“Yeah, tons of toys. Come on.” Dawson reached for her hand again, but this time Kate batted him away. She looked to Amelia briefly for permission, and after a tiny nod from her mom, she dashed through the screen door with her new friend, her tulle skirt trailing behind her, nearly caught in the slamming door.
Randy shivered a little and then gave Amelia an embarrassed smile. “I’m really sorry about Dawson. He can be overly affectionate sometimes. Especially with women.” He tilted his head toward the door and started walking toward the entrance, sweeping the door open so fast, it didn’t have time to make a sound. “He really misses his mom.”
That sentence made a piece of Amelia’s heart flinch in pain. That’s right, his mom. Living, where did he say, Arizona? California? That had to be hard for a little child. Kate could barely make it through a school day without seeing her mom. What would she do if she had to spend weeks or even months apart? No wonder he needed an occasional squishy hug.
“Poor buddy,” she said, passing by Randy into the house, excited about finally seeing inside her dream home. The smell of pancakes and bacon hit her right as she crossed the threshold.
The room was everything she could’ve imagined. To the left was a giant kitchen, clearly refinished with modern appliances and quartz countertops but with white cabinets and dark, mahogany hardwood all throughout. The rugs looked rustic but probably cost a small fortune. The furniture was off-white and overstuffed, making her wonder if sitting on it would be like sitting on a cloud or if it would swallow her up like quicksand.
Randy didn’t seem to notice her voyeuristic observance of his home and just moved toward the kitchen, where a little blue plastic plate sat on the bar, one stool slightly askew illustrating how Dawson had gotten to the door so stinking fast. Randy took the plate and ran it under some water in the deep porcelain sink. The act seemed so normal and mundane that it made her relax a little.
“Anything I can do to help?” Her hands felt empty as she watched him move on to filling a dirty pan with water and soap.
“No, no! I’m sorry, I know this is so rude, but if I don’t get these soaking, they will take forever to get clean later.”
“Hey, I feel your pain! I always say that there are just some dishes that need to marinate for a day or two.”
“Ha! Yes, I like that. I mean, you marinate a steak for at least twenty-four hours. Why should dishes be any different?”
It was nice to have someone get her sense of humor—even mommy humor.
“Well, I’m sure it isn’t easy being a single parent.”
“It is definitely not what you plan for when that little baby is placed in your arms, right?” He sounded so introspective, it was compelling to Amelia. It made her feel like there was more to this guy than the fancy things he clearly treasured. It was what she found interesting and a little frightening at the park when he connected with his son so easily, so deeply.
“I guess life takes us all down unexpected paths, huh?”
“I know. That’s what I’ve had to tell myself every day since we lost Stella.” Randy paused his washing and leaned on the sink like he was trying to prop up some broken part of himself, but the words didn’t exactly make sense to her. She wiped at the countertop absentmindedly, her hand sticking in an invisible streak of syrup.
“Stella?”
Randy blew out a breath and then picked up a plate and covered it in suds.
“Yeah, my . . . wife. She passed last year. Cancer.”
Oh shit. Well, there she went, putting her foot in her mouth. Amelia didn’t know how to get out of this painful topic.
“I’m so sorry, Randy. I had no idea . . . Dawson said something about visiting his mom in California, and I just thought . . . I don’t know.”
He turned on the water and rinsed the plate clear before putting it on a rack next to the sink. With a flip, he pulled a hand towel off the bar under the sink.
“I don’t know why he still says that.” Randy returned the towel and closed the cabinet under the sink and then ran his hand through his hair, making it look messed up but in a really stylish way. There was a sadness that hung around Randy’s shoulders and was embedded in the lines around his eyes that fascinated Amelia as he continued. “His therapist back home said it was his coping mechanism. Said it was too hard for him to understand this loss at such a young age, so . . . he just makes up stories. Sometimes it’s visiting his mom, sometimes she’s an astronaut and is on a trip to the moon, sometimes he was adopted and he tells people that I’m not even his dad. Anyway. He’s still sad and just shows it in his own way, I guess.”
He shrugged and then moved away from the sink and toward Amelia. When he reached the bar, Randy settled himself on the stool next to her, and pushed an overflowing basket of muffins and bagels and pretty much any other carb you’d expect to eat for breakfast her way. He grabbed a bran muffin from the top.
“Well, that’s hard for both of you,” Amelia said, making sure to avoid all the wrong things that people had said to her after her dad’s stroke.
“I guess that’s why I’m throwing myself into all these projects—the new house, renovations over here, my business. I think being a workaholic is my coping mechanism.” He popped a bite of muffin into his mouth and shook his head slowly from side to side like he’d just learned something about himself he’d never known before.
“There are worse things. And you are doing all the most important things right.” She gestured toward the ceiling where the muffled sounds of kids playing could be heard through the floor. “I don’t know. I envy you a little, I guess.”
“Are you sure about that?” Randy’s eyebrows rose.
“Oh, no, sorry. Not about your loss.” She shook her head back and forth quickly several times. “I mean about how much you accomplish as a professional and as a parent. That’s really hard to do, and you are doing it.”
Randy laughed, his rich tones filling the kitchen and rattling the glassware in the cabinets. He gave Amelia a twisted smirk that reminded her of Dawson.
“It is all an illusion, I promise you. It just seems like I have this all figured out, but really what is happening is all my balls are currently in the air. When they all come down at the same time, it will look less like juggling and more like a big mess.”
“Well, I think that’s what we all feel like, right? Any person who actually thinks they have all their shit together is not allowed to be my friend.” She let herself join in Randy’s laughter, enjoying the fact that the seemingly perfect man had flaws and insecurities as big and real as her own.