“No,” she said on a sigh, her gaze slowly falling to her hands, clasped together and resting on the table. “I just really love children.” Her words were somber and sad; a blaring contradiction to the laughter just seconds before, and even the words themselves.
“Well, I’d say you picked a great job, then.”
“Yeah.” A hint of a smile returned.
I thought about my career choices and how none of them were born out of love—well, not really. I went into business consultation for the money. I had a kid on the way and I had a mind for it, so consulting seemed like a good place to start. And it was. That job allowed our family to have a good start—a nice home, a stay-at-home mom for my kids, vacations, and nice cars. But a few months after Olivia died I realized I couldn’t be that same guy anymore. I wasn’t the go-to-work dad, who could come home to a meal on the table and freshly bathed children I could tickle and play with for an hour before bedtime. I was now mother and father. And even though I came into my new role in the worst way possible, I wouldn’t give it up. I would gladly take a job I didn’t even need a degree for if it meant I could watch my kids grow up, be there every step of the way, and see every gruesome and wonderful moment.
So even though I didn’t necessarily take the job at my dad’s store out of love for the career, I took it out of love for my kids and needing to make that change for all of us.
We ordered our meals and I tried to steer clear of topics that would take the smile off her face again.
Grace was on her second glass of wine and the new rosy color of her cheeks only made her more attractive. The food had come and gone, dessert had been shared, and even though we could have made it to the movie, neither one of us moved to leave. I was enjoying her too much to risk ruining it by sitting in a dark room where I couldn’t even look at her. From my seat across a small table, I could watch her smile, listen to her laugh, and study the way her expressive eyebrows gave more away about her than her words did sometimes. I could watch the way she absentmindedly moved her hand through hair that looked incredibly soft, only to watch it fall right back into place, framing her face.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and when I pulled it out I noticed the time and my mother’s number. I figured the kids wanted to say good night before my mom put them to bed.
“I should take this,” I said with apology in my voice. She just smiled in reply and took another sip of her wine. “Hey, Mom,” I said, speaking through my own smile.
“Devon, I’m really sorry to call and interrupt, but Ruby’s pretty sick and I need to know what you want me to do about it.”
“What do you mean she’s sick?” The smile disappeared from my face, quickly replaced with a furrowed brow and concern burning in my chest.
“She’s been sick since about twenty minutes after you dropped them off. She said her stomach ached, then she just started throwing up. She’s vomiting every ten to fifteen minutes. Her body is trying to work something out of her system, but vomiting at this rate for three hours? She’ll be severely dehydrated if we can’t get some fluids in her, and every time I make her take a sip of water, she just gets sick again. I think she needs to go to the ER to get an IV.”
“Shit,” I whispered, partly upset my mom had to deal with my sick child, but mostly upset I wasn’t there with Ruby when she was so sick. I’d come to learn that 90 percent of parenting was dealing with guilt.
“Can we get a check?” I heard Grace ask our waiter, and I was grateful she understood our date was effectively over.
I used one hand to throw some bills on the table, then shove my wallet back in my pocket and stand up.
“I’ll be there soon. Just hang tight and I’ll come get her.”
“Devon, I can handle a sick child. You don’t have to cut your date short.”
I appreciated what my mom was doing, but I couldn’t stay out with Grace knowing Ruby was so sick.
“I know you can, Mom, but I’m her dad. This is my job. Your job is to feed them sugar and send them home crazy. Don’t worry about my date. There will be more. I’ll be there soon. Tell Ruby to hang in there.” We said our good-byes and then I hung up, shoving my phone in my pocket as well.
“Ruby’s sick?” Grace’s voice was soft and full of worry.
“Yeah,” I said with a sigh, watching as she stood and draped the strap of her purse over one bare shoulder. Was it a bad time to notice the sexy dusting of freckles there? Like she’d spent a lot of summers in the sun as she grew up. “This is how Ruby’s body operates. She hardly ever gets sick, but when she does, her whole body shuts down and she goes from fine to really sick in just a few hours.”
“Oh no,” she whispered as we walked out of the restaurant and toward my car.
“I’m really sorry,” I said as I backed out of my spot. “I was having a really great time. I’ll drop you off really quick.”
“You don’t have to drop me off,” she responded with quick words. “If Ruby is as sick as you say, you need to go get her.”