Page 97 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess

One hour later, I’m biting into a chocolate chip cookie that’s ten times better than the ones I made Dex, and I don’t understand how this happened. Why were mine crunchy? I followed the instructions.

“Good call on the baking front,” I say, my mouth full—because I am alady. “These are delicious.”

Dex nods, smiling. “They are, aren’t they?”

His phone buzzes, and while he’s checking it I take the time to get Archer out of his high chair, pulling him up and settling him on my hip, supporting his wobbly little head with my hand.

“Heads up,” Dex says, setting his phone back down on the counter. “My mother is on her way.”

“Huh. She texted beforehand this time,” I say.

Dex walks past me and heads in the direction of the living room, looking back at me over his shoulder and indicating I should follow him. “She’s evolving.”

I trail after him and settle myself on the living room floor, putting Archer down on his tummy on the carpet. Smoothing my hand up and down his back, I coo nonsense at him to help him stay calm.

When the doorbell rings, I look up at Dex, who shoots me a knowing look. Then he stands and disappears into the other room.

“Come in,” I hear him say a second later, and I brace myself for another encounter with Dex’s mom, reminding myself that no one can make me feel inferior without my consent (thank you, Eleanor Roosevelt). I keep my eyes on Archer, mainly so I don’t end up glaring at Nancy, and watch as his fat little hands slap at the carpet. His head bobs as he works his hardest to keep it up, and I smile at him. He’s starting to get the hang of tummy time.

When Dex reappears in the living room, followed closely by Nancy—who’s randomly carrying a large grocery bag—I give them a nod before turning my attention back to Archer. I listen, though, as Dex’s mom begins explaining the list of products she’s brought. She seems to be worried that Dex is going to lose his hair, though I’m not sure why, and she talks for several minutes about a special conditioner and shampoo she’s purchased for him. Talk about an involved parent.

I lean forward and pick up Archer, finally relieving him of tummy time. I sit there on the floor, my back against the couch, and bounce Archer up and down in front of me, smiling at him and making ridiculous faces. I’m still paying attention to Dex and his mom, though.

“And these, too,” she says, and I look up to see her thrusting a large bottle of vitamins at Dex. “Make sure you take two of these every day, and don’t forget—”

But she breaks off and turns to Archer and me when Archer gives a loud belch, projecting spit up all down his front as well as all over my hands and my lap.

There’s silence in the room for one second before Dex begins to laugh.

It’s the laugh that I love so much, deep and free and resonant. I glare at him as he clutches his stomach, gasping for breath and then wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

“I’m so glad this is funny to you,” I say, but I can’t help my smile.

“Here,” Dex manages to get out, grabbing a t-shirt from a pile of clean laundry folded neatly on the arm of the sofa. He tosses it to me, and I set Archer down, wiping his face clean before getting my hands and my skirt.

Dex just continues to laugh.

I shake my head at him, still smiling, but then my gaze catches on Nancy, and my smile fades. She’s looking between Dex and I, seemingly speechless, her jaw dropped slightly, her eyes wide.

“Done with that?” Dex says, not seeming to notice the looks his mother is giving us. He gestures instead to the now-dirty shirt I’ve just used as a burp rag.

“Yeah,” I say.

He strides over to Archer and me and holds his hand out, and I pass him the shirt. Then he bends over and rubs the top of Archer’s head, grinning at him.

“Good job, little man.” Then, looking at me, he says, “I’ll run this up to the laundry. Be right back.” He turns to the stairs and bounds up, leaving me alone with his mother.

The room is quiet for a second, and though I’m not looking at her, I can feel her eyes on me. When she begins to speak, though, I give her my attention.

“You know,” she says, sounding hesitant. “Dex was a very serious child, a very serious teenager. And he grew into a serious adult.” She pauses, and something in her gaze softens as she glances toward the stairs. “I haven’t heard him laugh like that in a long, long time. And I can’t recall ever seeing him use clean clothes to wipe up a mess.” She clears her throat, looking vulnerable. Her bony hands smooth over her hair as she looks around the kitchen and the living room—avoiding looking at me, I think. But finally her eyes fall on Archer. “He’s a very sweet baby,” she says stiffly, hesitantly. “You must be very proud.”

I smile, taking it for the olive branch I know it is. “Thank you,” I say. “I am proud.” And it’s a strange feeling, playing nice with the woman who so heartily disapproved of me mere days ago, but it’s even stranger when she smiles a genuine smile at Archer.

“I must be going,” she says, and I get the sense that she feels awkward and wants to get out of here. I feel bad for her for a second, because she just seems so unable to articulate her feelings, but I simply nod and give her a little wave. She yells up the stairs to Dexter that she’s leaving—something that’s a little surprising, honestly, just because I never pictured Nancy Anthony raising her voice for any reason—and he reappears a second later, giving her a one-armed hug before leading her out.

“Well?” he says when he reappears. “What was that about? Did you and my mother play nice?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Have you been eavesdropping, Mr. Anthony?”

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