Page 43 of Sweet on You
Mr. Murphy nodded. “Well, that’s something.”
“Olivia loves pretending to cook and bake. She sits on the counter and watches me bake all the time. Don’t you?” Mrs. Murphy bounced Olivia on her hip and kissed her forehead.
“I could help you and Barbie bake right now, if you’d like?” I said, gesturing to the pretend kitchen in the waiting area.
Her smile lit up her face—and again, something in that smile was familiar. In the dimples sinking into both of her cheeks. They were my dimples. That was my smile. This wasmydaughter.
I looked up at the Murphys. “If that’s all right, of course?”
Mrs. Murphy set Olivia down on the floor. “We have a few minutes until they call her in for her cheek swab.”
Olivia toddled over to the play kitchen and I followed her, dropping to a seat on the floor next to it. “What should we make, Olivia?”
She shrugged her shoulders, her little lips forming a pout.
“She’s shy at first with new people,” Mr. Murphy interjected.
“Shhh, let them play,” his wife shushed him.
“Well, why don’t we see what we’ve got in the fridge, yes?” Olivia nodded and I opened the door where a small box of fake food sat. I pulled it out and started rummaging around, grabbing fake eggs, plastic blueberries and some fake pancakes with butter that velcroed on. “Ah, how about pancakes?”
Her eyes lit up and she nodded. We played like that for several minutes. Mixing up fake batter and pretending to fry the pancakes up in the skillet.
I picked up the skillet from the burner and hissed. “Oh, it’s hot!”
“Hot!” she repeated and touched her finger to the top of the pancake. I made a sizzling sound as she touched it and she giggled.
“That’s right, hot. Ouchie!”
“Ouchie!” She cradled her finger, pretending as though it really burned her and then held the finger up to me. “Kiss it?”
The knot lodged in my throat, not for the first time today. How many ouchies had I missed already? How many would I miss in the future in the times I didn’t have her? Slowly, I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her finger.
She held up her hands in triumph. “All better!” Then, she ran over to her grandmother, holding out her finger. “All better!”
“It is!” Mrs. Murphy exclaimed and brushed her hair out of her face with another kiss to Olivia’s forehead.
“Here,” I held out the plate with the pancake on it to Olivia. “Would your…” I paused and looked up at Mrs. Murphy. “I’m sorry, I just realized I don’t know what she calls you? Grandma or Nonny or…”
“Nana,” Mrs. Murphy said quietly. “I’m Nana—”
“Nana!” Olivia cried out, pointing at her grandmother.
“That’s right! Nana! And he goes by Pappap.”
I smiled and looked once more to Olivia. “Why don’t you deliver the first pancake to Nana? Ask if she’d like any syrup.”
Olivia toddled over to me, grabbed the plate and the fake bottle of syrup before wobbling back over to Nana. She mumbled a lot of words that didn’t sound like anything—yet Mrs. Murphy seemed to understand her perfectly. “Oh, I would love some syrup. Thank you, Olivia.”
She pretended to squirt syrup on and handed the plate to Nana, then came back to me. “And let’s not forget about Pappap,” I said, handing her another plate of pancakes.
She was more excited now, her steps faster, nearly running. About halfway to Pappap, she lost her balance and fell hard onto her knees.
I froze. And luckily, it seemed I wasn’t the only one who froze. Both Mr. and Mrs. Murphy waited until she was crying. Which didn’t take long. Her wail filled the waiting room and she held up her palms which were now red. “Ouchie, ouchie, ouchie,” she cried over and over.
I moved to go to her, but Mrs. Murphy was there first, scooping her up and consoling her.
“I-I’m sorry,” I said to Mr. Murphy. “I should have made sure she wasn’t running.”
