Nate isn’t having any of that behavior though. “What do we say?” His voice is so patient, and still kind.
Madeline turns her body toward me, but looks over at Nate. Out of the corner of my eye I can see him mouthing words to her.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Callie.” She’s staring at Nate as she says the words, nodding her head after each one of them.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I tell her.
“Good girl,” Nate says, beaming at Madeline. She walks over to him and wraps her arms around his neck as she leans in and whispers something in his ear, giggling.
Nate raises himself up to his knees before he stands. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
My eyes grow wide with low-level panic. “I don’t know what to do with kids.”
“Just talk to her. She’s like a tiny adult. You just can’t cuss in front of her.”
Nate glances back at me as he walks out of the room. I watch Madeline play in the makeshift kitchen she and Nate built out of couch cushions and blankets. She’s wearing a tiny broncos jersey, one that Nate has no doubt given to her. It’s too long, almost like a dress on her.
“I like your jersey,” I say, trying to start a conversation. “Do you watch a lot of football?”
She nods. “With Daddy.”
“Do you play?” I ask, half teasing, just wanting to know how she’ll respond.
She turns around and looks at me like I’ve just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. Pointing at the sparkly crown she’s wearing, she laughs. “Silly. Princesses don’t play football!”
“Sure they do. They just have to strap on their tiaras.”
Madeline laughs as she reaches over and hands me a plate with a plastic hot dog and a plastic can of peas on top of it, and I notice Nate standing in the doorway, grinning.
“We’re training her to be a quarterback,” he says as he walks over and sits down next to me. “She’s got quite an arm on her.”
“I made you a sammich,” Madeline says, handing Nate a plate full of random plastic food.
“Looks delicious.” He rubs his stomach, and I love the way he plays along with her. The way he doesn’t care how ridiculous he looks or what he has to go along with in order to make this little girl happy. He brings the “sandwich” to his mouth and makes loud, exaggerated eating noises, then hides the plate under the table.
“You ated it all!” Madeline shouts, laughing.
“I did, and it was delicious. I want to meet the chef!”
“I’m the chef.” Madeline points at her chest and Nate takes her by the arm, gently pulling her to him. He smothers her with kisses and her peals of laughter bounce off the walls. It’s the best sound. With Madeline still laughing uncontrollably, Nate stands up and spins her around, increasing the laughter tenfold.
“Nate, be careful,” Amy shouts from the other room. “It’s time for dinner, and I’m not cleaning up any barf tonight.”
“That’s really appetizing, Mom. Thanks,” Nate says.
“You already ate!” Madeline tells him with a giggle.
“I have room for more.”
“Where?” She pats Nate’s stomach, feeling around for some extra space.
“I have a hollow leg,” he tells her, and the look on her face is priceless. “All the food goes down there when I eat it, so I have more room in my belly.”
“Wow,” Madeline sighs with wonder, eyes wide.
“Ready for dinner?” he asks her, and she nods enthusiastically. “Why don’t you help Miss Callie get up?”
Madeline holds out her hands to me, and I clasp them in mine. Then Nate wraps his hands around her waist and pulls her back. Her hands slip out of mine.
“Uncle Nate!” she screams, laughing.
“Try again,” he replies, winking at me. She grabs my hand and he pulls her away again, then wraps her in his arms. “Where’s all that upper-body strength, princess? We’re going to have to start working on some bench presses.” He lifts her up over his head, and I have never seen a child having so much fun in my entire life.
“Nate!” Amy warns.
Madeline holds out her hand again, and I clasp it in mine. I take Nate’s hand with my free one, and he pulls me up. Madeline runs into the living room, and the smile that Nate wears as he watches her takes my breath away. And I could kill Amy and Gabby for subjecting me to all of this cuteness.
“C’mon,” Nate says, his hand gently pressing into the small of my back as he leads me to the dining room.
Mr. and Mrs. Wright are sitting next to each other, with Jessa and Madeline directly across from them. Ethan and Emily are at the far end, thankfully. There are only two empty chairs left, and they’re right next to each other, which I’m sure is no accident. Nate pushes my chair in as I sit down, and then he takes the seat to my left. When I look up, I notice Ethan watching the two of us, and I can’t lie, I feel a twinge of satisfaction at the hint of jealousy I see in his eyes.
Gabby and Ben sit across from Nate and me, too wrapped up in each other to notice that there’s an actual meal taking place. They look so in love that it’d be sickening if they weren’t my friends.
Jessa is thinking the same thing I am. “You two look so in love,” she says, sighing a little as she cuts into her lasagna. “I remember that look. It starts to fade a bit when you’re running after a screaming four-year-old.”
“Oh shush,” Amy says, flipping her napkin at her daughter. “Your father and I had the three of you, and we still look at each other like that.”
“Which is a miracle after having Nate,” Jessa replies.
Nate gives her a playful sneer. “Clearly I wasn’t too bad since Mom and Dad had another kid after me.” He looks over at Ben dismissively. “They stopped after you, so…”
“Only because they had achieved perfection,” Ben says, puffing out his chest. “Besides, if they could survive Jess’s projectile vomiting, they can survive anything.”
Jessa laughs. “You haven’t seen projectile vomiting until-”
“Vomit!” Madeline shouts.
“That’s enough,” Mr. Wright—Jack—says, looking both disgusted and amused at the same time. “Every conversation this family has seems to devolve into one about bodily functions.”
“And yet Nate, Jess and I are still here,” Ben says, picking up his glass of wine. “There must’ve been some real magic in the air the night you and Mom met.”
“How did you meet?” I ask.
There’s a collective groan from the three Wright children.
“Now you’ve done it,” Ben says.
Amy rolls her eyes. “You all seem to have a lot of opinions for people who wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for that night.”
“Well, I’d like to hear about it,” I say.
“Thank you Callie,” Amy replies, and I can tell from the smile on her face that she just loves telling people this story. The exasperated looks on the faces of her children prove that she tells it often.
“I was an exchange student in Paris.” There’s a far-off look in her eyes and a soft grin on her lips. “I was looking for this tiny art house theater. I fancied myself to be quite the movie snob back then. I had been searching for it for close to an hour, using a map that someone had drawn on a cocktail napkin. I asked around, but my French wasn’t good enough to be able to understand the directions that people were giving me. I was so lost, and then I snagged my purse handle on the end of a bench. When I bent down to pick it up, I noticed that another set of hands was reaching for it. They belonged to Jack.” She looks over at her husband and cups his face before threading her fingers through his. And even though I’m sure he’s heard this story a thousand times, he still looks completely taken by her. “He knew where the theater was; he’d been there countless times before. We went to a small bistro down the street from the theater, and we ended up missing the movie. We talked until the bistro closed.”