Page 128 of Role Play
Oh.Abandoning the cookie scooper, I squat down to meet Dakota at eye level. “Did you just call me Mommy, Koda?”
She hangs her head, puckering her bottom lip in shame. “I’m sorry. Don’t be mad.”
“Oh, sweetie, I’m not mad at all. I was just wondering if you’re missing your mommy and maybe that’s why you called me that. Have you talked to her recently?”
Dakota bites her bottom lip and nods sheepishly. “Today before lunch we talked on FaceTime, but Mommy couldn’t talk too long because she had to go to sleep.”
“I bet she misses you so much. Do you miss her too?”
She nods again with a look on her face that’s mostly heartbreaking, but with a sprinkle of adorable.
“Know what? When I was your age, whenever I was sad and missing my dad, I’d make him a homemade card or draw him a picture. We could make something for your mommy and then mail it all the way to Tokyo. It’s the best way to show somebody how much you love them, by making them something special.”
“Like you’re making Daddy cookies?” she cleverly asks.
“Well, I’m making them for you too, cutie.” I wrinkle my nose at her.
“But, Sora…do you love Daddy?”
Dakota is incredibly blunt. I should’ve seen that question coming a mile away. “I um?—”
“Dakota, that’s enough chitchat. Let’s do bath and PJs while the cookies are baking, okay?” Forrest says, suddenly reappearing in the kitchen. Dakota spins on her heel and races for the stairs, probably remembering she has brand-new bath toys to play with tonight.
“Sorry, she’s getting so attached to you, she has no boundaries. If she asks you questions like that, you don’t have to feel pressured to lie to her or anything.”
I scrunch my bare toes against the polished wooden slats of the floor. “I’m surprised you didn’t wait to hear my answer before interrupting.”
“I don’t want to know.”
My face strains, contorted with surprise, confusion, and honestly, a little hurt. “Why not?”
He blows out a deep breath. “Because right now, I don’t know if I could handle the answer, one way or the other.”
“Oh.”
He shows me a pitiful smile. “See you after bathtime?”
I nod, showing him a fake smile right back. “Yep, I’ll be here. Just follow the smell of burning baked goods.”
“Woman, please don’t burn my cookies,” he says a little too seriously.
Forrest’s cookies look exactly like the Papa Beans version—M&M’s, three types of chocolate, toffee pieces, and pretzel bits arranged in precise proportions. Mine got a heavy dose of cinnamon chips and dried cranberries, which earns me a raised eyebrow from Forrest.
“Cinnamon and fruit? In a kitchen sink cookie? Why are you trying to make junk food healthy?”
“Some of us have sophisticated palates,” I reply with unnecessary decorum, which makes Dakota giggle.
“Yeah, Daddy,” she chimes in, clearly delighted to have an ally. “We’re so-fis-til-cated.” I chuckle to myself, knowing Dakota refused to try my cranberry delights.
Forrest clutches his chest in mock betrayal. “My own daughter, turned against me by the cookie lady.”
While the cookies cool, filling the brownstone with their sweet scent—butter and sugar caramelizing, chocolate melting into perfect puddles—Forrest disappears again upstairs. The floorboards creak above us, marking his path through the house to Dakota’s room.
He returns a few minutes later with her large princess tent and an armful of pillows and blankets, the fabrics carrying the faint, clean scent of my lavender detergent.
“What’s all this?” I ask, gesturing to the pile in his arms.
“Movie night,” he announces with all the authority of a royal proclamation. “Not just any movie night—fortmovie night.”
