy. As I think about how the people who love me have stepped up to help without even mentioning it, I’m filled with gratitude.

After I’ve changed my clothes, I head down the stairs, andas I approach the kitchen, animated conversation and intermittent giggling, mixed in with Troy’s deep laughter, fills my ears. As I get closer to the kitchen and then am in the doorway, my mouth practically waters at how good it smells.

Olivia sees me first. “Hi, Mom. You ready for some baked ziti? It was my pick tonight.”

The rest of the family, sitting at the kitchen table, turns and looks at me. Chase struggles to get down from his booster seat, flailing his upper body and trying to loosen the safety strap. With a grin, Troy helps him unbuckle it, picks him up, then places him on his feet.Chase runs to me on his chunky toddler legs and raises his arms, a clear request to pick him up. He’s covered in spaghetti sauce, but it’s okay. He’s adorable, and I’ll take these hugs from my baby any day. He plants a wet, slobbery kiss on my cheek, and I’m sure I look a hot mess already, but this is the best I’ve felt all day.

“Mama, you want some sketti?” Anything pasta-related, Chase calls sketti. Not spaghetti, not rigatoni, not ziti... sketti.

“Daddy made sketti? You know Mama loves sketti.” It’s then I catch a whiff of his breath.“Whoa! You’ve got some strong garlic breath, little boy.”My tone is teasing and light, and I kiss him on his sauce-stained forehead.

“Yeah, I made some roasted garlic for you, and you know I have a hard time keeping him away from it. He snuck two pieces,” Troy says. “Sorry about that.”

Chelsea chimes in nonchalantly, “It’ll keep the vampires away.”

“Vampires? Where are you learning about vampires?” I know we haven’t let her watch anything about vampires.

“In my books.” Chelsea continues picking at her ziti as if nothing is amiss.

I give Troy a look across the room, and we speak through our eyes. I’m pretty sure he’s also wondering how the heck our six-year-old kid slipped a vampire book past us. We’ll have to look into that one.

Troy stands, and as he does, I notice that he doesn’t have any food.

“You want me to make you a plate before I go?” he asks.

“Aren’t you gonna eat?” He shakes his head.

“Nah. I wanted to get the kids fed, and I figured I’d make enough so you could eat when you got home. I’m gonna head out. I can eat at my place.”

I notice from a glance at the table that Oliver is very quiet, watching the conversation, while the other kids are unaware of any tension.

“Troy, you cooked dinner for the family. Please eat with us. Right kids?”

Shouts of “Yeah, Daddy” and “Stay” fill the air. Troy agrees, though the way he twists his mouth and looks at the floor makes him seem reluctant.

Later, we’re all sitting at the table eating our dinner, and it takes everything in me not to moan at how delicious this food is. I’m an okay cook, but I can’t make anything that tastes this good. On the other hand, Troy’s specialties include the baked ziti, beef stroganoff, tuna casserole, and seasoned tilapia. His fish-based meals are the only time I can get my kids to eat fish.

When everyone is finished and satisfied, Olivia and Oliver go to their rooms to do their homework, and Chelsea goes to hers to read. She was super excited she didn’t have homework tonight because it meant she could spend a little bit more time with her books. I’ve never seen a six-year-old who loves to read as much as this kid.

“How about I take Chase upstairs and get him a bath while you clean the kitchen—or vice versa—then I’ll head out, so you guys have your evening?” Troy asks.

God, that would be amazing. But I feel guilty because he’s done so much already. “I can’t ask you to do that. I can do them both.”

“Nah, I don’t mind. It’ll be fun getting this little garlic monster cleaned up.” Chase starts cheering at the prospect of getting a bath with his dad supervising. I don’t know what it is, but that kid fights me about getting a bath almost every night. If anybody else puts him in the tub, he has a grand old time in there.

I put a half pot of coffee on since I sometimes enjoy an evening cup, and today is one of those days. As I clean up the kitchen, it registers that even though the initial side effects of the antidepressants are unpleasant, there’s something else happening. In the background of my emotions, there’s a pinch of what might be happiness. It’s hard to say because I haven’t felt it in a long time, but I think it’s trying to break through.

I finish wiping the counter when Troy walks into the kitchen. I glance up at him and can’t help but notice my physical attraction to him is still there.

Troy has never appreciated how good-looking he is. He’s well over six feet tall with plenty of lean muscle, gorgeous green eyes, and a jawline that no movie star can compete with. He’s a beautiful specimen of a man. It’s always amused me he doesn’t seem aware of it. He honestly doesn’t worry about how he looks as long as he is strong enough to care for his family and the people entrusted to him when working at the fire department.

He clears his throat, and I become aware I spaced out, staring at him.

“So, Chase is all washed up and ready for bed. I put him on the couch and let him have a little bit of screen time watching that show with the raccoon that lives in the house and has the skunk neighbor.”

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