Page 76 of Cooking Up My Comeback
My chest tightens. Chad never could resist a photo opportunity, even at the expense of teaching his son proper fishing ethics.
“Well, catch and release shows you’re thinking like a real fisherman,” I tell him. “Protecting the future of the sport.”
“That’s exactly what Grandpa said!”
Dinner unfolds with its usual soundtrack of Mason explaining his pirate fort’s defensive capabilities while Crew details the subtle art of reading water currents. Tally shares intelligence about homecomingplanning, including something about a flash mob proposal involving the entire debate team.
“Speaking of homecoming,” she says, cutting Mason’s chicken into bite-sized pieces, “Logan asked me.”
I nearly inhale my water. “He did?”
“Last week. I said yes.” She glances at me. “That’s okay, right?”
“Of course it’s okay. I just wasn’t prepared for you to be old enough for formal dances.”
“Mom, I’ve been old enough for three years. You’re just catching up.”
“Logan’s nice,” Crew offers. “He helped me untangle my line last weekend and didn’t act like I was hopeless.”
“Plus he brings the good snacks,” Mason adds. “The ones with sugar instead of disappointment.”
After dinner, I shoo Tally away from cleanup and settle into the familiar rhythm of washing dishes. The kids scatter to their evening routines, and for the first time today, I have space to think.
My phone buzzes.
Brett: Made it home safely. Thanks for today. Already planning our next research expedition.
I stare at the message, remembering the way he asked permission before kissing me. Gentle. Careful. Completely unlike the gruff man who usually treats emotional moments like necessary evils.
Which is exactly what worries me.
Me: Glad you survived the ferry ride. Though I’m still processing this new version of you that says thank you and makes future plans. Highly suspicious behavior.
Brett: Maybe I’m full of surprises.
Me: Maybe you’re setting me up for disappointment when you revert to your usual charming self tomorrow.
The typing indicator appears and disappears several times before his response comes through.
Brett: Fair point. But maybe some changes stick.
Me: We’ll see.
I set the phone down, unsettled by how much I want him to be right. Because Pleasant Brett is dangerous in ways Grumpy Brett never was. Grumpy Brett I can handle. Pleasant Brett makes me hope for things I’m not sure I should want.
“Mom?” Mason appears at my elbow, tugging on my sleeve. “Your face is thinking too hard.”
Apparently my emotional state is transparent. “Just figuring some grown-up stuff out, buddy.”
“Is it about Brett?”
I nearly drop the plate I’m drying. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because you get extra scrunchy when you talk about him. But also smiley. It’s confusing.”
“You and me both.”
He nods sagely and skipsaway, leaving me with the realization that my preschooler just delivered uncomfortably accurate emotional analysis.
