“I’m sure it is.”
“You’re kind,” she says, smiling.
She places two glass cups of ice cream on the table.
“That looks good,” I say, eyeing the scoops of chocolate and hazelnut ice cream. “Where is she?” I ask.
Sara lifts her chin, motioning to the middle of the living room. Leaning forward, I angle my head and look at her.
“Emma?”
The little girl–– with features that resemble mine more than Sara’s––raises her teary eyes to me.
Her soft blonde hair curls at the tips. My eyes slip to her tiny hands busy plucking whiskers out of a cat toy.
“What’s the problem, now?” I ask Sara softly.
“Our favorite bear toy perished in a washer accident,” she says under her breath. “And the cat won’t do it.”
“Oh... That’s a big problem,” I say, shaking my head, amused.
I push the chair back and walk to Emma who’s sitting on a blanket in the middle of the room. Her eyes follow me, curious, as I lower myself to her.
Her small fingers grab my arm.
“What about we play a baby bear game?”
“Baby bear... baby bear,” she singsongs gleefully, clapping.
The cloud of sadness fades, sunshine glinting in her eyes.
My lips curve into a smile, and her eyes brighten even more. She pushes to her little feet, struggling to maintain her balance on her short, wobbly legs.
I help her stand.
“Now, Emma here...” I say, rising to my feet and holding her hand as I step behind her and wink at Sara, “Emma is our baby bear.”
I wrap one arm around her small body, loop the other under her legs and swing her up to me. Crystalline laughter fills the room, and Sara’s eyes glisten with emotion.
I nuzzle the soft skin of Emma’s neck, tickle her belly, and then swing her up in the air a few more times, tears of joy rolling down her pink cheeks.
“Okay. Now, can we have some ice cream?” I ask, sauntering to the kitchen table and sliding into my seat with her on my lap.
Sara pulls the cup away from Emma.
“She’s gonna stick her fingers into it,” she says as I motion to her to leave it on the table.
“That’s okay. You know we’ll eventually use our fingers. Isn’t it so?” I ask, looking at Emma.
She tips her head up to catch my gaze, her fingers poking at my face.
“Good luck with that,” Sara says, chuckling as she pushes out of her chair. “I’ll be back as soon as I finish with the interview. Are you going out tonight?” she asks, concern threading through her voice.
“No, not tonight,” I say in a different voice and press my lips on Emma’s hair. “If mommy comes home early, we’ll catch a movie with baby bear.”
Sara searches my eyes for a moment.
We never talk about my weekend evenings. We’ve been dancing around the subject for some time, and she’s never pressed me. I never volunteered the information either, but I know she’s worried. If nothing else, for my fresh wounds when I come home.