Page 14 of Please Send Snow
“Imadeit,” Dylan tells her excitedly. “My dad helped me. Wesleptin there.”
I glance over at Maddie but she doesn’t seem to think it’s weird that I would sleep in a pillow fort with my kid.
“That sounds like a lot of fun,” she tells him, again without sparing me a glance.
I unlock the door and we step inside.
Technically, I know it has to be warmer in here than it is outside. But somehow with the high ceilings and all this glass, it’s impossible to keep the place at a cozy temperature.
The interior is pretty impressive though. The living space is completely open, with vaulted wood ceilings, acid-stained concrete floors, and sleek, integrated cabinetry.
“Wow,” Maddie says again, her hazel eyes scanning the massive and mostly empty space. “This place is enormous. Where’s the fort?”
I can’t help the corner of my lips tugging up again.
“Come on,” Dylan tells her, grabbing her hand. “It’s in my room.”
For some reason, I really want to follow them. Maybe it’s just that Maddie has such happy energy and, like my son, I’m getting caught up in her wake. But I’ve got work to do and it’s best not to let my curiosity about the girl distract me.
Heading to the kitchen, I decide to knock out some of my notes and then give my finance guy a call. Once I’m seated I slide my laptop out of the charging station and lose myself in the numbers for a while.
Even though I don’t love the actual numbers I’m entering right now, I always enjoy the elegance of the columns and figures. Breaking down and analyzing a potential project is satisfying. There are right and wrong answers, good and bad decisions. Unlike in the real world, everything in the world of the spreadsheets is clear.
“Want to draw?” Dylan squeaks as they come back out to the living space.
He heads for the coffee table before she can answer, pulling a decorative throw pillow off the couch and flinging it to the floor to sit on.
“Okay,” she tells him. “Are we allowed to sit on the pillows?”
For the rent I’m paying for this place, we should be allowed to eat them.
But I’m glad she asked and when Dylan glances up at me worriedly, I nod to him to let him know it’s fine.
“Yes,” he tells her happily.
She grabs a pillow of her own and lowers herself to the floor beside him. The way he scoots his pillow closer to hers makes my heart ache a little, and I turn around to focus on my own stuff.
I’m just getting back into my spreadsheet when I hear her talking with him.
“Is that a snowman?” she asks.
“Yes,” Dylan tells her. “He lives on Angel Mountain.”
That’s certainly wishful thinking. I’m told there hasn’t been a hint of snow all season. It’s one more thing making me think maybe this whole project was a mistake.
“Why?” she asks.
Dylan frowns, thinking it over.
“He likes deer,” he says after a moment, his eyes lighting up. “Andbigfoxes.”
“What does he wish for?” she asks.
“He wants a mommy and daddy,” Dylan tells her.
I feel that in my heart. I guess you reap what you sow. His mother and I weren’t exactly fairytale parents, even when there were two of us.
I frown and try to focus on the numbers in front of me.
