Dylan was in good hands. I just had to be patient. I could do this.
With all that in mind, I climbed the stairs to my office and managed to only check my cell another four times before opening my door and trudging toward my Keurig. As I popped a K-cup into place, Tiffany hurried through the door, her red hair slightly mussed.
“Damn, I was trying to beat you to the coffeepot.” She blew out a shallow breath, then held her chest as it rose and fell in quick succession.
“Did you actually run in here?”
She smiled. “Maybe.”
Laughing at herself, she took a seat across from my desk, and we reviewed the notes and agenda for the day. A few times, she paused, and I knew she was on the brink of asking me about Dylan, but either my serious gaze or her own inhibitions stopped her. Whatever the reason was, though, I was grateful for it.
“Okay, I think that’s everything,” I said, and my phone buzzed against the rustic wood surface of my desk.
Without bothering to excuse myself, I snatched up the phone and thumbed it open. Dylan stared back at me, but this time it wasn’t my wallpaper photo—she was in her high chair mixing something in a bright yellow bowl and making a mess of it, her head tossed back in mid-laugh. I scrolled down and read the text.
Addison: Someone likes banana pancakes!
The text featured a little monkey emoji beneath it, and I smiled.
“Everything all right?” Tiffany asked, and I was surprised to see her still standing there as I looked up.
“Yeah, everything’s great.”
She cocked her head and then backed away. “All right then, if you’re sure.”
After she left, I stared at the door, still thinking of Dylan mixing her pancake ingredients. I would never have thought to cook with her or have her help like that, not when she was so young. I’d be too nervous about the stove or her somehow getting to one of the knives . . .
I sipped my coffee, blowing a deep breath out my nose. Even now, with all these hypothetical worries trampling my thoughts, I felt better than I had in the last three days combined. The panic of being a parent, of being responsible for another person’s life, was still there, churning away at the back of my mind, but I was feeling better by the second. Sure, Dylan might get near the stove or the knives when I was around, but I knew Addison would never let that happen. She had a knack. She was a natural at this in a way I wasn’t.
And the way she looked at Dylan? Addison was the one thing I knew I didn’t have to worry about.
For the next few hours, I timed myself—only allowing myself to glance at my phone every thirty minutes. Even then, I didn’t allow myself to text and ask how Dylan was doing. The girls needed time to bond, and I needed to work. God knew I needed to work.
Around two, though, my phone chimed again and I found another picture waiting for me. This time Addison and Dylan were laughing together, each of them holding sparkly Play-Doh in their hands. Had Addison brought toys with her? She didn’t have to do that.
My heart melted when I read the message underneath.
Addison: Don’t worry, even the sparkles are non-toxic. We’re learning not to eat play dough.
I laughed, imagining Dylan’s face wrinkling as she tasted the salty concoction. No doubt that was a lesson she was going to hang on to.
I moved to put my phone down, but then it buzzed in my hand and another message appeared.
Addison: Hey, what time do you get home from work? I forgot to ask.
I replied quickly, letting her know I’d be home around six, but before I could put the phone down, it buzzed again.
Addison: Okay, great. As for dinner . . . do you have any allergies or anything? Anything you don’t like?
Max: You don’t have to go grocery shopping.
Her answer came immediately after my response. I’d left her the car seat just in case, but I’d rather her not have to bother with it.
Addison: Too late. I’m making dinner, but I need to know if anything is going to kill you first.
I smiled. She had a sense of humor beneath that bubbly persona.
Max: No mustard, please. Other than that, I’m easy.
Addison sent a little thumbs-up in return.
Grinning, I put the phone down and turned back to my work, but before I got a chance to fully dive in, my office door opened.
“Hey, you have a minute?” Tiffany peeked around the door and when I nodded, she stepped inside, careful to shut the door behind her.
“I was thinking, the last couple of days have been tough for you. Do you and Dylan want to come over to my place tonight? It might be nice for you to get a home-cooked meal for a change.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I actually already have plans.”
She rolled her eyes. “No one calls the drive-through at Wendy’s ‘plans.’”
I laughed. “No. Dylan’s new nanny is making us dinner.”